Page 17 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Eva

I need control. I need distance. I need Robin to stop looking at me like I’ve just ripped my heart from my chest and handed it to her on a silver platter.

“We’ll discuss this elsewhere.” My voice comes out calm and unreadable. Exactly how I want it.

Robin’s eyes search my face, but I’ve already pulled my mask back into place. I rise and gesture for Robin to follow me, and she does at once.

Yes, she’s a naive little thing. But strangely, I find her softness endearing rather than irritating. In my world, naivety gets you killed. With Robin, it makes me want to shelter her from every ugly truth.

And that is dangerous thinking. I know myself, am reminded of it every time I visit my father, that sometimes, bad things just happen, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

I lead Robin back to the Great Hall while I assess exactly how much of myself I’ve already let slip. Too much. Far too much.

Mrs. Kovacs is straightening up a few items in the Great Hall when we arrive and pauses to give a quick bow of the head. “Tea,” I tell her, “and then privacy.”

She vanishes like a ghost, knowing better than to linger when I use that tone.

I settle into my favorite armchair, the same one I sat in only a few nights ago, here with Robin. It gives me the best view of the room, all the exits, every angle. Robin stands uncertainly on the same rug where she stripped naked at my command.

I notice the way she tenses. The way her breath catches. The memory of it is playing over her, and something in my chest responds without permission. A flutter of want that has nothing to do with control.

Dangerous, I remind myself yet again.

And yet, so seductive.

She remembers every detail. The way I made her touch herself while I watched. The way she came apart under my gaze. But also the way she looked at me afterwards…

Mrs. Kovacs reappears with the tea on a silver service, and I pour it out carefully as she retreats from the room and shuts the enormous doors, a signal that none may enter.

Robin finally takes a seat and accepts her cup with trembling fingers.

I note the slight tremor, the way her legs shift restlessly.

She’s wet again, just thinking about it.

Perfect. Exactly the distraction I need, after the difficult emotions of the morning so far.

Robin fidgets with her teacup, then asks quietly, “Those girls from the village...what did happen to them?”

I raise an eyebrow, then laugh. “You’re very curious about those poor girls.”

“Why ‘poor’?” she asks stubbornly.

“They were closeted lesbians in a village where being even slightly different is seen as a vice.” I sip my tea, watching her face carefully. “I offered them an out. A little companionship, a lot of discretion, and enough money to disappear afterwards.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “Disappear?”

“New identities. New lives in cities where they could be themselves. They didn’t want to return to weighing fish on ice or rising early to bake bread every morning—and certainly not to pretending to love men for the rest of their lives.

” I set down my cup and watch Robin closely.

“I gave them the same thing I offered you, little bird. Enough money to make a better life.”

I see it—the flicker of jealousy in those blue eyes, but there’s curiosity there, too. And a grudging understanding.

“Do you...” Robin hesitates, then pushes forward. “Do you often pay for women’s company?”

Blunt question. I appreciate that.

“Yes.” I don’t soften it. “It’s the only safe way.”

Her face tightens almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t pretend it’s romance, Robin. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.

I pay. I enjoy. I set them free.” I lean back in my chair, studying her reaction.

“Falling for someone—anyone—would only put them in danger. Keeping it transactional is much safer.” I let my gaze travel over her slowly, deliberately.

“Just as I will return you safely to your nest when we’re done. ”

But even as I say the words, I’m not sure I believe them anymore. Robin has gotten under my skin in ways I don’t understand, don’t like, and can’t seem to stop.

I need to flip this script. Take back control.

“What about you?” I ask, setting down my teacup. “Why exactly did you sell yourself at that auction?”

Robin goes still. For a moment, I think she won’t answer. Then slowly, quietly, she begins to talk.

About how her mother’s death meant she became the sole carer for her siblings.

About the crushing debt. About her sister’s medical bills and losing her medical insurance when she lost one of her jobs.

About falling further behind in the rent every month.

About watching her baby sister get sicker while she’s powerless to help.

About sacrifice. Real sacrifice. The kind of bone-deep love that makes you put yourself on an auction block for strangers to bid on.

