sold to the devil

CHAPTER 7

Amanda’s POV

The darkness didn’t leave me. Even with the sun’s first pale light creeping through the edges of the curtains, I felt trapped under its weight. My hands still trembled where the intruder’s shadow had brushed against my reality last night. I had tried to convince myself it was a hallucination, a nightmare bleeding into the real world. But I knew better. Someone had been in my room. Someone had watched me.

I stayed frozen on the edge of the bed for a long moment, hugging my knees to my chest, listening. Not to anything outside the walls—but to the emptiness, the silence, the house itself. It felt alive somehow, and I felt small within it, insignificant. The air was too clean, too perfect, too silent. It pressed against me like a hand I couldn’t shake.

I swallowed, trying to force my heartbeat to slow. I had to move. I had to eat, at least. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to stand, careful not to disturb anything—though everything in me shook.

A knock came at the door. Soft, measured. Hesitant.

“Elara,” I whispered before she entered.

The maid’s face was as unreadable as always. No expression, no warmth. Just a set of sharp eyes observing me with a strange mixture of duty and distance.

“Breakfast,” she said, placing the tray on the bedside table. Eggs, toast, fruit. The kind of food that seemed normal somewhere else. But here, it felt like a mockery.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

Her gaze lingered on me, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw a flicker of something—fear, warning, sympathy?—but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Elara,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I need to ask you something.”

She paused, head tilting slightly. “You may ask.”

“Last night…” I trailed off, my throat tight. “There was someone. In my room.”

Her eyes sharpened, and for a split second, I felt the weight of the warning before she spoke. “No one enters here without the master’s knowledge.”

I blinked. “But I saw—”

“Do not speak of it again,” she interrupted softly but firmly. “Walls listen. Only speak when necessary.”

Her words settled in me like ice. Someone was watching me. And speaking of it aloud might make it worse. I nodded silently, swallowing the lump in my throat, unsure if it was relief or terror I felt more.

She left quietly, closing the door behind her. I sat back on the bed, staring at the tray of untouched breakfast. I wasn’t hungry. My stomach had tied itself in knots overnight. My thoughts spun in a relentless loop: the shadow, the words, the warning. You don’t belong here. Leave before it’s too late.

I knew I couldn’t stay in bed forever. Eventually, I forced myself to move, brushing my hair back, smoothing my dress, trying to appear composed even though every muscle in my body protested.

The hallway outside was cold and silent as I followed Elara down to the dining room. The chandeliers overhead reflected faint light, bouncing across the polished marble floors. My footsteps sounded impossibly loud, echoing through the empty halls, making me painfully aware of my own presence in a house designed to swallow noise.

Damon sat at the end of the long dining table. His posture was impeccable, calm, controlled. His gaze did not meet mine; it swept over me with an assessment I couldn’t read. My pulse jumped instinctively. I had learned that even when he wasn’t speaking, he communicated more than most ever could.

“Sit,” he said. His voice was low, firm, yet measured. I obeyed.

I took a bite of toast, though I barely tasted it. He watched me with a quiet intensity that made me hyperaware of every movement, every slight gesture, every blink.

“You didn’t sleep,” he observed casually. Not a question. A statement.

I forced myself to swallow, my throat tight. “No,” I admitted. “I… had trouble.”

He studied me for a moment, and for the first time, I thought I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—concern? irritation? I couldn’t tell. He didn’t give anything away, and I had learned long ago not to expect mercy in deciphering him.

“The east wing is off-limits,” he said suddenly, his voice calm but carrying a weight that made me sit straighter. “Do not enter it.”

I nodded. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, pausing just long enough to make the air thicker, “some doors are closed for your protection.”

I blinked. Protection. The word felt heavy. Like a promise. Or a warning.

He stood, signaling that our breakfast—or whatever this meal was—was over. Elara appeared at his side, waiting. “Show her the house,” he ordered. “Every rule. Every limit. She follows them.”

My legs felt like lead as I followed Elara again. The halls seemed endless. Each closed door felt like a warning. Each painting’s eyes seemed to watch me. Every step I took echoed, and I flinched at it.

We approached the east wing. The air shifted. Cold, oppressive, heavy.

“This is the east wing,” Elara said quietly. Her voice carried a weight I hadn’t heard before. “Do not enter. No matter what you hear or see.”

I stared at the doors, wondering why something so forbidden could feel so magnetic. Something inside me screamed to peek, to listen, to understand. But I forced my feet forward, reminding myself: safety here was not a guarantee. Disobedience could be fatal.

Hours passed slowly, each minute stretching longer than the last. I wandered the hallways, though only in permitted areas, touching walls, doors, and floors as if to reassure myself they were real. Every creak made me jump. Every shadow seemed to move with intent.

At one point, I returned to my room, sitting on the bed and curling into myself. The memory of the shadow’s voice replayed in my mind: You don’t belong here.

I hated the helplessness that clawed at my chest. I hated how much my own fear made me vulnerable. Yet I couldn’t ignore it. Someone had been inside my room. Someone had watched me.

My mind drifted to Damon. To the calm authority he wielded so effortlessly. I wondered if he knew. If he had seen it. But the thought made my stomach twist. I didn’t know what his reaction would be. Would he protect me? Punish me? Or would he simply watch, calculating, letting me fend for myself?

I flopped back against the pillow, letting exhaustion pull at me again, though sleep was nowhere in sight. My eyes closed, but images swirled behind my lids—shadowed figures, cold hands, whispered threats.

A soft knock brought me upright. Elara’s face appeared at the door, expression neutral. She handed me a letter—plain, unmarked.

“Read it in your room,” she instructed.

I did as told. The handwriting was precise, controlled, unfamiliar. The words were few, but they burned themselves into my mind:

We know who you are. We are watching. Leave before it is too late.

I dropped the paper, heart hammering. Every muscle in me froze.

Someone in this house wanted me gone. And I had no idea who.

The walls of my room seemed to close in, suffocating. I wanted to scream, but the memory of last night’s shadow silenced me.

I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to force calm. The house was supposed to be a fortress. Damon was supposed to protect me. And yet, here I was, alone, hunted, and trapped.

A chill slid down my spine. The east wing door creaked. Not with the wind. Not with the house settling. Someone moved behind it.

I didn’t know if I should run or stay hidden. My chest felt tight, my fingers numb. And then, through the faint shadows, I felt a presence—not Damon, not Elara, but someone else. Watching. Waiting.

I hugged the blanket to myself, whispering under my breath: “I am not going anywhere. I won’t leave.”

But the air felt colder, heavier. And deep down, I knew the warning wasn’t empty.

Leave before it’s too late.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing, my mind, my very being. And then, as if the house itself acknowledged my resolve, a shadow flickered across the wall—just enough to remind me I was being watched.

I wasn’t safe. Not in the house. Not outside. Not anywhere.

And yet… I couldn’t turn away.

The intruder had vanished, leaving only the echo of his words, the promise of danger, and the knowledge that my life had changed forever.

My hands shook as I clenched the blanket tighter.

Somewhere in the depths of the east wing, someone waited. And I had no idea what they wanted from me—or how close they already were.

The house had rules. And the rules had just become a cage.

I pressed my back to the wall, staring at the door. My chest rose and fell