Page 15

Demi

T he sun’s golden fingers stretched across my face, luring me from the depths of my sleep.

I blinked, disoriented, as memories of the previous night flooded back.

The silken sheets whispered against my skin as I turned, expecting to find Ozias’s commanding form beside me.

Instead, I was greeted by rumpled bedding and a lingering warmth where his body should’ve been.

“Ozias?” I called out, my voice hoarse from sleep. Silence answered me.

I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest as I surveyed the opulent bedroom that smelled like palo santo and sage.

It wasn’t a far cry from my luxury apartment in Chicago, with its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the Mexican coastline.

The gentle lapping of waves reached my ears, a soothing rhythm that opposed the turbulent emotions churning inside me.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stood on shaky feet. The plush carpet sank beneath my toes as I padded toward the window, my reflection ghosting across the glass. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me—disheveled curls, eyes haunted by the weight of the recent events.

I hadn’t even had time to process losing Samara fully. I couldn’t help but feel like she was dead because of me—that they were all dead because of me. That was a weight I never expected to carry. I didn’t like the feeling of blood on my hands, especially not innocent people.

My mind flashed with every memory my brain could muster of Samara and me—from the first day we met at private school to our joint sweet sixteen party to the last night we spent together in Mexico, living it up without a care in the world.

Of all the times to have needed a crystal ball, that would’ve been one of them.

I’d spend the rest of my life hating Ozias for orchestrating her death and taking her from me.

Fuck Ozias. But now that I knew what it was like to actually fuck Ozias, what it was like to feel him speaking tongues over my pussy—every line between us had blurred.

Where were the boundaries? What were the rules?

I felt like a traitor for sleeping with the enemy.

Not only did I betray my family but my best friend too.

Still, in the depths of my mind, I didn’t know how long I could keep up the charade that I didn’t want to feel him on my body again.

I loved the feeling of his hands all over me.

His softer side made his darker side more tolerable.

Maybe it was the slickness of his tongue that got him far with me, breaking down my invisible walls.

Perhaps it was his big dick with the slight curve to the left that hit my spot just right.

Regardless, my feelings for him—whether hatred or something more pleasant—didn’t warrant a discussion outside of my head. At least not yet.

When I was a child, my nanny Gloria would always read me the same bedtime stories—a big book of fairy tales every night. Every story was the same, always the handsome prince coming to save the princess and riding off into the sunset on his white horse.

She never spoke of the prince’s dark side.

She never said the people he’d slay would be innocent.

She never told me they’d call him El Diablo.

She never told me I’d be attracted to his darkness more than his light.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Demi?” I muttered, pressing my forehead against the cool glass.

The door creaked open behind me, and I whirled around, heart pounding. But it was just a maid, her eyes widening as she took in my state of undress.

“ Lo siento, senorita ,” she stammered, averting her gaze. “I did not know you were awake.”

I grabbed a nearby robe, wrapping it tightly around myself. “It’s fine,” I said, tweaking my lips to the side. “Have you seen Ozias?”

She nodded her head. “El senor Rivera is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. The asshole probably needed a jump start to his whole day of planned criminal activities. I bit back the scathing remark on the tip of my tongue, reminding myself that the woman was just doing her job.

“Thank you,” I said instead. “I mean, gracias . I’ll be down shortly.”

She exited the master bedroom, shutting the door behind her, and I headed inside the en suite bathroom.

Once inside, I trekked across the cool tiles, my bare feet leaving faint impressions that quickly faded.

The beauty of the space was jarring—all gleaming marble and gold fixtures.

I never took Ozias for someone who liked to show off, but I’d obviously been mistaken.

As I approached the sink, my eyes locked onto a folded piece of paper, stark white against the dark surface.

My heart rate quickened as I unfolded the note to see Ozias’s bold, angular handwriting:

Take a shower, put on the robe, and meet me downstairs.

I couldn’t help but scoff. “Romantic as ever, aren’t you, El Diablo?” I muttered, crumpling the paper in my fist.

