"Miss Thea, the master wants to see you in his office," Fiona said softly, her head bowed low, before she quickly turned on her heel and left.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, leaving me frozen in place, swallowed whole by my own dread.

A sharp sigh left my lips as I forced myself to sit up, limbs heavy, chest already tightening with that familiar choking feeling.

My heartbeat stumbled, thumping against my ribs like a warning drum. Being alone in that room with him never brought comfort-only a gnawing unease that settled deep in my bones.

My father -Thane Rector.

I muttered a curse under my breath and pushed myself off the bed, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet that covered every inch of my room. My fingers tugged at the creases of my silk nightdress, smoothing it down even though I knew it wouldn't matter to him. It never did.

Stepping out of my room, I made my way through the suffocating halls. The mansion stood tall and imposing, flaunting its wealth shamelessly. Gilded doors, diamond chandeliers sparkling like artificial stars, golden trimmings that caught every light, expensive paintings that probably cost more than most people's homes... the walls reeked of power and luxury. It was everything anyone on the outside would envy.

But not me.

To me, it all looked hollow, lifeless-like a lavish cage built to keep me in chains. These corridors did not carry warmth, only shadows. The towering ceilings and long hallways didn't offer freedom; they pressed down on me like the weight of chains wrapped around my neck.

Every step I took reminded me of the years spent walking these same polished floors. I had memorized every marble tile, every carved pillar, every ornate door. The luxury didn't impress me anymore. It disgusted me. It whispered reminders of how my life had been bought and shaped, how my choices had been stolen from me the second my mother married Thane Rector.

This wasn't a home.

It was a palace built on blood money, held together by fear, and I was nothing more than a bird trapped inside, doomed to call it my sanctuary.

I grew up inside these marble walls after my mother married Thane when I was seven. Back then, I had no real opinion about him, just a quiet dislike I couldn't understand.

My mother wanted power, she got it. Now he was more than just powerful-he was feared, hated, and unstoppable.

The Rector fortune could fill oceans, enough to drown entire nations in gold and diamonds, but not a single drop of it ever fell into my hands freely.

Every thread of silk on my body, every bite of food on my plate came with conditions-silent chains attached to my wrists, keeping me bound to the master of this grand house.

I was never treated like a daughter. Daughters were supposed to be loved, protected, cherished. I was none of those things.

I became nothing more than a dressed-up servant, paraded in designer clothes while fulfilling tasks that reminded me every single day of my real place in this household.

My duties were clear, never spoken but always expected. I prepared his meals, always exactly the way he liked them.

I scrubbed his office, polished the desk he ran his bloody empire from. I ironed his tailored suits until they were crisp and perfect, arranged his cufflinks, stocked his cologne, and knew every brand of product that touched his skin.

I memorized his preferences like holy scripture. I knew how long his ties should fall, how sharp the pleats of his trousers needed to be, what cut of steak he preferred, and exactly how much ice to put in his whiskey. I knew his exact shirt size, his shoe size, and the fit of the tight boxer briefs he insisted on wearing.

No one else in this mansion could serve him. No other hand could lay out his wardrobe or prepare his meals. It had to be me. Always me.

And for reasons I could never understand, he kept me close. Not in a loving, fatherly way. But like a predator keeping his prey within reach, observing every move with that cold, silent intensity that made my skin crawl. His stare followed me everywhere, sharp like a blade pressed against my throat, waiting for me to slip.

Over time, I perfected the art of shrinking myself. Of keeping my head low, my steps quiet, my words soft. Every day felt like walking on glass, careful not to trigger whatever storm brewed behind those calculating eyes.

I stood at his office door, fingers curling around the brass handle. My silk nightdress clung to my skin, delicate straps sliding down my shoulders. I yanked them back into place and took a shaky breath before knocking lightly, just enough for him to hear.

"Enter," he called, his voice flat and cold, carrying that usual emptiness that always found a way to squeeze my chest tighter.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. His stare hooked me instantly-those sharp, silver-blue eyes locked on me, dragging me in like chains around my throat. My steps faltered. My legs refused to move, breath caught in my chest. I stood there, trapped beneath his cold gaze, pinned like prey before the predator.

