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The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Sheryl love
Dallion turned around to face her, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Lovely? You should have seen her tear through her enemies like a wolf through prey." He smirked at the shock on her face. "Did you think she was kind?" His laugh was dark, sending a chill through her. Sherry remained silent. "Oh, my little mouse," Dallion’s lips curled into a wicked smile, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I take after my mother. She was beautiful, maybe kind to her children, but you know how I am. Grace takes after our father, but I... I inherited all of my mother’s traits, while sweet Rose has taken after her own mother." Sherry had no words. Her mind reeled at the image of Dallion’s mother, a woman who could tear people apart. She followed him cautiously, aware that there was more lurking beneath his surface. "Don’t judge by appearances," he lectured her, his tone turning condescending. "Learn to look beyond the facade. Use your brain, l
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. you'd be surprised
Once she was up, Sherryl started to balance herself on the branch, which felt weak and shaky. After a few nervous adjustments, she stretched, reaching out to the fruit Dallion had pointed out earlier. Just as she balanced herself, the branch above her, where she had been holding on, snapped into her hand. For a fleeting moment, fear gripped her, but she sighed in relief when nothing catastrophic happened—until she heard another crack. Her heart raced as the branch beneath her gave way. But Sherryl had expected she would hit the ground considering how Dallion was, he was always after making fun of her. Instead, Dallion caught her in time as she fell. She had squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact, but when the fall didn’t come, she finally opened her eyes to see him staring at her, calm and composed. "Thank you," she muttered, still catching her breath. "You got my fruit?" Dallion asked nonchalantly. Sherryl looked down at the fruit in her hand, slightly bruised from the ordea
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. drop it lower
By the time they reached the mansion, the sky had brightened because it was almost noon, clouds gathering ominously since they had left. Dallion stopped outside the grand estate without stepping in, signaling to his driver, Victor, who stood at attention, ready for his master’s command. Dallion turned his dark gaze to his butler, who appeared out of nowhere as if summoned by an invisible bell. “We’re visiting the Bone lake beach I’ll be back in three hours. In the meantime, Raven might come by with some items. Make sure everything gets to my room without a scratch. Handle it yourself,” Dallion instructed, his tone clipped. “I’ll make sure everything is brought to your room safely, sir,” the butler responded with a bow. “Good.” Without waiting for further acknowledgment, Dallion strode toward the waiting car, and Sherryl followed closely, as was expected. Nicki
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. A generous tip
Dallion, who had mentioned finding her a new pair of heels, had instead handed Sherry the stack of bags he'd gathered. He hadn't picked a single thing for her, and she'd learned just how ridiculously picky he was. She’d thought she was cautious when shopping, given her lack of funds, but this man was in a league of his own. They’d hit nearly a dozen upscale shops, yet Dallion kept turning his nose up at everything with a look of absolute boredom until he finally found a blazer that mildly interested him, only to drop it again. When they reached a store he deemed acceptable, he’d started haggling shamelessly, dismissing price tags as if they were mere suggestions. "Let’s settle on two thousand," Dallion said, examining a sleek, dark jacket as if it held the secrets of the universe. Sherry bit down her reaction, feeling the flush of secondhand embarrassment. She was the captive here, technically his possession, yet she found herself wishing she could disappear behind the clothing
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. something more suitable
The assistant led Sherry into another room where a dark, sleek tub filled with water awaited her. The room resembled a luxurious spa rather than a mere washroom. Black marble tiles covered the floor, polished to a mirror-like gleam. A small leather chair sat near the tub, and the assistant gestured for Sherry to sit.Clad in a tight, utilitarian dress that skimmed just above her knees, Sherry sat with a restrained posture, careful not to expose more than necessary. Awkwardly, she lifted her foot, placing it into the cool water, feeling a jolt of unexpected relief. Her skin was roughened from days on the run, calloused and scarred, and the sight embarrassed her, but the assistant remained impassive, a perfect, blank slate as she knelt to scrub Sherry’s foot with professional precision.Sherry braced herself for a look of disdain—if not from the assistant, then from Gen, the store’s intimidating proprietor. Yet neither the assistant nor Gen displayed even a
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. what are you?
