Bound To The Devil

Luca's Pov:-

(They've came back from Doctor's appointment)

Luca groaned, pressing a hand to his stomach as the car came to a stop in front of their estate. His nausea had finally eased, but he was still exhausted.

Damien, however, looked perfectly content. No—more than that. He looked smug, possessive, and borderline feral as he opened the car door for him.

“Come, my love,” Damien purred, taking Luca’s hand. “You need rest. My beautiful little husband, carrying my heir.”

Luca shot him a glare. “I never agreed to be your husband. And YOU DIDN'T ASK!.”

Damien ignored that completely, tugging him closer. “You’re glowing.”

“I’m nauseous.”

“My perfect little wife—”

“I swear to God, Damien.” Luca yanked his hand free and stormed toward the house, only for Damien to catch him by the waist and hoist him up effortlessly.

“Put me down, you psychopath!”

“No,” Damien hummed, carrying him inside. “I don’t trust you to walk. What if you faint? What if you trip? You’re fragile now.”

“I will throw up on you.”

Damien smirked. “That just means you need to be taken care of even more.”

Ava came running toward them, nearly colliding into Damien’s legs. “Luca! You’re back!” She gasped, eyes lighting up. “Can I feel the baby?”

Luca’s brain short-circuited. “What? No! It’s not even—”

Damien smirked. “Of course, little one. Soon, the baby will kick, and you can talk to it every day.”

Ava squealed in delight while Luca looked one breath away from combusting.

“Unbelievable,” Luca muttered. “I’m trapped in a house full of insane people.”

Damien kissed his cheek, voice dangerously soft. “And yet you love us.”

Luca huffed, but his blush betrayed him.

Ava grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the couch. “Come on, Luca! Let’s start planning! You need baby names, clothes, and—oh! We have to decorate the nursery! I've been waiting for many dayssss ”

Luca groaned. This was going to be a long day.

And Damien?

Damien was just watching him with that dark, obsessive glint in his eyes. His perfect family was finally coming together. And he’d make sure nothing—absolutely nothing—would ever take them away from him.

*

Few hours later,

***
– Damien’s POV

The room smelled of blood. Thick, metallic, suffocating. Damien Volkov stood in the center of it, rolling his sleeves up as he stared down at the trembling man strapped to the chair. The dim light above flickered, casting long, eerie shadows over the concrete walls.

The bastard had been screaming a few minutes ago. Now, he was eerily quiet, except for the sharp, ragged breaths escaping his swollen lips. Blood dripped from his nose, his fingers twitching where they were zip-tied behind his back. Damien had been patient. Too patient. But that patience had run out the second this low-life dared whisper Petrov.