Then... he smiled.

Not the careless, arrogant grin I had grown used to. This smile moved slower, stretched wider, dripping with something darker... something filthy and possessive. It felt like he already knew every wicked thought swirling in my head. Like he had already decided what to do with me.

The room seemed to shrink around us, thick with tension.

"You called for me, father?" My voice came out tight, trying to stay strong while my body betrayed me, shivering under his gaze. My arms stayed stiff, fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms to keep from showing how much I trembled.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers stroking his trimmed beard, his stare dipping lower, tracing my shape with slow hunger. He drank in every curve, every soft line beneath my dress, lips curling up in quiet amusement as I fidgeted beneath his silent command.

"Pour me a drink, Thea," he said, his deep voice drenched in something too smooth, too thick... like honey laced with poison.

Heat crawled up my neck. I kept my head down, walked to the cabinet with slow steps, and poured his favorite whiskey, feeling his stare burn into my back the whole time. My hands shook just slightly when I placed the glass before him, fingers brushing the edge of the desk, close enough to feel his heat, close enough to smell the heavy musk of leather and dominance clinging to him.

I swallowed hard and stepped back, my body tingling, skin tight with nervous heat.

"Anything else, daddy?" I asked, breathless, biting my lower lip to stop the shiver threatening to escape.

His fingers tapped the desk before pointing lazily to the chair opposite him. His lips curved in a smirk, voice low and rough as it curled around me like a leash.

"Sit that soft, pretty ass down, girl," he purred. "Right where I can watch you squirm."

My knees weakened, thighs pressing together as my body warmed. My skin prickled, nipples tightening under the thin fabric, and every inch of me ached with a dangerous craving.

I obeyed, knowing this was just the start.

I forced my stubborn eyes to lift, even though every part of me screamed to look away.

The Devil stood there, leaning lazily against his desk, watching me like I was his favorite sin. He was... breathtaking. Too beautiful to be real. The heavens had crafted him to be an angel, but he spit in their face. He chose chaos over purity. Destruction over peace.

That all-black suit molded perfectly to his tall, muscular body, hugging every hard line of him like a second skin. The crisp fabric whispered with every small movement, looking soft but sharp enough to cut. His silver-blue eyes stared through me, cold and empty like frozen oceans, dragging me under with no escape.

And yet... something dangerous flickered in those depths. That cruel glint I had seen so many times before... right before punishment... right before pain. It made my throat tighten, made heat flood between my thighs even as fear crawled up my spine. I hated it. I hated how my body responded to him while my mind screamed to run.

His lips-God, his lips-stayed set in a straight, unkind line. Those lips had only kissed with cruelty, only whispered punishments... yet I still wondered how they'd feel pressed against my throat, against my chest, against places I shouldn't even imagine. My cheeks burned, but my thighs pressed tighter.

His dark hair fell to his shoulders in soft, thick waves. Clean and silky, yet heavy with the weight of every sin he committed. Every inch of him screamed power, danger, possession. He stood tall-six foot seven of muscle and lethal grace. The kind of man who made other men shrink into the background. The kind of man who made women forget their common sense.

He didn't need to speak often. His stare told me everything. My skin prickled under it, my nipples hardening beneath my thin dress, my thighs clenching tighter. My body remembered the lessons before... the rough grip of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the burn of his punishment mixed with forbidden pleasure.

His voice finally came, soft and smooth, but it slid over me like silk wrapping around my neck. "I heard you had a little chat today..." he said, swirling his whiskey, his stare never leaving me. "With a boy."

My stomach twisted. I knew the bodyguards betrayed me. I knew Varto would sell me out the second Lucifer gave him a look. My cheeks burned hotter, my head lowering as I whispered, "Yes... daddy..."

His fingers kept circling the rim of his glass, slow and lazy, but I caught the flex in his jaw... the warning.

His eyes sharpened, his voice dropped, dark and heavy. "I heard something else, too." His grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, wicked and hungry. "That you smiled... that you giggled like a needy little girl... like you enjoyed it... like you wanted him. Is that true, princess?"

