The Devil’s Game

Arianna's breath came in short, uneven bursts as she struggled against the invisible force binding her to the chair.

Her wrists burned—not physically, but deep in her soul, as if something unseen had shackled her in place.

Damien watched her struggle with quiet amusement, his silver eyes gleaming under the dim candlelight. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers lazily trailing along the stem of a glass filled with dark crimson liquid.

Wine.

Or was it?

Arianna's stomach twisted. You can't panic. Not now.

She forced herself to sit still, her pulse pounding against the inside of her skull. "What is this?" she demanded, voice sharper than she intended.

Damien tilted his head, his smirk widening. "A lesson."

Her jaw tightened. "A lesson in what? How to be your prisoner?"

He chuckled. "No, my dear. A lesson in power."

Arianna clenched her fists, ignoring the way her skin buzzed under the unseen restraints. "If you think I'm going to sit here and—"

"You already are."

The simple statement sent a chill racing down her spine.

She was sitting here. Helpless. Trapped. Bound to him by something she couldn't even see.

Damien leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You don't understand the nature of our bond yet, little wife." His voice was soft, almost hypnotic. "But you will."

Arianna forced herself to hold his gaze. "I'll never belong to you."

Something flickered in his expression—something dark and unreadable. He let out a slow sigh, as if disappointed.

"I wonder," he murmured, reaching for his glass, "if the others thought the same."

Arianna's blood ran cold.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers digging into the arms of the chair. "The others?"

Damien took a slow sip of the dark liquid before setting the glass down with a soft clink. "The ones who came before you."

Her throat tightened.

She had suspected it, of course. Lilith had hinted at it. But hearing Damien confirm it sent a wave of nausea crashing over her.

"How many?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Damien regarded her for a long moment, his silver eyes unreadable. Then, he exhaled.

"Does it matter?"

Yes.

Yes, it mattered. Because if there were others before her, it meant that none of them had escaped.

Arianna swallowed the lump in her throat. "And where are they now?"

A slow, knowing smile stretched across his lips. "You already know the answer."

Her body turned to ice.

Dead.

They were all dead.

Arianna's breath hitched.

She yanked at the unseen force binding her, panic clawing up her throat like a wild animal. She couldn't end up like them. She wouldn't.

Damien watched her struggle with quiet amusement. "You're different from them."

Arianna stilled.

His voice was softer now, more thoughtful. As if he were contemplating something he hadn't considered before.

His silver eyes darkened. "They broke too easily. Some begged for freedom. Others tried to fight." His smirk faded slightly. "None of them lasted."

Arianna's fingers curled into the chair. "And you think I will?"

Damien exhaled. "You fascinate me, Arianna."

Her heart stuttered.

There was something genuine in his voice. Not mockery, not cruelty—something else.

Something far more dangerous.

She had seen the way he looked at her. How his eyes lingered too long, how his smirk twitched at the edges as if restraining something darker.

Arianna's skin prickled with unease.

This wasn't just about a contract.

Damien was watching her. Studying her.

As if trying to understand her.

Or worse—as if she was the first thing in centuries that had ever intrigued him.

Arianna swallowed hard. "If you expect me to break, you'll be disappointed."

Damien chuckled. "Oh, I hope not."

He snapped his fingers.

The invisible restraints vanished.

Arianna lurched forward, gasping as the crushing pressure disappeared. She gripped the table for support, her breath ragged.

Damien leaned back, satisfied. "See? A lesson in power."

She glared at him, her body still trembling. "You're a monster."

He only smirked. "And you, my dear, are my wife."

Arianna's heart pounded.

She had to get out of here. Now.

But how?

She could feel it—the unseen bond tying her to him, whispering in the back of her mind like a curse she couldn't shake.

But every contract had a loophole.

Every curse had a weakness.

And if Damien thought she was just going to sit here and accept this fate—

He was dead wrong.