BOUND BY THE DEVIL'S CROWN

The city of Valmere never slept. It glittered at night like a cursed jewel—beautiful from afar, dangerous up close. Skyscrapers pierced the sky like sharpened blades, and beneath them, lives were traded like currency. Power here was not inherited by kindness. It was taken. Ruthlessly. And at the top of it all stood the Crown Estate. A mansion so large it looked more like a kingdom than a home. Encircled by black gates, guarded by men who did not ask questions before obeying orders. Inside those gates lived the man the city whispered about but never dared to name too loudly. Damien Kade. They called him many things. CEO. Devil. Monster. King. But never to his face. Because those who did rarely got the chance to do it twice. That night, rain fell over Valmere like broken glass. Inside the Crown Estate, silence ruled. Not peaceful silence—controlled silence. The kind that reminded everyone inside that breathing too loudly could be a mistake. Damien Kade stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. The storm outside reflected in his eyes, cold and unreadable. Behind him, his assistant spoke carefully. “She’s been brought in, sir.” A pause. Damien didn’t turn. “Alive?” “Yes.” A faint smirk touched his lips—barely there, but dangerous enough to mean something. “Good.” He finally turned. And the room seemed to shrink with him. Dark suit. Sharp features. Calm expression that didn’t belong to anything human. He looked like a man carved out of power and silence. “Bring her in,” he said. Downstairs. A girl stood in the middle of a marble hall so large it felt unreal. Her hands were trembling, but she kept them hidden behind her back. Her name was Elena Marlowe. She was twenty-one. A literature student. A girl who believed the world was cruel but still somehow fair. Until tonight. Until she was taken. She looked around the hall again, heart racing. “Where am I?” she whispered. No answer. Only footsteps. Slow. Controlled. Approaching. Damien appeared at the top of the staircase. And Elena felt it immediately. The air changed. Not because he spoke. Not because he moved. But because everything in the room acknowledged him before anything else mattered. He walked down step by step, his gaze locked on her like she was already something owned. Elena forced herself not to step back. “Who are you?” she asked again, voice sharper this time. He stopped a few feet away from her. For a long moment, he just looked at her. Then he said softly, “You’re late.” Elena frowned. “Late for what? I don’t even know where I am!” A pause. Then Damien tilted his head slightly. “You were brought here because you were chosen.” Her stomach tightened. “Chosen for what?” A slow smile appeared on his face. And it was not warm. “It depends on how obedient you are.” Elena’s breath caught. “What is this place?” she demanded. “Why am I here? I didn’t do anything!” Damien stepped closer. One step. Then another. Until there was barely space left between them. “You exist,” he said quietly, “in a world that now belongs to me.” Her heart pounded so loudly she thought he might hear it. “That’s insane,” she whispered. “Is it?” he asked. Then he reached out—not touching her—but adjusting something on her wrist. A thin black band she hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes widened. “What is that?” “A reminder,” he said calmly. Elena pulled her hand back. “I’m not staying here.” For the first time, something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Interest. “Everyone says that,” he replied. “Before they learn the truth.” Thunder rolled outside. Elena took a step back. “You can’t keep me here.” Damien’s gaze darkened slightly. A dangerous calm. “I already have.” Silence dropped like a blade between them. Elena felt it then—not just fear—but something worse. The understanding that she was not being threatened. She was already trapped. Later that night, she was taken to a room. Not a prison. Not exactly. A bedroom. Large. Elegant. Expensive in a way that felt more like a warning than comfort. The door locked behind her. Elena stood in the center, breathing hard. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no…” She ran to the door and tried the handle. Locked. Again. She turned away, pressing her back against it as her mind raced. Think. Think. Think. But nothing made sense. Why her? Why now? And who was Damien Kade really? Above her, in his private office, Damien watched security footage on a screen. Elena pacing. Elena panicking. Elena refusing to break. He leaned back slowly in his chair. “You’re not afraid enough,” he murmured to himself. A faint pause. Then something like satisfaction crossed his face. “But you will be.” Hours later, Elena stopped pacing. Not because she calmed down. But because she noticed something. A file left on the bedside table. She hesitated. Then walked toward it. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. Inside were documents. Records. Names. Locations. And then— Her own name. Elena Marlowe But underneath it… Another line. “Subject linked to Crown Project: Obsidian Lineage.” Her breath stopped. “What… is this?” she whispered. The door clicked open behind her. Slowly. Deliberately. Elena turned. Damien stood there. Watching her read it. And for the first time, his voice was quieter. “Now,” he said, “you’re asking the right questions.” Elena’s voice shook. “What does this mean?” He stepped inside. The door closed behind him. Not loudly. But permanently. “It means,” Damien said slowly, “you were never chosen by accident.” A pause. Then he added, “And neither was I.” Elena stared at him, fear mixing with confusion. “You’re lying.” Damien took one step closer. “No,” he said. “I’m the result of the truth no one survived long enough to explain.” Silence. Heavy. Crushing. Then Elena whispered, “Let me go.” For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then it vanished. “No,” he said simply. And just like that— the crown didn’t just belong to him. It had found its next obsession.