Owned By The Devil Himself

Elara Voss ran as if the city itself were chasing her.

Rain poured from the sky in merciless sheets, soaking her hair, her dress, her skin, until everything felt heavy-too heavy. The thin satin gown clung to her legs, torn at the hem where she had tripped earlier, but she didn't stop to fix it. She didn't slow. She didn't look back.

Because behind her was a life already decided.

Ahead of her was the unknown-and for the first time, that felt like freedom.

Her lungs burned as she turned sharply into a narrow street, heels slipping on slick pavement. The sound echoed too loudly in the empty night, each step a reminder that she didn't belong here. That she wasn't meant to be running through a foreign city in a wedding dress, breathless and terrified, with diamonds still pinned in her hair like mockery.

Her phone buzzed again.

She didn't need to look to know who it was.

Father.

The screen lit up with his name, persistent, demanding. Elara clenched her jaw and shoved the phone into her clutch without answering. If she heard his voice now-if she let him speak-she might break.

And she couldn't afford that.

Just hours ago, she had stood in a gilded room surrounded by strangers who smiled too much and spoke too softly. Women had adjusted her veil, praised her beauty, told her how lucky she was. Men had nodded approvingly, as if she were a contract finally signed.

No one had asked if she wanted this.

No one had cared.

The memory tightened around her chest like a vice.

Elara stumbled, catching herself against a brick wall as another wave of rain blurred her vision. She sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself forward again. She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she couldn't stay.

The city loomed around her-towering buildings, glowing windows, streets that felt unfamiliar and hostile. Somewhere in this maze, there had to be a way out. A train station. A hotel. Anything.

Her phone buzzed again.

Then again.

Then again.

She stopped abruptly beneath a flickering streetlight, chest heaving. Her hands shook as she finally pulled the phone out.

You are making a mistake, the message read.

Come back. Now.

Her lips curled into a bitter smile.

A mistake.

That was what he called selling his daughter to a man twice her age, forging alliances with power-hungry families, and expecting her to smile while her future was carved apart.

She typed with trembling fingers.

I won't do this. I won't be traded like property.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself.

Almost immediately, the phone rang.

Elara stared at it for half a second-then turned it off completely.

Silence rushed in, broken only by rain and the distant hum of traffic.

She felt lighter.

She ran again.

The street ahead opened suddenly into a wider road-and Elara skidded to a halt.

Black SUVs lined the curb in perfect formation, engines idling, headlights piercing the rain like watchful eyes. The vehicles were too clean, too deliberate, their presence wrong in the otherwise quiet street.

Her pulse spiked.

Men stood near the cars, dressed in dark suits, their posture alert. Not police. Not security guards.

Something worse.

Elara's instincts screamed.

She took a step back. Then another.

The rain masked her movement, but it didn't matter.

A hand closed around her wrist.

She gasped, spinning around, panic exploding in her chest as she tried to pull free. Her back collided with a solid body, arms like steel locking her in place.

"Let go of me!" she shouted, voice cracking as she struggled.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he leaned closer, his grip tightening, and spoke quietly into an earpiece. "I've got her."

Got her?

Elara's heart slammed violently against her ribs. "You don't have the right-"

"Enough."

The word cut through the rain like a blade.

Deep. Calm. Absolute.

The man holding her released her instantly, stepping aside as heavy footsteps approached.

Elara turned slowly.