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You've lost that privilege
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2024-11-16 12:32:42Hearing 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
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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
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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.
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"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
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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
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"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'
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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
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The Cross Empire Sherryl’s curiosity got the better of her, despite the fear curling in her stomach. "What is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Dallion leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "The eternal vow. A bond that ties your very existence to mine. A mark that cannot be undone, binding you to me forever. Body, mind, and soul." Dallion, instead of giving her a direct answer, raised his hand, placing a finger on his lips in a motion to silence her. "It's a secret, little mouse. One that's not to be spoken of," he said with a teasing smirk that didn’t quite reach his cold, calculating eyes. Then, with the same intensity, he added, "Tell me, Sherryl. What do you think you’ll receive today?" Sherryl Rain fought the urge to roll her eyes but instead replied with cautious neutrality, “How would I know, Master Dallion?”
Last Updated : 2024-11-24
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The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Testing her
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,
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. stepped inside
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
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. I did
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?”
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Using them
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
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Lie back!
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
