CHAPTER 1 : THE DEVIL'S SIGNATURE
1075 Words
Warning: This story contains mature themes, explicit language, violence, obsession, and dark romantic content intended for 18+ readers.
LIORA'S POV
He slammed me against the wall like I was nothing, his mouth attacking my neck with raw, savage hunger. Hot, wet kisses mixed with vicious bites that sent sharp, electric shocks ripping down my spine.
His powerful hand clamped around my throat—tight, controlling, a deadly promise. Not enough to crush my windpipe, but enough to make my pulse hammer frantically against his palm.
“You’re f*****g mine tonight, Liora,”
Damien growled against my skin, voice low and brutal.
“You won’t breathe, won’t move, won’t even exist without me.”
A dangerous thrill exploded in my chest.
I fisted his dark hair and yanked him harder against my mouth. “No. You’re mine. I’m the one in control here.”
His body pressed into me, dragging against my aching core.
Heat flooded between my legs—unwanted, shameful, and so f*****g intoxicating it made me dizzy.
His hand shoved under my dress, rough fingers digging into bare flesh, climbing higher.
Just a little more, you devil.
I reached blindly for the hidden file while his lips crashed down on mine in a punishing kiss.
Then came his laugh—low, cruel, ice-cold.
I looked up.
His eyes were dead.
A knife hovered above my stomach.
The blade plunged deep.
Agony tore through me like fire.
Blood poured hot and slick over my skin, soaking everything, pooling beneath me as I gasped and choked on the metallic stench.
His face stayed eerily calm, almost tender, as he twisted the knife deeper, watching the life drain from my eyes.
My eyes flew open.
I bolted upright in bed, clutching my stomach, lungs burning like I’d been drowning.
Phantom pain still ripped through my gut.
No wound.
No blood.
Just the shattered wine bottle on the floor, dark red liquid spreading across the sheets like fresh slaughter.
For a long second, I just sat there shaking, trying to convince myself the knife wasn’t real.
My trembling fingers slid beneath my oversized shirt, pressing desperately against my stomach.
Nothing.
No blood.
But I could still feel the knife.
Still feel him.
The way Damien’s cold eyes stared at me in that dream felt too real… almost like a memory instead of a nightmare.
My chest tightened painfully.
I grabbed the pills beside the bed and dry-swallowed one, forcing myself to breathe.
In.
Out.
Slowly.
The room around me came back into focus — the dim lamp, the half-empty wine bottle, my father’s picture hanging quietly on the wall.
Dad used to call this apartment our fortress.
My hands wouldn’t stop trembling as I grabbed my phone.
“Have you made that useless boyfriend of yours get Damien to sign the f*****g papers yet?” Desire hissed.
“No.”
“Then what the f**k are you waiting for?” she snarled. “I’m rotting in this shithole because of your useless father. Stop wasting time and get Damien Sterling to sign!”
I stared at my dad’s picture on the wall, his smiling face now mocking me.
“Oscar might be a fool, but Damien isn’t,” I said coldly. “It’s not that simple.”
“Then do it yourself. Seduce him. f**k him. Lie. Spread your legs and do whatever filthy s**t you have to—just get his f*****g signature.”
I killed the call and squeezed the phone so hard the screen spiderwebbed.
The silence that followed felt heavier than her poison.
My chest ached with a pain no pill could touch.
I quickly popped another one anyway, swallowing it dry.
A brutal pounding rattled the door.
Again.
Irritation burned through me as I yanked it open.
Two huge men filled the doorway, their fat faces twisted with ugly pleasure.
“Ms. Liora, right?” one grunted. “You’ve got to evict this place soon.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped, confusion mixing with rising panic.
“This property’s been sold,” the other said flatly.
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
I laughed once in disbelief.
“No. I own this apartment—how the f**k can it be sold? This was my father’s place!”
“Someone called Oscar transferred the deed to Sterling, miss.”
Everything inside me stopped.
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
Too hot.
Too hard to breathe in.
“No…” I whispered.
That was impossible.
Dad signed this apartment into my name before he died.
Oscar knew that.
Oscar knew what this place meant to me.
He knew every memory hidden inside these walls.
The men smirked and turned to leave.
“Nothing more to say. Just get out soon.”
The ground tilted violently beneath my feet.
That apartment wasn’t just a home.
It was the last place where my father still existed.
The kitchen where he taught me how to cook terrible pancakes.
The couch where we used to watch old movies during storms.
The tiny hidden compartment in the wall where he kept important documents and emergency cash.
Our fortress.
And Oscar sold it like it meant nothing.
The second they disappeared, I rushed inside like a madwoman, tearing through drawers, ripping clothes onto the floor, throwing open cabinets so hard the hinges cracked.
“No… no, no, no…”
I dropped to my knees in front of the hidden compartment Dad built years ago behind the bookshelf.
My hands shook violently as I forced it open.
Empty.
No documents.
No money.
No clothes.
Not even his f*****g belt.
Everything important was gone.
My breathing turned sharp and uneven.
Maybe there was a reason.
Maybe Oscar was forced.
Maybe this was some horrible misunderstanding.
Because the alternative would destroy me.
I grabbed my phone with trembling fingers and called him.
No answer.
Again.
Straight to voicemail.
“Pick up, you coward,” I whispered.
Again.
Nothing.
“Pick the f**k up!”
Rage exploded through my chest so violently it almost drowned the heartbreak.
I yanked on my hoodie and stormed out into the night.
Cold rain slapped against my skin the second I stepped outside, soaking through the fabric almost instantly.
But I barely felt it.
One thought kept repeating inside my head.
Oscar will explain.
He has to.
I didn’t knock when I reached Oscar’s private apartment.
I shoved the door open.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD