Bound To The Devil

Chapter – The Aftermath of Valarie’s Escape

Sebastian Vasiliev sat in his grand office, the very picture of refined power—except for the deadly tick in his jaw as he stared at the empty chair in front of him. His fingers drummed slowly on the armrest of his chair, his other hand gripping his phone with terrifying calmness.

"She what?" he repeated, his voice so soft it sent a shiver down his guard’s spine.

The poor bastard on the other end of the line stammered, "She—she tricked us, Boss. Told Ivan to get her coffee and then locked Sergei out of her office. By the time we got back inside, she was gone. Disappeared. Like a ghost."

Sebastian exhaled a slow breath through his nose, his grey eyes darkening with something wicked. He had expected Valarie to put up a fight, maybe even get angry—he had not expected her to vanish right under his nose like a damn illusionist.

For a moment, he did nothing. Just sat there, silent, his mind working through every possible way to make her pay for this.

Then he chuckled.

The sound was low, dark, thrilled.

"She’s smart. I’ll give her that," he muttered, more to himself than to the poor fool still on the phone. He leaned back, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. "But she forgets who she’s dealing with."

Valarie thought she could outplay him? How adorable.

With eerie patience, he set his phone down, stood up, and adjusted the cuffs of his black dress shirt. His mind was already calculating his next move. She wanted to play games? Fine. But he was the one who set the rules.

His fingers flexed at his sides as his smirk deepened.

Time to remind his diety exactly who she belonged to.

Valarie’s POV – The Celebration of Freedom

Valarie lounged in her apartment, sipping her well-earned glass of wine. That had been the greatest escape of her life. She had to admit, she felt a little smug.

Sebastian’s men? Outsmarted.
Sebastian’s obsessive possessiveness? Defied.
Her independence? Maintained.

She grinned, twirling the wine in her glass, already picturing his reaction. He was probably seething. And she loved it.

"Serves him right," she muttered to herself, propping her feet up on the coffee table. "Maybe now he’ll realize he can’t just keep me locked up like some mafia trophy wife."

Her phone buzzed.

Her grin widened. Speak of the devil…

She picked up, already preparing to gloat. "Let me guess, your ego is bruised?"

Silence.

Then—Sebastian’s voice, slow, smooth, dangerous.

"Enjoying your little victory, lyubimaya?"

Her stomach did a little flip, but she ignored it. "Oh, immensely. Should I send you a ‘Better Luck Next Time’ card?"

A low chuckle vibrated through the line. "Cute. You really think this is over?"

She rolled her eyes. "What, you’re gonna kidnap me? Again?"

"No," he murmured, and there was something almost sinister in how softly he said it. "I won’t have to."

Valarie frowned. "What do you mean?"

There was a rustling sound in the background, and then—her front door unlocked.