The woman was swift as she emerged with two boxes in her hands. "These arrived together with the crimson stilettos you were eyeing, Mr. Cross," she said, opening a box without waiting for her assistant and kneeling in front of Sherry. Sherry found this strange, almost unsettling. Two weeks into this life, and people had treated her like a pawn, disregarding her as if her individual worth didn’t matter. In that time, this woman, who managed the store, knelt before her without even a moment’s hesitation. The gesture touched Sherry. It was often said that in the bleakest moments, the smallest kindness felt like a light in the dark, a reminder that some trace of humanity lingered, even among people as ruthless as those in the Cross Empire. "These are crafted by a master cobbler in southern Bone lake," Gen explained, lifting a pair of dark, inky blue heels that resembled a midnight sky. From afar, they appeared black, but upon closer
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Cheap
She 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
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Not interested
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,
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The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Body mind and soul
Sherryl’s heart sank like a stone. The word collar clawed at her dignity, and she stiffened, her voice breaking slightly as she replied, "I am not an animal, Dallion." "Then the mark it is," he declared without hesitation. Her widening eyes didn’t faze him. "What? No!" she stepped back, her pulse quickening. But with every step she took, Dallion's gaze grew colder, cutting through her resistance like frost slicing through fragile glass. "Do not test me, Sherryl Rain," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "I’ve told you before, I don’t tolerate defiance. If we were in someone else’s home tonight, you'd be in far worse trouble. Not all men are as... considerate as I am." The weight of his words pressed down on her. Her stomach churned, but her mind couldn’t resist the urge to retort. "Then don’t take me to t
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. something more
"Good evening, Mr. Dallion," greeted the man, his tone formal but laced with an undercurrent of tension. He inclined his head slightly, his well-groomed blonde hair shifting momentarily before settling back into place. "Evening, Jerry Locks," Dallion replied, his casual smile betraying nothing. Sherryl instinctively shifted closer to Dallion, her movements subtle but unmistakable, like a bird seeking shelter from a brewing storm. "Is this your so-called captive?" Jerry Locks asked, his lips curving into a thin, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "You should be careful about parading her around without a proper tag. It sends the wrong message, like she’s available for... anyone’s attention." Sherryl stiffened at his words, her gut twisting with disgust. She tried to mask her emotions, but the slight curl of her lips betrayed her thoughts. It didn’t matter, though. Jerry Locks noticed. He was the man Dallion'
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Isn't over
As Dallion finished his drink, Alexander's remarks continued to play in his mind, “Changing a captive's mindset after what they endure is no easy task.” His voice carried the weight of experience, as someone deeply familiar with the workings of underground organizations. Though the Cross empire didn’t house its operations near the City, but in the shadows of Bone lake and it's neighbors, Alexander as one of the four strong Mafias, ensured he knew every breath and whisper that echoed through the cities. Dallion inclined his head slightly, understanding the layers of Alexander's words. The torment inflicted to captives in those places didn’t just break bodies—it shattered wills, molding captives into submissive beings who clung to their captors for survival. The fear of rebellion, fueled by the knowledge of inevitable punishment, kept them compliant. Anyone who entered those gates rarely emerged unchanged. The few who resisted either
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. You're impossible
Sherry stood silently behind Dallion, her head tilted slightly downward, avoiding the scrutinizing gazes of the mafia elites. Her presence, while unnoticed by some, still drew lingering whispers among those who couldn’t understand why the Cross Empire’s most feared don had brought along someone so out of place. Meanwhile, Dallion entertained a small group of sycophants, his sharp tongue delivering sarcastic barbs that left no room for retorts. "Mr. Cross, you should consider visiting our new penthouse. Father had it refurbished just last month. Would you be interested in an exclusive tour?" proposed one of the women, her voice laced with obvious admiration. "Why not? Perhaps the next business meeting could be hosted there," Dallion replied smoothly, his smirk disarming yet dripping with mockery. He cast a questioning glance at the others. "What do you all think?" A murmur of agreement ripple
