Chapter 1: He is the Devil

Isabella's POV

The room was pitch black, the only light coming from a flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled against the ropes binding my wrists and ankles to the cold metal chair. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and fear, mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood. My blood.

"Don't touch me, please... don't..." I pleaded, my voice hoarse from screaming.

The four men surrounding me were like shadows, their faces obscured in the dim light. Tattoos snaked up their arms and necks, marking their allegiance to some dark underworld. They laughed, a cruel and mocking sound that echoed in the small, windowless room. One of them stepped closer, his hot, putrid breath on my skin.

"This girl's a fighter," he sneered, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look into his cold, empty eyes. "But it's useless. Your mom can't save you now."

Tears streamed down my face as I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh. I could feel bruises forming, a stark reminder of my helplessness.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a tall figure entered the room. The men immediately backed away, their laughter dying in their throats. I looked up through tear-blurred vision and saw him. Ethan Black. My demonic stepbrother.

He wore a tailored dark gray Armani suit that perfectly outlined his robust figure. His face was angular with knife-sharp jawlines, and his short, light blonde hair glistened under the light. His entire presence exuded a suffocating aura.

"Enough," Ethan commanded, his voice low and threatening. The men instantly released me, retreating to the corners of the room like obedient dogs.

Ethan’s gaze look in his eyes gave me chills - there was nothing warm or friendly there at all. He came at me real slow, taking his time, like he knew I couldn't get away.

"Isabella Monroe," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You should blame your mother for this. If she hadn't tried to marry my father, none of this would be happening."

I tried to speak, to beg for mercy, but my voice failed me. I could only shake my head, my body trembling with fear and pain.

Ethan reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch seemed gentle, but I knew better than to trust it. "Your mother has a choice," he continued. "Cancel the wedding, or you will suffer the consequences."

At that moment, my phone rang, piercing the oppressive silence. Ethan gestured to one of the men, who retrieved the phone from my bag and handed it to him. He glanced at the screen, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"It's your mother," he said, answering the call. "Aria Clark, you have one chance to save your daughter. Cancel the wedding."

"Ethan, you bastard!" My mother's voice was filled with anger and desperation. "What have you done to her? If you hurt her, I swear I'll—"

Ethan cut her off, his tone icy. "You must make your decision before the end of today. If you don't, your beautiful daughter will be gang-raped to death, and the whole thing will be recorded."

"You son of a bitch, you wouldn't dare! I won't do what you want!"

As the call was forcibly ended, I felt a wave of despair. My mother would never give in to his demands, and I knew I couldn't escape. The room began to spin, my vision blurring. What awaited me? I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, the world fading away.

When I finally came to, I was greeted by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of machines. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, I realized I was in a hospital room. My body ached, every bruise and cut a painful reminder of the nightmare I had endured.

"Isabella, you're awake," a nurse said gently, her face kind and concerned. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't... don't touch me..." I whispered, shrinking from her outstretched hand.

"You're safe now," she assured me, her voice soothing. "No one is going to hurt you here."

But fear was like a thorn, deeply embedded in my heart. The slightest noise made me tense, even my breathing was cautious. I felt trapped in my own cage, the trauma of that night haunting me incessantly. I didn't even dare ask the nurse if I had been violated, unable to face the devastating reality of my purity being shattered.

The nurse stayed by my side, her presence providing some warmth and reassurance. She asked if I wanted to report the incident to the police, but I shook my head. The thought of Ethan's retribution was too terrifying. I was just an ordinary person; fighting back would only plunge me into a worse situation. I couldn't take that risk.

During my hospital stay, my mother didn't visit me; she only checked on my condition via phone calls. Seeing her honeymoon photos on social media, I thought she must be very happy now.

With treatment, my body slowly healed, but every night, I was tormented by nightmares, reliving the horrific experience over and over. The doctor said it would take time, but I wasn't sure if I would ever feel safe again.

A few days later, I returned to work, hoping it would help me regain some sense of normalcy. But deep down, I already knew my life would never be the same.

"Isabella, you're back," my manager said, barely looking up from his desk. "Good. I need you to take these documents to Daniel Wilson. He left them here, and they're urgent."

"Okay," I replied, my voice hollow. I took the folder and headed to the address he'd given me, a high-end private club in the heart of Manhattan.

As I stepped into the elevator, my heart began to race. The enclosed space brought back memories of that night, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, a pair of hands appeared, forcing them to reopen.

The man who stood face to face with me made my blood freeze. I forgot to breathe. Ethan, the demon. He entered the elevator with another man, and when he saw me, his eyes locked onto mine.