Bound To The Devil

Chapter 100

Sebastian followed him inside. His estate was normally pristine, a fortress no one could breach. But the moment he entered the main hall, he stopped cold.

Red.

Blood streaked the walls, smeared across the marble floor in sloppy, deliberate strokes.

His breath came slow. Controlled. Rage curled deep in his gut.

There—on the pristine white walls—was a single word, painted in blood.

“Valarie.”

Sebastian’s blood turned to ice.

His hands clenched into fists as he turned to Dmitri. "Where are the cameras? Who the fuck was here?"

Dmitri swallowed hard. "The cameras… were wiped.** Professionally.**"

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

Valarie. They knew her name. They were threatening his lover.

The Petrovs weren’t just sending a warning now. They were taunting him.

A sharp, cold fury coiled through his veins. His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together.

They think they can touch what’s mine?

Sebastian’s chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. But inside—inside, he was a fucking hurricane.

"You," he said, voice eerily calm. "Find out who did this. I don’t care how. Break fingers. Smash skulls. I want a name before the sun rises."

Dmitri nodded quickly and rushed out.

Sebastian stood there a moment longer, staring at his sister’s name, written in blood, burning into his vision.

Then, he pulled out his phone.

The dial tone barely rang before Damien picked up.

"They made a mistake," Sebastian said, voice low, dark. Murderous.

"Who?" Damien’s voice was calm, but Sebastian could hear the edge of danger in it.

Sebastian’s fingers curled so tight around his phone, he swore the plastic cracked.

"The Petrovs just signed their death warrant. They think they can use Valarie to get to me?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then I’m going to make them regret ever breathing."

A pause. Then Damien’s voice, quiet and sharp as a blade.

"Tell me when to start the slaughter."

Sebastian smiled. It wasn’t pleasant.

"Oh, Volkov," he murmured. "You already have."

---

Sebastian Vasillev had spent his entire life mastering control.

Over his men. Over his enemies. Over the empire he built with blood and fire.

But there was one thing he could never control.

Her.

Valarie Ivanov.

She was carved from steel, wrapped in fire. A woman too sharp, too untamed for the world she lived in. A detective who walked through danger like it was her playground, who stared men like him in the eye without an ounce of fear.

And now? Now the Petrovs had written her name in blood on his walls.

Sebastian didn’t remember moving. One second, he was staring at the crimson letters. The next, he was in his car, his hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.