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. I have no idea what your talking about
"I have no idea what you’re talking about, Master Dallion,” Sherry replied, her voice steady, while her heart beat against her chest like a warning bell. She fought to keep her pulse hidden from his sharp eyes, knowing well how closely he was observing her. Dallion’s smile remained unmoved, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes that made her wary of his intentions. He took a step forward, closer than she liked, murmuring, “Shall we retrace the moment that made those cheeks of yours go crimson? You're quite the little mouse, aren’t you? Oh, excuse me, my bad. Big mouse,” he added, his tone mockingly apologetic. “I'm a kind master, after all. Who else would tailor a name specifically for their captive, hmm?” “Could you please avoid calling me that?” She gave a slight frown, finding his words unnervingly odd yet infuriating. She knew he was playing with her, trying to get under her skin. “But didn’t you protest when I called y
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. It's nothing
Sherry shrugged, feigning indifference. “People in power are all the same, they take what they can, whenever they can.” “True,” he murmured, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. “But remember, even those who think they’re untouchable always have someone above them, a bigger fish ready to devour them when they get out of line.” He took another long puff, letting the smoke curl through the cold air. “Master Dallion…” Sherry hesitated before finally asking, “Why did you... why did you decide to buy me?” The question had haunted her since the day she had asked him the very same question, the enigmatic mafia boss with a reputation for ruthlessness. She couldn’t shake the words she'd overheard about his supposed hatred for captives, especially after what had happened to a close friend of his. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching her as though weighing his response.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Hand on the wall
Sherryl had never done anything to provoke them, yet the resentment seemed to have deep roots, tangled and hidden in her past. Ever since she was a child, her mere presence was treated like a bad omen. After her father’s abrupt disappearance, she and her mother had been ostracized, left to fend for themselves. All she had wanted back then was to fit in, to be like the other kids, to have friends. But over time, she learned to avoid the stones hurled at her and the cruel words thrown even more viciously. That’s when she stopped trying to be accepted, resigning herself to being an outcast alongside her mother, unwanted and unseen. A faint shuffle drew her attention back inside, where Dallion was standing by the door, his gaze fixed on something in the night sky. "Clearer skies here compared to the city. Must be the lack of traffic and noise," he murmured, his voice soft yet unmistak
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. You've lost that privilege
Hearing the crack and pop sound made Sherryl's eyes snap from looking at the man’s finger, which he now cradled as he collapsed to the floor, his back pressed against the table, whining and grimacing in agony. Sherryl’s gaze shifted from the magistrate to Dallion, who maintained an unnervingly calm demeanor as if he hadn't just inflicted excruciating pain to someone. It seemed that Dallion took particular pleasure in tormenting people's fingers; the sound resonated in the now dim room, where the atmosphere had turned dark and cold. Her heart raced, but it wasn't fear that fueled the rhythm, this time round it was sheer disbelief. With the way Rose had contorted and twisted her arm a week ago, Sherryl had always known that Dark mafias were strong and merciless, but to crush a human's bone with just a few fingers was another matter entirely. It had seemed impossible before, but witnessing it firsthand made her body tremble slightly a
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Consider it you only warning
If the magistrate had thought everything was over and Dallion was just another busy body who had come by to cause ruckus, he was wrong.It was just seconds ago he'd stepped out, but it was also the same seconds he'd used to walk back in.This time Sheryl had walked in with him.After all they were here for the keys to her house.The dim, bluish glow from the neon lights outside was barely able to seep through the windows, shadowing the narrow office. The charged lamp on the desk flickered weakly, its flame dying out as if it too refused to illuminate the grim faces within the room. Dallion glanced at the man before him. whose round belly pressed against his too-tight belt, each movement slightly straining the fabric of his trousers. His thick, fur-lined coat draped over him in an attempt to stave off the creeping cold. It wasn’t the first time Dallion encountered a power-abusing official who grew fat off the backs of struggling communities.
