Page 27 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Robin

E va sits very still at the edge of the bed. I want to reach for her, to ask what’s wrong, but something in her stillness warns me away.

Screw it. I know there’s an aching little girl under all that ice, and I know how I felt when Mom died. I sit up, wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur.

She shrugs me off and stands.

“Get dressed,” she says, her voice flat. “We’re leaving Paris.”

There’s something in her tone I’ve never heard before—not anger, not grief. Something worse. Something empty.

But this isn’t the time to be worrying about me.

Eva’s father has died. I need to do whatever I can to make things easier on her.

So I scramble out of bed and dress quickly in jeans and a tee, and add a blazer that she bought me herself here in Paris.

Eva moves through the suite like a machine, throwing items into her bag with mechanical precision. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak.

I hear her having a quiet conversation on the phone, and I assume she’s talking to Leon, because a few minutes later he arrives at the suite, his face lined with sorrow, and says something soft to Eva in their native tongue.

Her response is automatic. I think whatever they’re saying, it’s a kind of prayer or ritual.

And that’s the last time she speaks for a long time. The drive to the airstrip passes in suffocating silence. Eva stares out the window, face still as stone. I try once to speak, to offer comfort, but she holds up an irritated hand, silencing me.

On the plane, she disappears into the private quarters right at the back without a word, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the terrible fear that something between us has broken.

Through the thin walls, I can hear her voice—cold, clipped, speaking in rapid bursts to what must be a dozen different people.

She’s just lost her father. I need to stop thinking about me, about us, and put her first. If I can’t do anything to make it better for her, I can at least not make things worse. So I curl up in the leather seat and watch the lights of Paris disappear, and I give her space.

We land and enter another car, heading for Castle Blacklake.

I remember my first journey here, terrified and uncertain, seeing the gothic towers rise from the autumnal mists like something out of a nightmare.

Now the sight of those familiar walls actually hurts, because I know Eva’s father is probably still there, in repose.

Things have changed. Even the village has changed. As we drive through the narrow streets, I notice black ribbons tied to every door, flowers laid at the base of the old stone cross in the square. The few people we pass stop what they’re doing and bow their heads as the car passes.

It’s unsettling. These are the same people who crossed themselves when they saw Eva’s car, who whispered warnings to me about the monster in the castle. Now they mourn her father like fallen royalty. And how do they even know?

I steal a glance at Eva, but she’s staring straight ahead.

The castle looms before us, its windows dark even in the day. We pull through the gates, and I feel the weight of the stone walls pressing down on me. This place that once seemed like a dark fairy tale now feels like a tomb.

Eva steps out of the car before it’s fully stopped, and strides toward the entrance. I follow once the car stops, but she’s already disappearing into the shadows of the great hall.

“Eva, please wait—” I call after her, wanting to offer help. Offer something .

She pauses at the foot of the grand staircase, her back to me. “Is there something you need?”

The formal tone makes my stomach clench. “No, I just…is there anything I can do for you? Or just be with you?”

She turns then, and the look in her eyes freezes me in place. This is not the woman who held me in Paris, who whispered sweet words against my skin. This is the ice queen who bought me at auction, remote and untouchable.

“I don’t need anyone,” she says simply. “If you’ll excuse me, I have arrangements to make.”

She disappears up the stairs, and I’m left standing in the empty hall, my heart pounding. The silence stretches around me, broken only by the distant sound of her footsteps heading away from me.

I don’t know what to do with myself. The castle feels different now—colder, more forbidding, if that were even possible. The shadows seem deeper, the silence more oppressive. I wander through the halls until I find myself in the kitchen, drawn by the warm light spilling from the doorway.

The staff is gathered around the large wooden table, their faces drawn with grief. Several of the women are crying quietly, and the cook, who’s always been kind to me, has red-rimmed eyes.

They look up when I enter, and without words, the cook pours me a small glass of aniseed-scented liquid that burns my throat and warms my chest.

“Zoltan Novak,” she says, raising her glass.

The others echo her words, and I drink with them, accepting their ritual of grief. Even in death, he commands this kind of loyalty. No wonder Eva is so untouchable—she learned from a master.

