My body jerked, startled, but the heavy ache between my legs only worsened.

I stumbled to my feet, dragging my nightdress down, but my thighs were sticky, my panties ruined, and I couldn't hide the way my body reacted.

Then I made the mistake of looking down.

My breath caught painfully.

His arousal strained against his pants, thick and hard, resting boldly along his thigh. There was no denying it. He was hard because of me-because of my gasps, my squirming, my exposed body.

And he wanted me to see it.

He moved his hand, deliberately giving me an unobstructed view. My lips trembled, parted in shock, but the fire between my legs only grew worse, my walls clenching around nothing.

When I forced my gaze up to his face, I met eyes darkened with desire, glinting with hunger and raw dominance. His smirk was slow and filthy, dripping with satisfaction.

Then he turned away, leaving me throbbing, breathless, and aching.

I ran to the door, my body still hot, my thighs pressed tight, and my core soaked in a way I didn't understand. I almost bumped into Macheno, but I didn't stop. I couldn't look at anyone. My skin still felt like it burned from his touch, and my body wanted something dirty I could never say out loud.

Almost an hour passed, but my body stayed restless. My skin stayed hot, my thighs stayed squeezed together, and my stomach felt tight with a need that scared me. I laid there in the dark, holding my sheets tight while my mind refused to calm down. My heart raced, my chest moved in quick gasps, and my thoughts kept dragging me back to that office... back to him.

I had never been kissed, never had a boyfriend, never been hugged by a boy. But now, my whole body felt like it had been claimed by something sinful. No man ever dared to come close to me. Everyone saw me as the Devil's daughter. Pure. Untouched. Innocent.

But after tonight, could I still call myself innocent?

I bit my lip, trying to make the heat between my legs go away. I had read dirty books and seen sinful videos. I knew what desire looked like. I had seen it with my own eyes. I had stared straight at his thick, hard cock pressing through his expensive pants, shameless and bold.

I shivered just thinking about it. Out of all the cruel things my stepfather had done, this one stayed in my head the most. He didn't need to say anything. His silence messed me up more than any punishment ever could.

The Devil didn't need to yell. He made you weak by making you think, by making you imagine, by making you want. His cold, silver-blue eyes twisted me up inside, filling my head with dirty, forbidden thoughts. He had always scared me, but tonight... he made me feel something else.

His blood daughters always stayed away from him, always quiet, always hidden in this house. But me? He always looked at me like I belonged to him. I didn't know if I wanted to run away or crawl into his lap and beg him to keep going.

I needed a distraction. I needed someone to talk to before I went crazy.

I grabbed my phone and called the only person who ever made me feel normal-Mayia.

Her beautiful face lit up my screen. "Sevo," I whispered, my voice shaky, but my lips curved into a grin.

"Nessa, you look so cute even this late," Mayia teased, pouting adorably. "Look at me, I look like I fought a tornado."

We had been friends for years, soulmates even, though we had never met. She lived hours away, but she knew me better than anyone else. She was my safe place.

"I... I need to tell you something, and it's bad," I said quickly before fear could hold me back.

Mayia's pretty green eyes widened. "Oh my God... wait, don't tell me... a boy kissed you?"

I shook my head.

"Someone confessed?" she guessed again, but I shook my head harder.

She gasped playfully. "That creepy math teacher finally made a move?"

That one earned a laugh from me, but I knew it wasn't that simple.

"May... I..." My fingers curled around the edge of my nightgown, my voice dropping. "My stepdad... the Devil... he called me to his office tonight because I got caught flirting with a boy and..." My throat went dry, and I almost didn't continue.

May leaned in closer, her grin widening, her brows dancing. "Don't stop now."

I swallowed. "He didn't spank me, May. He-he started rubbing my ass... touching me... like... slow... soft touches, and... he almost pulled my panties off. If someone hadn't knocked, I don't know what would have happened."

May's jaw dropped. Her hand flew to her chest. "Girl... that sounds exactly like that scene from Specific Taste... Domino and Isobel... remember?"

A shiver ran down my spine at the comparison. Specific Taste was one of our filthiest reads-Domino, the dominant older man who introduced young, untouched Isobel to the world of raw, dangerous lust.

My core pulsed just thinking about it.

But this wasn't fiction.

This was real. And it was wrong.

"The Devil and I aren't lovers," I said weakly, my thighs clenching together as my core throbbed with traitorous need. "I would never think of him that way... "

"That's not even the worst part," I admitted, feeling my throat tighten as the memory replayed in my head. "When I heard the knock, I stood up, fixed my nightdress, and looked at him... just to see if he was mad or something... but what I saw-May, you won't believe it."

May leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Girl, spit it out already! You're killing me with suspense."

I took a deep breath, heat flooding my cheeks as I whispered, "I... I saw a bulge. Like, full on... thick and impossible to miss. It was right there, pressing against his pants, bold as ever... like it wanted me to notice. And it wasn't just my imagination... I swear, he was at least half hard. It was... big, May... so big."

May's jaw dropped, but then her expression twisted into a grimace. "Ewwweee!"

That... wasn't the reaction I expected. My brows scrunched together. "Wait... ewweee? Why ewweee?"

May shrugged, waving her hand. "Well... he's your stepdad, so I just pictured an old, balding man with a huge beer belly. You know, the typical gross old creep."

My mouth fell open. I almost laughed in disbelief. She could not have been more wrong.

I shook my head quickly. "No... not even close," I muttered, probably sounding more defensive than I meant to.

May raised a brow, grinning slyly. "Okay... now I need to see this so-called Devil of yours. Send me a picture. I need to know what this scandal looks like."

"Fine... hold on," I said, already pulling out my browser. I didn't have personal pictures of him, but it wasn't hard to find. His photos were plastered all over the internet. I picked a few-one where he wore his signature tailored black suit, another in his crisp grey three-piece, and the last... his old military uniform, looking every bit the brutal, feared General. He didn't serve anymore, but his name still carried weight.

I sent the pictures, and within seconds, May's high-pitched squeals echoed through the phone speaker.

"Oh. My. God... no... no... no! Nessa, are you kidding me?! This man cannot be your stepfather. This... this is the literal definition of sin on legs! This is the man I imagine when I read about Nellie in Tarlia's series!"

My jaw clenched. Nellie... my Nellie. My fictional obsession. My filthy fantasy man.

And now she compared him... to my stepfather.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head in pure denial.

May didn't stop there. She adjusted her posture, pretending to be some CEO giving a corporate verdict. "Alright, here's my conclusion," she said, lips pursed. "Your Devil daddy is one-hundred percent attracted to you. I mean-he got hard while touching your ass, Nessa. That's not even a question."

My heart jumped to my throat. My hands tightened into fists.

"No! That's insane, May!" I cried. "He's my stepfather-he's married to my mother! He's just... always watching... but it's not... it can't be like that."

May just smirked, far too calm for my liking. "You keep telling yourself that, baby girl... but your body saw the truth first."

I shook my head harder, voice cracking, "What do I do, May? What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!"

The sunlight that filtered through the

floor-to-ceiling windows of the Rector breakfast nook was too bright, too

cheerful for the rot settling in my bones. I stood by the sideboard, my hands

trembling as I gripped the silver handle of the coffee carafe. The smell of

expensive Arabica beans, usually comforting, now made my stomach churn.

​Every time the silk of my skirt brushed

against the insides of my thighs, my breath hitched. I could still feel the

phantom weight of his hands. I could still feel the slickness that had dried

against my skin before I had spent an hour scrubbing myself in a scalding

shower, trying to wash away a sensation that seemed tattooed onto my soul.

​"Thea."

​His voice was a low vibration that seemed

to travel through the floorboards and up into my heels. I stiffened, my spine

turning into a rod of ice.

​Thane Rector sat at the head of the table,

the New York Financial Times spread out before him. He looked impeccable. Not a

hair out of place, his white dress shirt crisp enough to draw blood, the top

two buttons undone to reveal the tanned column of his throat. He looked like a

man who had slept the sleep of the righteous, not a man who had nearly

unraveled his stepdaughter's sanity just hours prior.

​"My coffee, girl," he prompted, his

silver-blue eyes remaining fixed on the newsprint.

​I walked toward him, my steps measured and

silent. As I leaned over to fill his cup, the scent of him-sandalwood,

expensive tobacco, and pure, unadulterated power-filled my lungs. My hand

shook, a single drop of dark liquid splashing onto the white linen tablecloth.

​I froze. In this house, a stain was a sin.

​Lucifer didn't look up. He simply reached

out, his large, warm hand wrapping around my wrist. His grip wasn't tight, but

it was absolute. He didn't pull me away; he held me there, leaning over him, my

heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

​"You're jumpy this morning," he murmured.

His thumb began to stroke the delicate skin of my inner wrist, right over my

racing pulse. He was counting my fear. "Did you not sleep well, Thea?"

​"I... I slept fine, Father," I lied, my

voice a mere whisper.

​"Lying is a foul habit," he said, finally

lifting his gaze. The coldness was gone, replaced by that dark, simmering

hunger that made my knees weak. He let go of my wrist, but only to trail his

fingers up my arm, pushing back the sleeve of my blouse. "Your eyes tell a

different story. They look... haunted. Perhaps you spent the night thinking about

our little session?"

