The Devils Bride
998 Words
The hallway outside Enzo’s office was cold—colder than it should’ve been for a place so richly decorated. Alora Vito pressed her back against the marble wall, her breath trembling as she tried to steady her racing heart.
He hated her.
Not with quiet bitterness or reluctant irritation. No, Enzo Valdez hated her with a fire that could burn down empires. Every word he spoke was laced with venom. Every glare was a warning that she didn’t belong, that she had no right to be here—his future wife or not.
But she wasn’t going to run.
Alora had grown up knowing her life wasn’t fully hers. She was the only daughter of Marco Vito, a man who wore power like a second skin and ruled his home with silence and expectations. For years, she had been sheltered, educated, and trained—not just to be a lady, but a symbol. A pawn in the bloodstained chess game of legacy.
She had always known there would be a price. She just hadn’t expected it to be him.
Enzo Valdez.
The devil wrapped in tailored suits and cold fury. He was nothing like the polite young men she’d met at charity galas or family banquets. No, Enzo looked at her like she was a curse—something that had been forced on him by fate. Like she was a trap with a ticking clock attached to it.
And yet… she had seen it. For a flicker of a moment. Beneath the hatred, behind the hard lines of his face and the cruel twist of his lips—there had been fear.
Not of her. But of what she made him feel.
He thought she was his weakness. That was why he pushed so hard. Why his words were made of knives. Because something about her presence threatened the ice in his veins. And Alora knew—deep down—that the only thing Enzo Valdez feared more than enemies…
…was feeling anything at all.
She didn’t know what had made him so cold. But she was determined to find out.
Even if it meant walking through hell to do it.
⸻
Dinner that evening was hosted at the Valdez estate—a fortress of stone and glass perched on the city’s highest point, looking down on everything it owned. Guards lined the perimeter. Cameras watched every movement. And inside, beneath chandeliers and golden trim, the air was thick with tension.
Alora walked into the dining room in silence, her mother’s voice echoing in her mind: “Smile, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”
She wore deep emerald green—one of the Vito family colors—because appearances mattered. Everything was symbolic in this world. Every glance. Every dress. Every lie.
Enzo was already seated at the far end of the long table, speaking quietly to his father. His expression didn’t change when he saw her, but Alora felt the heat of his gaze burn across her skin.
She took her seat across from him, her posture perfect. She smiled, just barely. A delicate, polite curve of her lips.
His jaw tightened.
“Alora,” Mr. Valdez said, raising a glass. “It’s good to see you again. You’re looking radiant.”
“Thank you, Don Valdez,” she replied softly. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Next to her, Enzo said nothing. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t offer even a hollow greeting.
Alora cut a piece of roasted lamb with quiet grace. Inside, her stomach churned.
The silence stretched between them like barbed wire. Conversations buzzed between the older men, toasts were made, and the families smiled like this was a celebration. But across the table, Enzo’s eyes burned into her like a promise of war.
When the others were distracted, she leaned slightly toward him and whispered, “You’re allowed to speak to me, you know. It won’t kill you.”
His fork paused mid-air.
Then slowly, very slowly, he turned his head to her. “I don’t make small talk with people I don’t trust.”
Alora met his eyes. “Then give me a chance to earn it.”
He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t last long enough.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Try me.”
The flicker of challenge between them was electric. It passed so quickly, it might have been missed by anyone not watching closely. But Enzo saw it. And for a moment, something dangerous sparked in his eyes.
Not hate. Not exactly.
Curiosity. Interest. Conflict.
Then it was gone.
Enzo leaned back, his smirk turning cruel. “I’ll break you, little dove. The only question is how soon.”
Alora didn’t flinch. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”
He chuckled, dark and low. “No one surprises me. That’s why I’m still alive.”
She returned her attention to her plate, refusing to let him see the tremor in her hand. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, playing this game with a man like Enzo. But one thing was clear—she wasn’t just a pawn.
Not anymore.
⸻
Later that night
Enzo lit a cigar on the balcony of his room, the cold wind brushing through his hair. The city glowed beneath him, unaware of the storm building inside his chest.
She wasn’t what he expected.
Alora Vito was supposed to be a silent bride. A good girl. Obedient. Fragile. Someone he could ignore until the alliance was secured and she became just another locked room in his mansion of shadows.
But she pushed. She challenged him. With those wide, searching eyes and the soft voice that refused to yield.
It made him furious.
It made him curious.
And that… that made her dangerous.
He took a slow drag from the cigar, the ember glowing like firelight in the dark.
He couldn’t afford a weakness.
But that girl was going to make him bleed.
- Writer
