Todos los capítulos de Bound To The Devil's Heir : Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

Serena's point of View The mansion was too quiet. It shouldn’t have been. There were guards patrolling outside the iron gates, servants gliding through the marble halls, and Damien’s shadow lingering in every corner of my mind. But despite the noise of footsteps and muted voices, the silence pressed down on me like a shroud. I had been back here long enough to know the difference this wasn’t the silence of peace. It was the silence of watchfulness. Of being caged. The gilded chandeliers, the sprawling staircases, the gold-framed paintings that seemed to stare down from the walls all of it reminded me of where I was. Damien’s world. His den. His fortress. It was supposed to protect me, yet lately I felt like the walls themselves were whispering warnings. I pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders and glanced toward the tall windows in the corridor. A guard lingered by the fountain outside, hand on his holster, gaze sweeping every shadow as though expecting death to crawl ou

Matthias’s POV, Two Years AgoThe night smelled wrong.I stepped into the safehouse with the quiet authority of a man who needed no announcement. My brother in arms Serena’s father had insisted I stay away tonight, that he could handle the shipment on his own. But I’d learned long ago never to trust anyone completely, not even family. Especially not family.The moment the door closed behind me, a prickle crawled up my spine. The air was heavy, thick with smoke and liquor. My men our men lounged carelessly in the hall, bottles clinking, cards scattered across tables. Laughter echoed where there should have been silence, discipline.I frowned. Sloppy. Reckless. Dangerous.“Where is he?” I asked, my voice low but carrying through the noise like a blade through flesh.One of the soldiers scrambled to his feet. “Sir he’s in the hall, with the others.”I stalked forward, boots crunching over discarded glass. My eyes narrowed at the puddles of spilled alcohol shimmering under the weak ligh

Matthias’s POVTwo Years AgoThe world thought him dead.That was his greatest weapon.Matthias crouched in the shadow of an abandoned rail yard, the stench of rust and oil seeping into his lungs. The fire that had nearly consumed him still lived in his body his right arm wrapped in filthy bandages, his ribs aching with every breath. But the pain no longer mattered. Pain was proof of survival.Days had passed since the inferno. The newspapers were clear:“Safehouse Destroyed in Mafia Inferno.”“Authorities Confirm No Survivors Bodies Recovered.”“Underworld Power Vacuum: Matthias Declared Dead.”Dead.The world had buried him without a coffin.And in that shallow grave, Matthias saw opportunity.The men who had once pledged their loyalty to him would scatter like rats, looking for new masters. His enemies would unclench, celebrating his fall. And Serena the girl who had set the blaze in motion she would sleep at night thinking her nightmare was over.A cruel smile bent his cracked

Two years.Two long, bitter years since the fire that was supposed to consume me. Since my niece, sweet little Serena, decided she had the strength to strike at blood and cut down her own family. I had thought of myself as a teacher, a guide, the shadow to her father’s brutality. And yet, when the flames licked my skin and the ceiling came crashing down, I realized something I had been blind to: she was not a child anymore. She had teeth. She had fire.And she had chosen to use it against me.That was the night I became a ghost.The world whispered that I was dead, nothing more than ash buried beneath the ruins of a safehouse. Let them. A dead man can move far more freely than one hunted. My body healed scarred, yes, but scars are reminders of survival, proof that I cannot be erased so easily. My empire, too, adapted. Old contacts, corrupt officials, black market allies they all bent the knee once I resurfaced, veiled in secrecy and fury.But beneath all of that the rebuilding, th

Serena’s POVThe words wouldn’t leave me.They clung to my skin like smoke, seared themselves into my memory until every breath felt poisoned by them.If anything happens to Damien or the Alaric empire, you’ll be the first to pay.I could still hear Emilia’s voice, sharp as broken glass, cold as the marble halls she haunted. She hadn’t yelled, hadn’t raised her hand, hadn’t needed to. The weight of her warning was enough to crush me all on its own.All morning, I replayed the conversation in my mind, searching for cracks in her intent, wondering if I had misread her words. But there had been no kindness in her eyes, no room for misinterpretation. It wasn’t just a warning. It was a promise.By the time Damien returned from his meeting, my hands were trembling, though I kept them hidden in the folds of my dress. He swept into the room like a storm barely contained, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, his tie loosened. His presence always filled every corner, and yet today