I gripped my dress tighter, trying to ground myself. I couldn't lie. Lying only made it worse... and sometimes, he liked it when I confessed my sins. My chest rose fast, my voice coming out shaky, soft. "Yes... daddy... it's true."

Silence fell like a heavy blanket.

Then... the soft scrape of his chair. My spine straightened on instinct, heart slamming in my chest. My nipples ached, my thighs shook, heat pooled dangerously low in my belly. His footsteps circled me, slow and purposeful, like a lion circling his prey.

"Liloco knows..." his whisper brushed my ear, sending a shiver down my back, "she's not allowed to play with boys."

I gasped when his fingers traced my bare shoulder, dragging softly down my arm before dipping beneath the thin strap of my dress. His breath brushed my neck, hot, thick, making goosebumps rise on my skin while my core throbbed with aching need.

"She knows what happens when she breaks daddy's rules," he murmured, his tone dark, full of promise.

I whimpered. My legs pressed together, desperate to hide the wetness slicking my thighs. My breath quickened, my body burning under his touch.

"I... I'm sorry... please," my voice trembled as my back arched helplessly toward him. "I... I didn't mean to upset you... I swear... I won't do it again... please, daddy... don't be mad."

His hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to make me gasp. His lips brushed my ear, his voice thick with heat.

"Oh, baby girl," he purred, "I'm not mad... I'm hungry."

My voice sounded weak and pathetic. My heart dropped lower as I waited for his next action.

He let go of me "Did you enjoy his company?" His voice stayed low and calm, each word smooth and steady like a blade against my skin. His tone betrayed nothing, but I could feel the storm hidden beneath his perfect mask. My heart pounded, sharp and painful, making it hard to breathe. This was a test-a dangerous trap I could not afford to fail.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to obey. "No..." I whispered, my throat tight.

It was a lie.

I did like Jon. I liked him more than I should have. But it didn't matter. I had no right to like anyone else.

I belonged to someone else. I belonged to him.

Lucifer owned me.

"Good girl," he breathed against my ear, his words sending a shiver racing down my spine. His thick fingers slipped through my hair, slow and lazy, massaging my scalp like I was nothing more than a pet beneath him. "Because I'll crush anyone foolish enough to take what belongs to me," his voice rumbled, deeper now, laced with heat and warning. "Next time... I won't be so forgiving, understood, little angel?"

"Yes... yes, daddy... I understand," I gasped, my voice trembling as I gave him what he wanted.

For a brief second, I felt relief when he leaned back in his seat, his grip loosening in my hair. But it didn't last.

His cold eyes sharpened, pinning me in place, and his palm tapped his thick thigh. My stomach dropped.

"Come here, princess," he ordered, rolling up his sleeves, his tone smooth but carrying the sharp edge of danger. "Bend over daddy's lap for your punishment."

My whole body tensed, but I stood, swallowing my fear. I walked straight to him, each step making my legs weaker. Like a lamb walking into the lion's jaws.

His eyes devoured every part of me. I dropped to my knees, bowing my head, letting my hair fall forward to hide the heat rushing to my cheeks. His large hands circled my waist and dragged me over his lap like I weighed nothing. My chest pressed into his firm thigh, the heat of his body making my skin burn with anticipation.

I knew what was coming.

So did he.

His hand slid up my bare thighs, strong fingers parting them slightly as he dragged my nightdress up higher, bunching it around my hips. My breath caught as the cool air kissed my now exposed flesh. My core clenched, body betraying me, pulsing with need. I felt too bare, too vulnerable, but the heat pooling between my legs only worsened.

I glanced up, locking eyes with him. His stare was sharp and hungry, like a predator about to devour his prey. I whimpered when his hand left me for a second, only to hear the drawer beside him open.

A soft gasp escaped my lips when I saw it... the black paddle. Thick, smooth, heavy in his grasp.

I thought it was gone.

I turned my head, pressing my cheek against his thigh, gripping his leg tightly as my pulse raced. My thighs quivered, my core throbbing with a dangerous mix of fear and forbidden excitement.