​I couldn't speak. The air in the room felt

like it had been sucked out, replaced by a vacuum of his making.

​"Lucifer, dear, leave the girl alone.

She's clearly tired."

​My mother, Lucinda, swept into the room,

the scent of her cloying perfume preceding her. She didn't look at me; she

never really did. She looked at the empire Thane had built, at the gold on the

walls, and at the man who provided it. She sat at the opposite end of the

table, checking her reflection in a silver spoon.

​"The gala is in three days, Thane," she

said, her voice bright and artificial. "Thea needs to be well-rested. I've

already contacted the stylist. We're going for something... angelic. White lace,

perhaps?"

​Lucifer's gaze never left mine, even as he

answered her. "No. Not white. Thea has outgrown white, hasn't she, princess?"

​A slow, predatory smirk spread across his

face. "She will wear red. Deep, blood-red silk. I want everyone to see exactly

what kind of woman is growing up under my roof."

​The implication felt like a brand. I felt

the heat rise to my cheeks, a mixture of shame and a terrifying, forbidden

thrill. He wasn't just my guardian; he was my architect. He was stripping away

the innocence I had tried so hard to protect, layer by layer, until there was

nothing left but the creature he wanted me to be.

​"Red? Isn't that a bit... bold?" Lucinda

asked, finally looking my way with a flicker of annoyance.

​"It is perfect," Lucifer countered, his

tone final. "Now, go. You have school. And Thea?"

​I paused at the doorway, clutching my bag.

​"Don't let anyone else touch what I've

marked."

​Varn State High School felt like a

different planet. Here, the halls were filled with the mundane drama of

teenagers-college applications, football games, and petty heartbreaks. But as I

walked through the corridors, my two shadows, Varto and Marek, looming behind

me, I felt like an alien.

​The whispers started the moment I entered.

​"Look at her. She looks like she's seen a

ghost."

"Did you hear? Her father closed down

another factory in the Bronx. Three thousand people out of work."

"Stay away from her. The Donatello curse is

real."

​I ignored them, my mind a fractured mess

of Lucifer's touch and Mayia's warnings. I found myself looking for Nick. I

needed a shred of normalcy, a reminder that there was a world outside the

Rector mansion where men didn't treat women like property to be broken.

​I found him by his locker. He looked up,

his honey-colored eyes lighting up for a brief second before he saw the guards

behind me. The light vanished, replaced by a guarded caution.

​"Thea," he said softly as I approached.

"You okay? You look... pale."

​"I'm fine, Nick," I said, trying to force

a smile. "About the assignment... I have some notes on the 1920s trade embargoes.

Do you want to go over them in the library during lunch?"

​Nick glanced at Varto, who was watching us

with the blank, unblinking stare of a shark. "I don't know, Thea. Is it... safe?"

​"Safe?" I asked, a bitter laugh escaping

my lips. "Nowhere is safe, Nick. But the library is quiet."

​For thirty minutes in the library, I felt

a ghost of a life I could have had. Nick was kind. He listened. He didn't look

at me like I was a piece of meat or a political asset. He looked at me like a

girl.

​"You have a smudge of ink on your cheek,"

he said, reaching out instinctively.

​His fingers were inches from my face when

a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

​Varto didn't say a word. He didn't have

to. The sheer mass of him, the way he loomed over Nick, was enough. Nick's face

went white. He pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned.

​"Step back, kid," Varto rumbled. "Keep

your hands to yourself."

​"He was just helping me!" I snapped,

standing up, my chair screeching against the linoleum. "Leave him alone,

Varto!"

​Varto didn't even look at me. His eyes

were on Nick. "The Master's orders are clear. No contact. Move along."

​Nick looked at me, a mixture of pity and

fear in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Thea. I can't... I can't do this."

​He gathered his books and practically ran

out of the library. I stood there, trembling with a rage so hot it made my

vision blur. I turned on Varto, poking my finger into his rock-hard chest.

​"You're a monster! You're both monsters!"

​Varto remained unmoved. "I'm a bodyguard,

Miss Thea. And I'm protecting what belongs to Mr. Rector. If I were you, I'd be

careful. He doesn't like it when his property gets... agitated."

​I sank back into my chair, the silence of

the library feeling like a tomb. I wasn't just a student. I wasn't just a

daughter. I was a prisoner in a New York palace, and the bars were made of the

very people meant to keep me safe.

​I pulled out my phone and messaged Mayia.

He's everywhere, May. Even at school. I

can't breathe.

​Her reply came seconds later.

Then learn to breathe underwater, Nessa.

We're working on a plan. Just hold on. Don't let him break you.