The Demon’s Pledge

Chapter 4

The Penthouse Cage

If I were moving into Adrian's penthouse to feel like stepping into indulgence, I was mistaken.

Yes, it was breathtaking three floors of glass and marble perched above the city like a fortress. But beneath the shine was something colder. It wasn't a home. It was a Monarchy. And I'd just accepted to stay inside my enemy's empire.

Adrian bumped into me at the private elevator, his hand relaxing casually in his pocket like he had not just engraved me the night before.

He spoke softly. Welcome home, Mrs Blackwood

Don't call me that, I murmured, footing past him into the main living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows dribbled gold morning light across the polished black floors, the skyline sprawling endlessly below.

It's your name now, he replied. You might as well get used to it.

I'm not here to play wife.

He smirked faintly. You're here to play survivor. And that requires pretending.

I dropped my bags onto the nearest sofa. Fine. Let's pretend. What now?

Now, Adrian said, walking toward the bar and pouring himself a drink of whiskey, before noon we set some rules.

I don't take orders.

Then consider them boundaries. His gaze was sharp, deliberate. You will attend events with me. You will smile when cameras are present. And you will not under any circumstances be alone with Lucien Vale.

I stiffened. You're not in charge of who I speak to.

I am, he said, voice low, if it puts you in danger.

I laughed once, sharply. Danger? Or competition?

His jaw flexed, but he didn't answer.

By afternoon, I'd explored most of the penthouse, noting security cameras discreetly hidden in corners, the biometric locks on certain rooms, and a library so old it smelled faintly of parchment and dust. In the center of that library was a glass case holding a single object: an obsidian dagger with symbols etched into the blade.

The same symbols that had burned into my wrist.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the glass

That's not for you, Adrian's voice came behind me.

I turned. Then why is it in the middle of the room?

So you remember it exists, he said simply. Every choice has a price. That one more than most.

Before I could ask what he meant, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Unknown Number: You're already in his cage.

Me: Lucien.

Lucien: Meet me. Ten minutes. The glass garden, across from the tower.

I hesitated, glancing toward the door. Adrian was gone.

The glass garden was a small public greenhouse surrounded by frost-tipped hedges, steam curling against the glass panels in the winter chill. Lucien stood near the fountain inside, hands in his pockets, his black coat dusted with snow.

You're bold, he said when I approached. Either that, or reckless.

Which am I to you? I asked.

Both. His gaze slid to my wrist. He's marked you.

I tugged my sleeve down. It's a contract.

It's a binding, Lucien corrected. The Blackwood Pact is older than either of us. That mark isn't ink; it's magic. It ties you to him in ways you don't understand yet.

I crossed my arms. Why are you telling me this? His rival, not his friend.

Because, Lucien said softly, if he wins, the city loses. And you lose more than you can imagine.

His eyes were too steady, too intense. I took a step back. I can handle Adrian.

You think you can, Lucien murmured. But the question i when you finally see what he truly is will you still want revenge? Or will you be too far gone?

Before I could answer, a shadow moved at the edge of the garden.

Adrian.

His arrival was like a solemn inevitability, dragging me toward him whether I liked it or not. He stepped inside, the glass doors closing behind him with a soft beat.

Lucien, he spoke, voice like steel under ice. You're infringing.

This is public, Lucien responded easily.

This does not concern you

They gazed at each other, the air between them charged enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up. For a juncture, I thought something enchanting, maybe dazzled between them, like lightning hidden in glass.

Adrian cut to me. Inside. Now.

I didn't move. I can leave on my own.

His eyes darkened. Isla

I walked past him without looking back. But I could feel both of their gazes on me the whole way to the penthouse.

That night, as I lay in the massive, unfamiliar bed, the mark on my wrist began to ache. Not like damage more like a pull. A tether.

And when I finally drifted to sleep, I dreamed of standing on the edge of a black sea, Adrian's hand in mine, and a whisper in my ear:

Every vow must be settled in blood.