Page 7 of Sinful Obsession

I sank onto the bed, my mind racing.

Since my mastectomy, I’d endured stares and whispers, strangers questioning my womanhood, their eyes lingering on my flat chest, wondering if I was male or female.

Inthe House of Devils,surrounded by men, I’d be free from that gaze, judged only by my skill, not my body.

But the risks were staggering.

If they discovered I was a woman in disguise—I’d be executed.

If I failed the trials—I’d die.

Only one or two would survive, and even then, I’d need to be the sole winner to claim the full prize, defying Grandfather’s clause and my father’s theft of our legacy.

I wouldn’t just inherit a dead man’s fortune—I’d earn it.

On my own terms.

The idea buzzed in my veins like electricity.

Dangerous. Insane.

But oddly... freeing.

Could I really survive it?

Could I win?

Marriage to a Moretti or death in the underworld—both were traps, but one offered a chance to reclaim what was mine, to strip my father of the power he’d stolen and honor Grandfather’s cunning.

My cancer had already taken so much; maybe this was my chance to fight back, to prove I wasn’t weak, as my father claimed. But what if I didn’t make it?

Either way, it was better than being someone’s wife.

Better than being owned.

Chapter 1

CHARLOTTE

January 1, 2028.

HOUSE OF DEVILS.

The name screamed from the massive black banner stretched across the central field of the underground fortress like a brand carved into flesh

It wasn’t a metaphor.

It was an empire of brutality, of fire-forged bloodlines and war-born sons. And now, me.

I stood at the edge of that brutal world, chest bound, hair hacked short with trembling hands and dull scissors.

Dressed in stolen masculinity, skin chafing under layers of disguise and fear, I braced myself for what could be twelve months of hell. I’d packed enough tampons to survive every cycle without suspicion—God willing—and drowned myself in cologne to mask whatever scent might betray me.

Everything inside me screamed to run.

But instead, I inhaled the stale air and stepped forward, boots echoing against cracked concrete.

This place wasn’t sanctioned.