Chapter 4: Breakfast with the Devil
1271 Words
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The dining hall could’ve seated twenty people. Yet this morning, it held only two.
Lucien sat at the head of the table like a king, dressed in a crisp black shirt that hugged his broad shoulders, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the veins of his forearms—veins Eveline imagined had carried more blood than mercy.
He didn’t rise when she entered. Just looked up, dark eyes taking her in from head to toe like he was studying a sculpture he’d paid too much for but still adored.
“You’re late, wife.”
The word wife felt like a slap. Eveline didn’t flinch. She walked to the far end of the table and sat opposite him without a word.
The distance between them didn’t dull the tension. It pulsed like electricity, thickening the air.
“You didn’t sleep,” Lucien remarked, slicing into his steak with eerie calm.
“Not all of us sleep peacefully after blackmailing someone into marriage.”
He smiled without humor. “You’ll get used to it.”
Eveline picked at the corner of her napkin. “Is that what all your wives say?”
“You’re the only one.”
The room fell silent. Cold crept along her spine.
“I should be flattered,” she muttered.
“You should be grateful.”
She looked up, sharp. “For what? Being your captive?”
“No.” Lucien leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “For being alive.”
Her chest tightened.
“You think I haven’t had people killed for far less than betrayal, Eveline? Your father knew the cost of crossing me. He made his choice. And now…” He gestured to her hand. “So have you.”
“I didn’t choose this,” she snapped.
“You didn’t have to. I chose for you.”
Silence again.
This time, it burned.
Lucien went back to his food. “You’ll start attending meetings with me.”
“What?”
“You’re my wife now. You’ll sit beside me. Smile when needed. Speak when spoken to. And listen—always.”
“You think I’ll just be some… puppet on your arm?”
His gaze lifted again, colder than steel. “No. Puppets break too easily. I want you aware. Present. Controlled. But not lifeless. That’s boring.”
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly. But effective.”
He stood suddenly, napkin discarded beside his untouched wine glass. “Be ready by seven. Tonight, we go public.”
“Public?”
“A Devereux never hides his assets.”
Her jaw clenched. “I’m not your asset.”
“You’re mine, Eveline. And the world will know it.”
With that, he left her at the table, her plate untouched, her throat dry.
Alright! Here's the extended continuation of Chapter 4 of Bound by Blood, Owned by the Devil, picking up right where we left off. This version deepens the emotional conflict and builds more tension before the public appearance.
Eveline sat motionless long after Lucien left.
The chandelier above her sparkled mockingly, a cruel reminder of her new reality—a reality gilded in gold but soaked in shadow. Every inch of this house whispered his name. Every corner breathed power and possession.
She was suffocating in it.
She stared at the plate before her. Eggs, steak, toast—everything meticulously arranged. Everything cold. Like him.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed her chair back and stood. She didn’t eat. Couldn’t. Her stomach was coiled too tight with dread.
The mansion felt like a maze, but the moment she stepped into the corridor, she noticed the men.
Guards.
Two of them posted outside the dining hall. Silent. Unmoving. Their eyes followed her like hawks but they said nothing.
Lucien didn’t need locks to cage her.
He had people.
She moved quickly, hoping to find a moment of solitude. But every hallway she passed seemed to have a camera hidden in the corners. Discreet. Blinking.
He's watching me.
The thought burrowed deep into her chest like a splinter.
Eveline made her way to one of the balconies overlooking the east gardens. The cold morning breeze slapped her skin, but she welcomed it—it reminded her she was still human, still alive.
She gripped the railing, knuckles white. Her breath escaped in visible clouds.
Below, the garden looked serene. Beautiful, even. A sea of roses and marble statues.
She hated it.
It was too perfect. Too planned. Like everything in Lucien’s world, nothing here was accidental.
Eveline touched the thin gold band now wrapped around her finger. The ring wasn’t large. It was simple, elegant, and impossibly tight.
Just like him. Beautiful. Deceptive. Inescapable.
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That night, her door creaked open at exactly 6:55 p.m.
“I said be ready by seven,” Lucien said.
Eveline turned from the mirror. She hadn’t chosen the dress. It had been laid out for her earlier that afternoon—deep crimson silk, with a slit too high and a neckline too low. The color of blood and lust.
Lucien’s eyes swept over her slowly, like he was drinking in every inch of his possession.
“I see you’re obedient after all.”
“I’m not obedient,” she said quietly. “I’m surviving.”
Lucien smirked. “Same thing.”
He offered his arm. She didn’t take it.
He didn’t seem offended. “Suit yourself.”
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The ride was silent. She sat beside him in the back of the black Rolls-Royce, her hands clenched tightly on her lap, her skin prickling with nerves.
“Where are we going?” she asked finally.
“To a gathering of allies. A celebration. A show.”
“A show?”
He turned to her with a knowing smile. “A show of power. Of ownership. You, my dear, are the centerpiece.”
She stared at him, heart pounding. “You’re parading me.”
“I’m introducing you. There’s a difference. You’re no longer just Eveline Grace. You’re Eveline Devereux now. And that name carries weight—whether you want it or not.”
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The event was hosted at a private estate overlooking the sea.
Grand chandeliers. White marble floors. Hundreds of eyes.
The moment Eveline stepped into the grand ballroom beside Lucien, every head turned.
She could feel them—the stares, the whispers, the curiosity.
“Is that her?”
“Devereux’s wife?”
“She’s… beautiful.”
“She looks scared.”
She walked like a ghost beside him, head held high but soul shrinking with every step. Lucien’s hand hovered near her back—not touching, but close enough that everyone felt the possession.
He leaned toward her ear as they ascended the stairs to the raised platform.
“Smile,” he murmured. “Or I’ll give them something else to talk about.”
She did.
A small, painful curve of her lips.
He raised his glass as the crowd watched.
“To new beginnings,” Lucien said, voice smooth and commanding. “And to the woman who will stand beside me as I reshape this empire.”
The room erupted in applause.
Eveline wanted to disappear.
But then… her eyes caught something.
A man, standing at the far end of the room. Dressed in black. Watching her—not with curiosity, not with admiration… but with recognition.
Her breath hitched.
She knew that face.
From a memory buried deep—too brief, too fragmented. But it was there.
He nodded once, subtly.
And just like that, hope flickered.
Maybe she wasn’t alone in this hell after all.
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- Writer
