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2024-11-06 12:28:56She was only going to wait, to wait until an opportunity comes by for her to escape.
Sherry watched Dallion as he closed his eyes, his hand shielding them from the faint light filtering into the room. She felt a strange stillness, now that he had decided to take a nap. Unsure of what to do with the boxes of shoes he’d bought for her, she lowered herself to the floor, setting them beside her. Opening one of the boxes, Sherry was met with a sleek heel, reminiscent of the ones the store assistant had forced her to try on earlier. Despite Dallion’s insistence on something “cheap,” these shoes looked anything but extremely expensive. Maybe in the Cross empire’s elite stores, this was the baseline, the cheapest one, as per Dallion's thoughts there was nothing affordable for anyone who wasn't within their high ranks or powerful connections in their circle. She closed the box, then opened another to reveal a pair of flat-laced boots, sturdy yet grace
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His sister and father seemed clueless as they wracked their minds, trying to remember who it was. His stepmother, on the other hand, sighed with thinly veiled frustration and answered slowly, "Jerry Locks." "Oh, him!" Dallion remembered Jerry well, having met him several times in various business circles. Jerry was known as one of the few straightforward men in the council, often seen alongside the powerful leader of the Cross empire. Dallion couldn't imagine someone like Jerry falling for his little sister Rose. While he and Grace shared the same mother, Rose was just a half-sister to them, sharing only their father. It wasn’t like he needed to know all the details, but if hot tea was spilling freely, who was he to stop it? Instead, he leaned back, relishing the sour look on his stepmother's face. "Apparently, he wasn’t man enough to win Rose over. She even went to visit him before his parents’ tragic death,
Last Updated : 2024-11-07The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. curiosity
The shattered glass lay scattered across the polished floor, glistening among the deep forest-green liquid that had spilled with it. Sherry Rain froze in the spot, her heart started pounding in her chest like a thunderous drum, a sound reminiscent of the tales from her old neighborhood where such drums marked the coming of a big trouble. But this time, it wasn't to the neighborhood people. Here, she was certain she'd be tossed to the mercy of the sea through the huge window behind her by Dallion Cross for tampering with something forbidden, something she had no business opening. Standing in the doorway, Dallion’s face was unreadable. His usual mocking smirk was gone, it was replaced instead with an icy glare that made Sherry brace herself. She knew he wasn’t a man of idle threats, especially not when it came to the Cross Empire. Before he could open his mouth, Sherry quickly dipped her head in a deep bow, speaking before her courage failed he
Last Updated : 2024-11-08The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Show me all your layers
Dallion shifted his gaze from her to the now-sealed box. “These black doctors, they’re raising an army, almost like the renegade mafias do, they are currently converting people who serve them mindlessly. Not unlike how we mafias tried creating armies by transforming innocents people into enforcers. Only this time, the doctors are finding ways to make innocent people forget about their humanity. Their bitterness fuels them, especially those who are orphans and desperate ,” he explained, with an intensity that made her uneasy. Sherry knew all this explanation was leading up to something. This wasn’t the first time he’d cornered her with a sly punishment in mind. “If you don’t mind, I can clean up the glass and make the room spotless,” she offered, desperately hoping it might save her from whatever punishment he was cooking up. Dallion raised a bored eyebrow. “You think a littl
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Sherry bit back a sigh. This was new territory. She’d spent her teenage days playing tricks in the market to survive, she had also beaten some clever people who tried to harm her in the streets, other times she would sit at her aunt's kiosk watching from the sidelines as others took the spotlight by staging war at the streets. And now, he wanted her to play Clara, a role she’d once refused in her highschool for its over-the-top melodrama. Still, she continued to flip to the next page, feeling the weight of Dallion’s gaze as she continued her act. “Do you need me to take that book from you, and ask you to play just like it's written Sherry without reading it?” Dallion taunted, feigning boredom. But Sherry caught the underlying edge, his attention sharp, almost predatory. Clearing her throat, she started pacing, allowing herself to slip into character again. “Where is Mr. Cruise?” Her voice rang out, and for a second, she felt the thrill of the street life return. Just as she began t
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Sherryl’s thoughts drifted back to Dallion’s words, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between them. Mr. Cruise, spineless and shallow, was like a thorn in her memory. She found herself almost angry at how easy it was for men like him to walk away from promises and shatter hearts without a second thought. A spark of resolve flickered in her eyes as she glanced at Dallion, who was still watching her, that rare softness still lingering. She wondered, fleetingly, what secrets lay hidden behind his mask of iron—was he, too, a man capable of breaking hearts and walking away, or was he different?Dallion’s eyes met hers, his lips quirking upward as though reading her mind. “You’re wondering if I’m like him,” he remarked, his voice low. It wasn’t a question. Sherryl blinked, feeling her cheeks flush. Was she that transparent?“Would it be wrong to wonder?” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.His laughter was quiet, a mere huff of air, but it carri
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"Not a thing," Dallion smirked, his gaze intense. "You doubt me too much, Sherryl. Maybe it's time you had a little faith in me." His smile was charming, yet chilling, a silent promise that made her wonder if he’d already planned a convenient place to bury her on the way to Cross empire's theater. Sherryl used the pause and the silence between them to apologize, tilting her head slightly, offering a gesture of sincerity. Her submission caught Dallion’s interest, his expression unreadable. "Sorry about the glass tube," she said quietly, careful with her tone. "I’ll be more cautious. I won’t touch anything here again." "Good to hear it. But know this, Sherryl," his voice softened, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "Break anything that belongs to the council, and we’ll both find ourselves under Cross’s scrutiny. They’d make you wish you hadn’t acted so carelessly." He leaned back, studying her with an amused glint.