After the toast, I sit with them in companionable silence. I can’t understand their words, but I recognize the cadence of shared memories, the way they speak of the dead. They loved him. Truly loved him.

Eventually, I excuse myself and wander back through the halls. I stop at Eva’s bedroom door—a door I’ve never entered, though I was never forbidden to try. Not like her father’s rooms. So I knock softly.

“Eva?”

No answer. I press my ear to the heavy wood and hear nothing—no movement, no sound of her voice on the phone. Just silence.

I go to my own room and sit on the bed. A storm rolls in, casting darkness through the window though it’s still day, and I lie there in the darkness, listening to the castle creaking around me, hoping and hoping for the sound of Eva’s footsteps in the hall.

They never come, and eventually the soft rain on the window lulls me into sleep.

I wake to rustling sounds. Fabric against fabric, the soft thud of something being placed in a suitcase.

A maid stands at the foot of my bed, folding my clothes with swift, efficient movements. My heart starts to race.

“What’s going on?” I ask, sitting up.

She glances at me with apologetic eyes and says nothing.

But before I can ask again, the door opens and Eva walks in.

She’s immaculate as always—her black hair twisted into a perfect chignon, her clothes wrinkle-free.

But there’s something different about her eyes.

They’re flat, empty, like looking into a golden void.

She dismisses the maid with a curt nod and turns to me. “Are we going somewhere again?” I ask, though my throat feels tight with dread.

“You are,” she says simply.

I sit up straighter, pulling the sheet around me. “What do you mean?”

Eva’s smile is sharp, cold. The cat-that-got-the-cream expression I once found so alluring now cuts me to the bone. “I mean exactly what I said. A car will take you to the airport. You’ll be back in Vegas in about fourteen hours.”

“But I don’t understand—” I start to say, but she cuts me off.

“There’s nothing to understand. Our arrangement was for thirty days. I’m simply ending it early.”

The clinical way she says it makes my chest tighten. “Eva, you’re grieving. You don’t mean?—”

“I mean exactly what I say.” She moves to the window, her back to me. “A pro rata amount will be deposited into your account at the end of the original thirty-day period, as per the terms of our contract.”

Contract.

She may as well have slapped me.

“Is that really all we are?” I ask carefully. “A contract?”

She turns back to me, and for a moment—just a moment—I see something flicker in her eyes. Pain, maybe. Or regret. But it’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

“What else would it be?” she asks.

I force myself to stay calm, to speak with kindness. “Eva, I know you’re hurting. I know you’re angry. But especially at a time like this?—”

“Don’t.” The word cracks like a whip. “My circumstances have changed, and you are no longer required.”

I climb out of bed, not willing to have this conversation suffocating under covers. “And so you’re throwing me away like I’m nothing?”

“You’re not nothing.” Her voice is quiet. “You’re exactly what I paid for. But now I’m done.”

The casual cruelty of it steals my breath. I search her face for any sign of the other Eva, my Eva. But she’s gone, replaced by this beautiful, terrible stranger.

“I don’t think you really mean that,” I say, trying hard to remember that she’s hurting. I don’t want to make her hurt worse.

But she’s about to destroy everything that had been building up between us.

“Don’t I?” She tilts her head, studying me with cold amber eyes. “You’re a romantic, little bird. You think life is a fairy tale with a guaranteed happily-ever-after. But this isn’t a fairy tale, Robin. This is the real world, and in the real world, people like me don’t get happy endings.”

“People like you?”

“Monsters.” The word falls between us like a stone. “I know that’s what you think of me—and so you should. Or did you think your sweet little innocent act would somehow transform me into someone worthy of love?”

“That’s not?—”

“No?” She steps closer, and I can see the sharp edges of her smile. “Was it pity, then? You felt sorry for me? Poor, damaged Eva, who just needed the right woman to show her the light?”

“What are you talking about?” I gasp. I’m getting angry despite myself, despite all my best intentions. And the worst thing is, I know she’s trying to anger me.

She wants a fight. It’s easier to rage than to grieve.