"This is your only warning," his voice dropped, thick with promise and punishment. His palm rested on the curve of my ass, squeezing softly before sliding lower, teasing the sensitive skin between my thighs. "Next time... I'll make it ten times worse."

His fingers dipped between my legs, finding my slickness with ease. His chuckle rumbled through his chest, dark and pleased.

"Naughty little angel... already so wet for daddy's punishment."

I pressed my palms against the cold floor, trying to keep still.

I kept my mouth shut, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something stupid.

My bare backside sat exposed over his lap, waiting for the first blow. I forced myself not to flinch even though my heart beat fast in my chest.

Normally, the Devil wasted no time. He always struck fast, always let the punishment rain down without mercy.

Yet this time, nothing happened. No sharp pain, no angry words. Just silence.

I peeked up from the corner of my eye, confused. His hand rested on my lower back, heavy and warm. I dared not move, but my mind spun fast.

My father loved control. Every punishment was his way of reminding me who had power, who made the rules in this cursed mansion. But now, it felt different. This silence dragged on, stretching the tension until it knotted up inside my belly.

Then I felt it-his hand moved, slow and steady, stroking my skin like he owned every inch of it.

Smack!

His palm dragged across my exposed flesh, smooth and warm, pressing down gently on every curve as if he wanted to memorize me through touch alone.

It shocked me more than any slap ever could. My whole body tensed. I froze, too stunned to react, too confused to speak. His touch carried no rage, no sharp discipline. It was soft... careful... almost teasing.

My breath caught in my throat when his fingers glided along the edge of my hips, tracing slow circles that made my stomach tighten.

He moved up my body, his fingers trailing over my skin like I was his personal possession.

He touched every rib, slow and greedy, dragging his hands down until every inch of me tingled and burned. I hated how much my body begged for him. Every stroke lit up my nerves. Every squeeze made my thighs clench, aching for something more.

He yanked my nightdress up, bunching it at my waist like it got in his way. My chest rose and fell too fast. His knuckles brushed under my ribs and I bit my lip, fighting the needy moan threatening to slip.

Then his fingers went lower, hooking under my lace panties and tugging them up sharply.

The soft fabric pressed right against my swollen clit, teasing the soaked flesh underneath. I stayed still, jaw locked tight, but the heat between my legs grew worse. My pussy throbbed, wet and wanting, ready to be touched, used, ruined.

This wasn't punishment. There were no cruel words, no harsh grip. Only quiet, sinful touches that made my body burn hotter. My breath came out shaky. My legs felt weak. I tried to fight it, but my body wanted more.

His palm cupped my lower back before moving to my bare thighs, fingers gripping my flesh before spreading me apart. The cold air kissed my wet, needy core.

My whole body shivered. He could smell me, feel how ready I was for him, how my pussy dripped just for him.

I should have pulled away. I should have screamed. But all I felt was hunger. A wild, raw need that made my stomach tighten, my heart race, and my pussy throb.

My panties sat halfway down my legs, forgotten. My nipples ached, sensitive as they rubbed against the fabric of my dress. My whole body squirmed under his greedy hands.

Then I heard it.

A low, deep groan rumbling from his chest. My body tensed, soaking in the sound of pure, male hunger.

His strong hands grabbed my waist and pulled me down onto his hard, thick thigh. I gasped as my wet core pressed against his muscles. I felt everything-his power, his desire, his thick cock pressed tight inside his pants.

A moan broke free from my throat, soft and desperate. "Ahh..."

My hips moved on their own, grinding against his thigh, chasing every bit of friction I could steal.

His grip tightened, holding me down, making me feel small, weak, and helpless under him. I could feel how much he wanted me, how hard he was, how much his cock pulsed for me.

His hand slid lower again, fingers exploring my wet pussy, brushing over my swollen clit before slipping through my folds.

My body jerked, needy and eager. My hips rolled shamelessly, rubbing myself all over his thigh, moaning louder, drowning in the pleasure.

I didn't care what this made me. I didn't care if it ruined me. I just wanted more.

Just when I thought I would completely fall apart, a sharp knock cut through the air.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

'Oh shit.'