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It had been too long since she last set foot here. Since her mother’s death, Sherryl Rain hadn’t returned. With her mother gone, there was nothing left to come back for. The few essential items that remained in the house had been sold in the street market by her aunt May and uncle Larry, she had known the items had passed through hands until they landed with someone who could sell them further. The money Sherryl had gained was carefully stashed away, safe—or so she had thought—in a nearby place where her aunt and uncle lived, though it was miles from this place. Nostalgia washed over Sherryl as she returned to this forgotten corner of her past, a place abandoned and hollow. The door was locked, a small mercy to keep what was left hidden from prying eyes. After she had left, the area magistrate had taken over the place, storing it under his department until they could demolish it for some new project. But for a neglected human street like this one, developme
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Dallion Noticing her absence, he quickly turned around, a sly smirk playing on his lips as his head cocked to one side. “Stay put if you want, little mouse, but I want you to retrieve the keys to your old home.” Keys? She frowned, puzzled. What could he possibly want with those? Before she could respond, he was already heading toward the magistrate’s door, his steps deliberate, his presence imposing against the quiet town backdrop. Inside, the magistrate lounged in an oversized leather chair that looked more worn than it was likely worth. His small, pointed mustache twitched as he counted through a stack of marked bills on his desk. The scent of stale cigars clung to the air, mixing with the faint dampness that the nearby canal brought. His corpulent figure pressed against the chair's armrests, his pudgy fingers splayed over a ledger detailing the villagers' taxes—taxes he’d skimmed, inflated, and rerouted to suit his whims and his wif
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Dallion had pulled off his mud-covered shoes, setting them aside before stepping back into the bathroom. Sherryl was already in the bathtub, submerged in warm water, her bare skin hidden beneath the rippling surface. The heat soothed her shivering body, easing the lingering chill from earlier. But she hadn’t expected Dallion to walk back in after she had stripped down completely. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he said casually, not sparing her a glance as he strode toward one of the built-in cupboards along the wall. His voice was calm, unbothered. With his back to her, he rummaged through the shelves, unaware—or maybe fully aware—of the panic spreading across Sherryl’s face. Should she get out of the bath? The thought made her heart race. This had never happened before, so she hadn’t even considered that he might walk in while she was completely exposed. Her body had been mostly visible above the water before,
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The women didn’t linger outside. They stepped back into the mansion, leaving the butler and the dead maid still lying on the cold ground. Nickison furrowed his brows as a thought struck him—hadn’t Dallion left for the council early in the morning, riding in his usual blacked-out car? Then how had he returned without it? Had he walked the whole way back? The maid’s body remained sprawled out, her lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Blood pooled around her head, soaking into the pavement where her face pressed against the ground. Inside the mansion, in the quiet of Dallion’s room, Sherryl stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She watched as he entered the bathroom, not sparing her a glance as he moved. He pulled the plug in the tub before turning on the faucet, allowing steaming water to pour in. The sound of running water filled the silence. Feeling Sherryl’s eyes on him, Dallion placed his hands on the edge of the tub before a
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The maid’s body lay lifeless on the cold ground, her head barely attached, hanging at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled beneath her, the sharp scent thick in the air. Everyone stood frozen, the shock rendering them silent. Death wasn’t unusual in their world, but it was usually kept behind closed doors—clean, quiet, and handled out of sight. Dallion had no interest in subtlety. A lesson had to be taught, and he had made his point. No one would dare step out of line again.Grace was the first to speak, her voice steady but laced with disbelief. “Dallion, why did you kill her?” She was the only one with the nerve to ask, maybe because she was older. His voice was cold, empty. “Didn’t you hear me?” “I did.” Grace sighed, then turned to the servants. “Go back to your work.” The staff, still shaken, hurried to obey. A few hesitated, their gazes flickering to the corpse, but when Nickison sho