For a moment, I considered defying his instructions out of sheer spite. But the promise of hot water on my aching muscles was too tempting to resist. Once the temperature was set to my liking, I stepped into the massive shower, letting out a small gasp as the steaming water cascaded over me.

As I stood there, eyes closed, I could almost pretend I was back home in Chicago. The steady rhythm of the water drowned out my noisy thoughts, if only for a moment. I breathed in the steam, trying to center myself.

“Get it together, Demi,” I whispered, running my hands through my wet hair. “You’re stronger than this. You’ll find a way out of this fucked up situation.”

But even as the words fell off my tongue, doubt crept in.

Ozias’s resources seemed endless, his control absolute.

How could I possibly outmaneuver someone like that?

I shook my head, dispelling the negative thoughts.

One step at a time. For now, I'll play along and gather information.

There has to be a weakness, a chip in his armor. I just have to find it.

Reluctantly, I turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping myself in the plush Versace robe hanging nearby.

It was softer than a cloud, and for a split second, I allowed myself to enjoy the simple luxury.

Taking a deep breath, I aligned my shoulders and headed for the door. It's time to face the devil himself.

I descended the grand staircase, my bare feet silent on the polished tile. The mansion was quiet except for the faint clinking of cutlery coming from the direction of the dining room. As I rounded the corner, I spotted Ozias seated at the head of a massive table, calmly eating his breakfast.

He glanced up as I entered, his dark eyes raking over me in a way that made me acutely aware that I was naked underneath the robe. “Good morning, mi amor .” He greeted me with a glimpse of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I trust you slept well?”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, refusing to show any sign of weakness. “Like a baby.” I lied smoothly, taking the seat to his right. “Nothing like being kidnapped and forced into marriage to ensure a restful night’s sleep.”

Ozias chuckled, seemingly amused by my sarcasm. “You’ll adjust,” he spoke confidently. “In time, you may even come to enjoy your new life here.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him.

He was dressed in designer from head to toe, a subtle black suit jacket and matching pants with a crisp white button-up shirt that revealed the tattoos etched into his neck and collarbone.

In the morning light, I could see the faint lines around his eyes, the barely perceptible flecks of red hair at his temples.

For all his power and bravado, he wasn’t invincible. Not immortal. Not God.

“And what exactly will this new life entail?” I inquired, genuinely curious. “Am I to be a silent, obedient wife? Or do you actually expect me to play some role in your . . . business endeavors?”

Ozias’s relaxed expression turned serious. “You’re just as intelligent as you are beautiful, Demi. I didn’t want you solely for your beauty or your family connections. I believe you have potential—potential that was being wasted in Chicago.”

His words caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected it. Respect? Is that what I heard in his voice?

“So, what?” I pressed, leaning forward. “You’re going to make me your protégé? Turn me into some cartel queen?”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Would that be so terrible?” he asked softly. “Over the years, I’ve gained a special set of skills that I can share with you. I’m offering you more than marriage, Demi. I wanna give you a seat at the table.”

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. The offer was unexpectedly tempting—power, respect, a chance to prove myself beyond the constraints of my family’s expectations. But I quickly pushed the thought aside. This is manipulation, nothing more. Isn’t it?

“I think I’ll stick to being the unwilling bride for now,” I answered dryly. “One step at a time, right?”

Ozias nodded, his expression unreadable. “As you wish. Now, eat. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

As a plate matching his was set before me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just passed some sort of test. But to what end? What game was Ozias really playing?

I stared at the plate. The aroma was enticing but foreign. I hesitated, unsure where to begin.

“What is all this?” I asked, picking up a fork and poking at what looked like scrambled eggs mixed with chili peppers.

Ozias gestured to each dish. “Huevos rancheros, chilaquiles, and there’s some chorizo on the side. Try it.”

I took a small bite of the eggs, and immediately, my mouth was on fire. I coughed, reaching for the glass of water beside me.

“Shit,” I mumbled, taking a gulp. “Do you always eat food that could double as a weapon?”

Ozias chuckled, a deep, rich sound that caught me off guard. “You’ll get used to the extra kick of spice. It adds flavor, depth.”