The devil’s bride

I sold myself for ten million dollars.

And the devil collected his payment in full.

The heavy double doors of Ethan Vance’s glass-and-marble fortress clicked shut behind us, the sound echoing like a prison cell locking into place. It was then that the cold reality of my mistake settled into my bones.

The cavernous living room stretched out before us, but it wasn't empty. Half a dozen stunning, barely-clad women lounged across the minimalist furniture like prized, expensive pets. One was completely topless, straddling another on the white leather couch while low, sultry laughter filled the air. As we entered, another girl blew Ethan a casual kiss, her gaze sliding over me with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

“Like what you see, little ballerina?” Ethan’s voice was a low, cruel vibration against my ear as his hand clamped around the back of my neck. “Those are real women. Beautiful. Skilled. Worthy of my time. You’re just the pathetic charity case my father bought for ten million.”

Humiliation scorched my cheeks, hotter than fire. I stood there in my white silk wedding dress—an emblem of purity that felt utterly ridiculous, a sick joke next to the raw debauchery surrounding us.

He didn’t give me a single second to breathe. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he dismissed the women. They scattered without a word, leaving me entirely alone with the monster.

“On your knees.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

His fingers fisted into the intricate updo I’ve spent hours pinning together for a sham of a wedding. He yanked, hard. The sudden, burning pain pulled my scalp taut, forcing my chin up until the glittering chandelier blurred through a veil of hot tears.

“I said on your fucking knees,” he growled, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “You signed the contract. You belong to me now. Start acting like the property I paid for.”

My knees gave out, hitting the cold marble floor with a dull thud. The pristine white silk of my gown pooled around me like a target. With trembling hands, I reached for his waist. My fingers fumbled against the heavy metal of his belt buckle, the sharp slide of his zipper cutting through the silence of the room. When I freed him, my heart stopped. He was already rock-hard, dark veins pulsing against his skin. It looked obscene. Terrifying.

Ethan tapped my tear-streaked cheek with a mocking smirk. “Good little servant. At least you’re trainable. Now open that pretty mouth and worship what owns you.”

I barely had time to gasp before his hand locked into my hair again, forcing his length deep into my throat. I gagged violently, the metallic taste of fear flooding my mouth as he took what he wanted without mercy. Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto his skin as he used my mouth to satisfy his twisted dominance.

“Pathetic,” he groaned, his hips thrusting harder, unyielding. “Crying already, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He pulled out abruptly, leaving strings of saliva stretching from my swollen lips. Before I could catch my breath, he dragged me up by my hair, forcing my weak legs to stumble after him up the grand staircase.

The master bedroom was a frozen wasteland. Black silk sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cold city lights. No warmth. No mercy.

Ethan tore my wedding dress off me as if the very sight of the white silk offended him. Delicate fabric ripped open; pearls and buttons scattered across the marble like hail. He shoved me naked onto the massive bed, pinning me down beneath his heavy frame before spreading my legs wide, exposing me completely to his piercing gaze.

“My my, look at this tight little virgin pussy,” he mocked, his thick fingers tracing roughly through my folds, demanding a reaction my body was too terrified to give. “Already dripping for me, even though you’re shaking like a leaf. Your body knows exactly what it is now—my property.”

“Ethan… please,” I begged, my voice cracking, a pathetic whisper against the expanse of the room. “Not like this—”

A sharp slap echoed through the room as his palm struck my thigh, the sting making me arch and scream.

“Shut the fuck up.” He pinned both of my wrists above my head with a single, iron grip, positioning himself directly at my entrance. “You’re going to take every single inch like the good little purchased wife you are.”

In one savage, unyielding thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside me.

The world shattered. A blinding, white-hot agony tore through my core, a violent rupture that stole the air straight from my lungs. Years of poise, of perfect physical ballet discipline, meant nothing against his sheer size. He didn't pause for the blood. He didn't wait for me to adjust. He simply claimed what he had paid for, setting a merciless, punishing rhythm that sent the heavy headboard crashing against the wall.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” he growled, his voice thick with a dark, primal pleasure as he pounded into me. “Ten million dollars for a crying, bleeding virgin. What a fucking investment.”

Tears poured into my ears, soaking the black silk beneath my head. Every violent thrust sent a wave of agony through me, but beneath the pain, a horrific, unwanted heat began to spark. Against my will, my walls pulsed around him, slicking his entry, betraying my mind. The wet, rhythmic sounds of my undoing filled the freezing room.

I sobbed brokenly into the dark. Ten million dollars… Annastasia is safe… I can survive this… I have to…

Ethan laughed, a dark, vibrating sound against my chest as he slammed into me even harder. His hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to send stars dancing across my vision, restricting my air until I was entirely dependent on him for life.

“Look at you, creaming all over me while you weep. Disgusting. Pathetic. This is your life now—my personal plaything. Say it.”

When the words caught in my throat, his thumb clamped down hard on my nipple, twisting until a cry of pain broke from my lips.

“Say it!”

“I-I’m… your plaything,” I choked out between ragged sobs.

He groaned in dark satisfaction, his thumb shifting to rub my clit with brutal precision, forcing my overwrought nerves past the breaking point. My orgasm hit like a freight train—violent, shameful, and utterly soul-crushing. I came hard around him, my internal muscles clenching tightly as waves of unwanted pleasure tore through my sobbing form.

Ethan followed me over the edge with a guttural, animalistic moan. He buried himself to the absolute root, flooding my ruined core with thick, hot ropes of his release. He kept thrusting even as he came, pushing his seed deeper, marking me inside and out.

When he finally pulled away, a heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of blood and fluids leaking down my thighs onto the expensive black sheets.

He stood by the bedside, his chest heaving, looking down at my broken, trembling body with a cold, detached satisfaction.

“Clean yourself up,” he said coldly, already reaching for his silk robe. “And get used to it. Tomorrow night, I might let the other girls watch while I fuck you again.”

The bathroom door slammed shut, leaving me in the dark.

I curled into a tight, protective ball, shaking violently as fresh tears soaked the silk pillow.

I know Annastasia is safe.

The mantra felt like ash in my mouth now. Because I hadn’t just sold my body to Ethan Vance to save her. I had handed my entire soul to a monster who took pleasure in wanting to break me piece by piece.

And the most terrifying part?

Some sick, shattered piece of me already wondered how much more pain and pleasure he would force me to endure…

…before I stopped wanting to escape him.

Welcome to my hell.

“The Devil’s Bride”

Dark. Toxic. Addictive.

If you love forced marriage, brutal billionaires, and heroines who suffer beautifully…

Welcome home.