“You want to know what I think?” She’s close enough now that I can smell her perfume, the same scent that used to make me dizzy with desire.

“I think you’re exactly like all the others.

You saw a wealthy, powerful woman and you thought you could wrap her around your little finger.

Make her dependent on you. Make her need you. ”

“That’s complete bullshit,” I snap.

“Is it, though?” She reaches out and strokes my shoulder, the gesture almost tender. “You played your part perfectly. The innocent little lamb, so pure and good. So different from everyone else in my world. But you’re not really, are you? You’re just another whore who spread her legs for money.”

I don’t think. I just act. My hand whips out and I slap her across the face.

Hard.

She regards me coldly, a red mark on her cheek the only sign I hit her. “I’ll let you compose yourself.” She turns and walks to the door, but she pauses in the doorway.

For a crazy moment I think she’ll apologize. That she’ll tell me she didn’t mean any of it.

“This is all your fault,” she says over her shoulder, her voice dropping to something poisonous.

“ My fault?” I choke out, astonished.

“You disobeyed me. You opened that door I told you never to open. Do you know the story of Pandora, little bird? How she opened the box she was told to leave alone? Everyone thinks hope was left behind in that box to comfort humanity. But they’re wrong.

” Her smile is more of a sneer. “Hope is the worst evil of them all. And you—you inflicted it on me . You made me think my father might wake up. You made me think I might find a companion in the darkness.”

Her amber eyes are no longer cold. They’re blazing now, wild with fury.

“But you were lying the whole time, weren’t you? Because I will always be alone—that’s the only guarantee this world gives any of us. And my father...” Her voice cracks for just a moment before she regains control. “My father will never smile at me again.”

“Eva—”

She turns back around. “Don’t make this into something it wasn’t, Robin. We both got what we wanted. You got your money, and I got my entertainment. Now it’s over. Your transport will be here in one hour.”

The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my heart.

I stand there for a long moment, my legs shaking.

The maid returns and continues packing, her movements gentle and apologetic.

I watch her fold up clothes—the beautiful dresses Eva bought me in Paris, the silk nightgowns, the designer shoes.

Everything that transformed me from a struggling teacher’s aide into something worthy of a woman like Eva.

But none of it was real. None of it mattered.

I told myself I wouldn’t get attached. I told myself this was just a transaction, a way to save my family. But somewhere along the way, I forgot that Eva Novak doesn’t do love. She does possession. She does control.

She does cruelty.

“No,” I say to the maid. “No—I don’t want any of it.

Stop packing it up, I don’t want it.” I start pulling the clothes out of the suitcases, throwing the suitcases themselves aside.

The maid skips out of the way, frightened by my anger.

“I’m sorry,” I say helplessly, catching myself before I really melt down.

“I’m sorry—but no.” I’m too shaken to find the word in her language, but she seems to understand, giving a slight nod and leaving the room.

I dress quickly in a pair of jeans and a simple sweater, the plainest things I can find.

And I leave the room.

An hour later, waiting in the foyer for a car, I catch sight of Leon, who approaches me with his arm in a sling, and holds out my phone to me silently.

“Are you alright?” I ask, taking it. He gives a single nod. “Leon…watch over Eva, won’t you?”

“I always do.”

“I mean—more than protecting her. She’s grieving. Make sure she’s okay?”

I might hate her. But I can’t stop caring about her. It’s my stupid, na?ve heart. I can’t stop loving once I’ve started, no matter how much it hurts. Even my father, who deserted us.

And even Eva Novak.

Soon enough, I’m sitting in the back of a car watching the castle disappear behind the trees. The driver doesn’t speak, but I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. They’re kind, sympathetic.

We drive through the village one more time, past the black ribbons and the bowed heads. I wonder if they realize what I am. Another girl who went to the castle and didn’t come back—not the same, anyway.

I’m leaving.

But the girl who arrived here is gone forever.

And now the question is: what’s left of me to take home?

As the car reaches the main road and the castle fades from view, I press my face to the window and allow myself one last look at the place that became my prison and my paradise. I told myself I wouldn’t get attached.

Now I don’t know how to let go.