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Sherryl woke to the familiar sounds of the Cross mansion stirring to life. She went through her usual morning routine, the image of the destroyed port still lingering in her mind. Later, she stood on her balcony, gazing out at the vast expanse of the sea stretching below the mansion. The rhythmic crash of the waves usually brought her a sense of calm, but today, her thoughts were troubled. Suddenly, she was shoved forward, stumbling slightly. This was the second time in less than a week someone had deliberately pushed her. A chill ran down her spine. Was it a coincidence, or was something more sinister happening?She knew the Cross empire was a dark place, but someone messing with her under Dallion's nose, that person was wishing death. She tried to struggle to swim but all was in vain. Until she felt a gentle masculine hand wrapping around her.It was Dallion, he saved her again. After both Sherryl and Dallion climbed up the hill—with Dallion
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Sherryl’s hands went cold. An entire Cross family port wiped off the map—just like that. She swallowed, trying to wrap her mind around the scale of destruction. “They’re that powerful?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. “What do they even gain from it? Resources can be taken in other ways.” Dallion exhaled, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “True, but nothing compares to raw life force. Especially in large quantities—it’s pure, unfiltered energy.” Sherryl clenched her fists. “And it’s only poor workers?”She knew the workers at the marina were the poor innocent people who never knew what they were guarding and packing. She was sure nobody had told them about anything about what type of job they were doing but only to follow orders. “Unfortunately, yes.” He tilted his head, watching her reaction. “The poor are easy to manipulate. Remember that body you saw at the council’s facility?”
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Weeks passed in the country, including Bonlake, where the city barely saw any shift in its weather. With winter closing in, the air had turned sharper, colder, forcing people to stockpile wood to burn through the long, unforgiving nights. As always, Sherryl sat at the desk, her fingers gripping the pen as she finished the last of her work. Two candles flickered at the edge of the wooden surface, their dim glow fighting against the darkness that pressed against the room. The only sound was the steady tick of the clock, each second stretching into the silence. It was nearing eleven. “Are you done, Sherry?” The voice drifted in from the balcony, where Grace had been standing ever since she handed out the assignment. “Yes, Lady Grace,” Sherryl answered, keeping her gaze on the parchment she had just finished filling. A gust of wind swept in as Grace stepped inside, her chiffon dress swaying around her as she moved to
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. How do you want me to do it?
Sherryl's heart pounded, each beat loud in her ears as if she were prey caught in the sights of a predator. Was this it? Was she just another piece for him to break, another game to play until he was bored? Dallion’s gaze never wavered as he asked, “What’s got you so scared?” She swallowed hard. “It’s going to hurt.” The mere thought of his teeth—or rather, his knife—against her skin made a shiver race down her spine. A smirk curved on his lips. “Pain can be… enjoyable, under the right circumstances.” His voice was low, smooth, as he placed one hand beside her head, trapping her beneath him. Sherryl’s breath hitched. “Only a true masochist would think like that,” she blurted, her nerves making her speak without thinking. Dallion chuckled, his amusement only making her pulse race faster. “That just means you haven’t experienced it properly yet,” he mused, his dark eyes watching her intently. Her ine
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Was Dallion being serious? Did this mean she would never have a life of her own? That she would grow old, still bound to him, still serving the Cross empire, while he remained the same—young, powerful, untouchable? “No,” Sherryl frowned, her expression tightening. Dallion gave her a curious look. “What? Worried the family feels too small? We can always add Sheeran to it. That make it better?” His smirk told her he already knew the answer. Of course, it didn’t. Adding his wolf of a right-hand man to this so-called ‘family’ didn’t make it feel any less like a cage. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration. She needed to be sure—needed to know if this was just another one of his games, another way to toy with her for his own amusement. Dallion stepped toward her, lifting his hand. Instinctively, Sherryl squeezed her eyes shut, but his voice, suddenly soft, made her open them again.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Beg me to fill you.
Back in the dimly lit penthouse, Dallion leaned back in his leather chair, sipping the dark red drink Nickison had brought to his room. One cup down, he poured himself another, the liquid swirling lazily inside the crystal glass. Sherryl stood in silence, watching him, her expression unreadable. Dallion hadn’t set the glass down, holding onto it like a moth clinging to a cold, unyielding wall. He took his time, savoring this second drink rather than downing it as he had the first. "Did you and Rose have some kind of fight last week?" he asked, lazily running his tongue over his lips, catching the last drop of the drink. "She seems eager to take shots at you." Sherryl hesitated before replying, "I don’t believe I’ve done anything to upset her, sir." Though, deep down, she suspected Rose’s constant hostility was simply because she was Dallion’s possession—his little mouse. And that alone seemed to be enough reason for Rose to make her life mise