She did it for love .

Not ego, not power, not even survival. Not really. She did it for love.

That kind of sacrifice is rare in my world. It’s pure. Untainted by agenda or ambition. “Robin.” My voice is softer than I intended. She looks up, those blue eyes dark with the memories of her troubles. “I think it’s admirable. What you did.”

She flushes. “I don’t know about that. I lied to my family—you heard me in the car, right after the auction, talking to my brother. I told him whatever he needed to hear to agree to it.”

“You lied because you love them. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She shrugs and looks away. “You must miss them very much.”

I haven’t thought much about her life before me.

She just nods. “Are you sure he’ll never wake up?” she asks after a moment. “Your father?”

I have to take a breath before I respond.

I’m not used to talking so openly about him.

My father. Zoltan Novak, the Beast of the Blacklake, as they called him.

It’s so unnatural to see him lying there so still.

“The doctors say no,” I tell her at last. “But I’ve been researching every cutting-edge treatment.

Investing in biotech startups. Consulting with specialists in Switzerland, Japan, America.

Programs so classified they don’t officially exist. But if he won’t wake, then all I have left is my vengeance on the person who did this to him. ”

Robin’s compassionate expression is almost unbearable, and I have to clench my hands into fists in my lap as I resist the urge to say something I’ll regret.

“I go back,” I continue carefully, “every year. I retrace his footsteps. To every city where he had deals. Chasing leads. Turning over rocks. One day, someone will talk. Someone will slip up.”

“And then?”

“Then I’ll make them regret they were ever born.

” Something dark and broken bleeds into my voice then as I hear myself admitting, “But even when I find them, even when I make them scream and beg for death…he’ll still be lost to me.

My father is gone forever. I’ll never see him smile at me again.

That’s what I miss the most. His smile—it made everything better… ”

Some things can’t be fixed, not even with all my power and money.

Robin reaches out like she wants to touch me, then thinks better of it. “He’ll smile at you again,” she says with quiet conviction. “I know he will.”

The words nearly undo me. I cover the crack in my armor with a scoff. “Wishful thinking helps nothing, little bird.” But inside, something eases in my chest. I’ve been so accustomed to the ache that I only notice it as it lessens.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Robin asks. “To support you, while I’m here?”

It’s a genuine question. Offered without condition or expectation of reward. When was the last time someone wanted to help me without getting something in return?

My vulnerability flickers into something sharp again. Something familiar. Safe.

“Yes.” I let my voice drop to that commanding tone that makes her breath catch. “You can do what I’m paying you for.”

I watch her face pale, then blush.

“Robin. Take off your clothes.”

She hesitates—just a heartbeat—but it’s enough. I see the moment she remembers where we are. What this is. What I own.

Then she obeys.

She puts down her teacup and stands to undress with trembling fingers. I watch every motion with hunger, trying to feel powerful again. Trying to push down the intimacy that won’t leave. The truth that won’t leave.

But something’s wrong. My usual cold control feels out of reach. The sight of Robin’s gentle compliance isn’t making me feel dominant—it’s just making me feel more unsettled.

Like I’m the one who’s been stripped bare.

She stands before the low-burning fire in nothing but skin and shadows, waiting for my next order. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Mine .

But who really owns whom here?

“Good girl,” I murmur, but the words come out rougher than intended. Hungrier. More raw than commanding.

I rise from my chair slowly, every movement intended to project power. But inside, I’m falling apart. I circle her like she’s prey, but I’m the one who feels hunted.

My fingertips ghost along her shoulder as I move behind her, and I feel her shiver. The response shoots straight through me—not to my ego, but to something deeper. Something that craves her surrender not because it makes me powerful, but because it makes me feel…

Alive.

“Bend over the back of the sofa.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s something desperate threading through the command. I want to forget everything but the sound she makes when I touch her.

But as she obeys, I realize with terrifying clarity that I’m not the one in control here anymore. Robin has done something to me that no enemy has ever managed.

She’s made me want to throw down my arms and surrender.