Chapter 1 Sold to the devil

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It rained the night her life was traded. Not that it mattered to the man who signed her away.

Amira Monroe sat stiffly in the corner of the dark room, the cold of the storm leaking through the cracked window behind her. Her long curls clung to her skin, soaked from the short walk to the building. Her father hadn't even offered her an umbrella.

She wasn't surprised. He never cared about her. Never shielded her from the bruises of life. Never gave her love, only orders. And tonight, he was giving her away.

The contract sat on the mahogany table between two men. Her father, Charles Monroe, an aging gambler in debt, and Leonardo Vercetti, the man they called the Devil in a designer suit.

Leonardo didn't speak much. He didn't need to. Power sat on him like a crown. Tall, broad, young-only twenty-four-but the deadliest man alive. His wealth was beyond comprehension. His cruelty, legendary.

He tapped a gold pen against the table, looking bored.

"She'll do," Leonardo said after one glance at Amira. "Sign it."

Her father didn't hesitate. Didn't flinch. He signed his name with a cold smirk and pushed the document forward like he was closing a real estate deal.

"That's it?" Amira asked, her voice low, hoarse.

Charles turned to her, dry-eyed and unapologetic. "Be grateful I picked you and not your sister."

Her stomach twisted.

She stood up, fists clenched. "You're selling me to a monster."

"He's rich. You'll live better than you ever have here."

"And if I say no?"

"I'll marry off your sister instead," he said flatly. "He agreed to take either of you."

Amira froze.

He wouldn't.

But the look in his eyes told her everything. He would. And he'd sleep like a baby afterward.

Her little sister, Aria-sweet, soft, only sixteen-wouldn't survive a man like Leonardo. Not even a day.

Amira's heart dropped into her stomach. The air thickened with the weight of her silence. She swallowed hard.

"I'll go," she said quietly. "Leave Aria out of this."

Leonardo stood, adjusting the cuffs of his black shirt. "Good girl. Be ready in the morning."

---

The mansion was a fortress.

Massive iron gates. Armed guards. Security cameras at every corner. White stone walls and endless glass windows, shining like ice. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a castle built by a man who wanted to be untouchable.

Leonardo didn't welcome her when she arrived. He simply walked away.

She was escorted to a large, cold bedroom by a silent maid. The bed was king-sized. The sheets were black silk. There were no pictures, no flowers, no warmth. Just space. Sterile. Owned.

Dinner came, untouched. She wasn't hungry.

The silence in the room roared around her. Her body was tense, her mind louder. She sat at the edge of the bed, hands in her lap, staring into nothing.

The door opened at midnight.

Leonardo stepped in without a word, his presence enough to darken the room.

He didn't ask. He didn't wait.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

She looked up, heart skipping.

"Now," he added.

Amira stood slowly, her fingers trembling as she reached for the straps of her dress. She felt humiliated. Powerless. But she moved. Obedience was survival here.

He watched her with icy detachment, like she was a thing to be inspected. When she stood bare before him, his eyes moved down her body, slow and sharp.

"You're beautiful," he muttered, stepping closer.

His hands were rough. Possessive. He touched her like she was already his. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She lay there, still, silent, her mind somewhere far away.

His weight pinned her. His breath was hot against her neck. There was no gentleness in his touch, no emotion in his voice. Only command. Only dominance.

When it was over, he didn't say a word.

He stood, dressed, and walked out like she didn't matter. Like she wasn't real.

Amira lay there, cold and aching, staring at the ceiling. She had no idea how much time passed.

But one thing was clear.

She was married to a man with no heart.

And the life ahead of her had just become a living, breathing hell.