The luciver

THE CRYSTAL CHANDELIER HANGING from the penthouse ceiling dimmed, leaving a golden glow that reflected off the cold, black marble table. Outside the massive floor to ceiling windows, the gloomy New York sky began to pour, washing over the skyscrapers that looked like giant tombstones in the dead of night. The silence inside the room was so heavy that the ticking of the wall clock sounded like the strike of a judge’s gavel, ready to deliver a death sentence

Iris stood frozen in the center of the room. Her black silk dress forced upon her by the man’s servants felt like a noose tightening around her skin. She felt utterly naked beneath his gaze, even though her entire body was covered in expensive fabric. Across from her, a man sat with a terrifying stillness. Luciver. That name was a curse in the New York underworld; a name synonymous with absolute power and calculated cruelty.

Luciver wore a crisp white shirt that contrasted sharply with the darkness of the room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, corded forearms and a luxury chronograph watch glinting on his wrist. He looked like a successful businessman, but his eyes belonged to a predator that had just locked onto its prey.

"You are three minutes late, Iris.” Luciver’s voice was low, barely above a whisper, yet the vibration of it sent chills straight down her spine.

"In my world, three minutes can cost a life. Lucky for you, I happen to be in a fairly good mood tonight."

Iris clenched her cold fingers together, fighting to keep her voice from cracking. "I didn't exactly have a choice but to come, did I? you froze all of my father's bank accounts. You destroyed my family's business overnight.”

Luciver let out a low, humorless chuckle. He rose slowly, his towering frame casting a long shadow that seemed to swallow Iris’s small figure whole. He walked around the marble table with measured, deliberate steps. Every thud of his shoes against the granite floor felt like a countdown.

"Don't act like a holy sacrifice, Iris." Luciver said, stopping right behind her. He leaned in, letting his sharp masculine scent mixed with expensive sandalwood invade her senses. "Your father is a foolish gambler. He wagered what he didn't own. He borrowed money from me, and when he lost, he offered something he claimed was worth his life.”

Luciver reached out, his cold fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from Iris’s shoulder before slowly tracing up to her jaw. He gripped her jawline—not hard enough to leave a bruise, but firm enough to force her to look up into his dark, empty eyes.

"He offered you, Iris. Your beloved father sold you to cover his absurd debts. So, stop looking at me as if I'm the villain here. I am simply a buyer who came to collect his property."

"I am not property!" Iris hissed, attempting to wrench herself free from his grip.

The grip only tightened. "You are my property, dammit. Accept the fact." Luciver whispered right against her lips, the profanity slipping out with an eerie, calm emphasis. "From this second onward, your pride, your body, and your breath belong to me. You will live here. You will go nowhere without my permission. You will be the 'night' that i alone get to enjoy."

Iris felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she forced them back. She knew Luciver despised weakness, and she refused to give him that satisfaction. "And then what? You want to make me your sex slave?”

Luciver released her jaw with a harsh shove, making her stagger back slightly. He returned to his desk, picking up a thick, black leather-bound document. "Slave is a rather crude word. I prefer to look at it as an 'investment'. By day, you will be the most beautiful ornament in this mansion, standing by my side at every event as a symbol of my power. And at night..." Luciver paused, his gaze raking over her in a way that made her feel completely stripped bare. "...you will give me whatever I ask for without argument."

"And if i refuse?”

Luciver shrugged casually, sipping the whiskey from his crystal glass. "Simple. I will ensure your father rots in the filthiest prison in this country, and your little sister… what's her name? Serena? I hear she just started at an expensive boarding school. It would be a terrible shame if her scholarship was revoked and she ended up on the streets just because her older sister was too selfish.”

The blood in Iris’s veins turned to ice. This man knew everything. Luciver had mapped out every single inch of her life before she had even set foot in this room. This wasn't just a debt; it was a flawlessly designed cage.

"You're a monster." Iris whispered, her voice trembling.

"I am your Master, Iris. Learn to tell the difference mi amor." Luciver slammed his whiskey glass down onto the marble with a sharp thud. He stepped closer again, but this time he didn't touch her face. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest in a possessive yank. "Don't force me to use harsher methods to teach you manners. I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours just because you're too stupid to comply.”

Locked in his suffocating embrace, Iris could feel the steady, calm rhythm of Luciver’s heartbeat. There was no guilt, no hesitation. The man truly possessed no heart.

"Choose, Iris. The freedom of the streets that will destroy your family, or a luxury prison in my arms while your family stays safe?"

Iris stared at Luciver’s white shirt, looking so pure, in stark contrast to his pitch-black soul. She realized that running away was an impossibility. Luciver had locked all the doors before she even realized she was being hunted.

"I... I agree.." she whispered finally, surrendering to the dark fate.

Luciver curled his lips into a faint, victorious smirk that made Iris want to scream. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he murmured the words that sealed her destiny.

"Good girl. You're my night now, mi amor. And remember, the night never ends for those who belong to me.”

Luciver released his hold, turning back toward the massive windows overlooking the New York skyline. He stood there with his back to her, as if her presence was no longer a threat, but merely another piece of property in his expensive collection.

"The maid will show you to your room. Do not try to lock the door. In this house, not a single inch of space is closed off to me," Luciver stated without looking back. "And Iris... don't even think about contacting anyone. If I find even a single trace of communication with the outside world, you will learn the true, painful meaning of 'regret'.”

Iris could only stand there in the center of the cold, opulent room, realizing she had just surrendered her soul to a devil in a designer suit. That night, the New York rain bore silent witness to the erasure of a girl named Iris, who was now nothing more than a shadow under the absolute rule of Luciver.