The Devil’s Threads

Camilla had never felt so alone.

She stood in the middle of her new room, the ornate door locked behind her, staring at the phone Riccardo had left for her. The weight of it in her hand felt like an anchor, holding her in place. The screen taunted her: Riccardo as the only contact.

She couldn’t trust him. Not now. Not after everything.

But the message… “You’re free to leave. But if you do, you’ll be hunted.”

Her fingers hovered over the screen, torn between curiosity and fear. What had her father gotten them into? What was the full extent of the debts he had owed to Riccardo—and to those far more dangerous than him?

A knock at the door.

Camilla’s heart leapt. She quickly shoved the phone into her bag and hurried to open it. Her mind raced through a dozen possibilities—maybe Riccardo had returned, maybe it was just another servant—but when she swung it open, she was met with the sight of the maid from earlier, holding a tray of food.

“Dinner,” the maid said with a blank expression. She didn’t seem fazed by the tension in the air. “Master Riccardo insists you eat.”

Camilla stepped aside, taking the tray from her. “Thanks,” she murmured, and the maid silently retreated without another word.

Camilla set the tray down on the table. Pasta. Red wine. A small cake for dessert. The kind of meal a billionaire would give someone they didn’t know how to treat. She wasn’t hungry—could barely stomach the thought of food—but she didn’t want to appear weak in front of Riccardo, or anyone else.

She sat down, poking at the pasta with her fork, when something caught her eye—a small folder on the edge of the table. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. Her pulse spiked as she reached for it, quickly flipping it open.

Inside were papers—debt contracts, signatures, numbers that meant nothing to her. But one document stood out.

It was her father’s signature, but the rest of the paper was blacked out. She squinted, trying to read the small print beneath the marker’s ink.

There was something in there—something that tied Riccardo’s name to her father’s debts. But the rest was a blur.

She pulled the papers aside, feeling the rush of heat to her face. They couldn’t leave her in the dark like this. She needed answers.

Before she could gather her thoughts, she heard it.

A soft click of the door opening behind her.

Riccardo.

She didn’t turn around. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how he affected her. She heard him approach, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air, and the heavy presence of his footsteps.

“I see you found the papers,” he said, his voice smooth like melted honey. “I had a feeling you would.”

Camilla’s grip on the folder tightened. She stood up and faced him, defiant. “What are these? What’s going on?”

Riccardo didn’t look surprised by her confrontation. He stepped closer, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me what it is!” She slammed the folder down on the table. “I want to know why you’re using me as leverage.”

He folded his arms. “You think you’re the first woman to be used as a pawn in a power struggle? I’ve built empires on the backs of the desperate. Your father—he owed me far more than just money.”

Camilla felt the world tilt, her heart in her throat. “What does that mean?”

Riccardo’s gaze never wavered, his voice cool and controlled. “Your father promised me a daughter. A bride. The debts he owed could’ve been wiped clean, but he—” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “—he thought he could play me.”

Her stomach churned, the words sinking deep into her chest.

“I didn’t have to marry you, Camilla. I didn’t have to give you a choice. But your father made it clear that you were worth more than all his money. And so here we are.”

Camilla opened her mouth to speak, but the words died in her throat. Her father had… sold her? This wasn’t just debt. This wasn’t some business deal. He had bargained her away.

“And don’t flatter yourself,” Riccardo added, his tone almost too casual. “I didn’t take you because I wanted you. I took you because you were the only thing your father had left to offer. And I will own every part of you—because I already paid for it.”

The words were cold. Calculated. And they burned deeper than anything she could have imagined.

But she refused to show him how much they cut.

“I don’t want your pity,” she spat, her anger rising. “You didn’t save me, Riccardo. You trapped me. You thought you could make me your toy, and I’m not going to sit here and play by your rules.”

For a moment, there was silence. Riccardo’s eyes bored into hers, searching for something.

“Then you’ll learn,” he said quietly, “that when you play with fire, you either burn… or you become the flame.”

She swallowed hard, but the defiance never wavered. She wasn’t a puppet, and she wouldn’t be treated like one.

Later that night, after Riccardo had left her in silence, Camilla sat by the window, her mind swirling.

She needed to know more. She needed to understand what she had walked into, and why her father had made this sacrifice. Because there was something here—something far more complicated than just a financial transaction.

Her father hadn’t been a saint. She knew that. But this… this was more than debt. This was a game that would swallow her whole.

Her eyes narrowed as she thought about the mysterious paper in the folder.

If Riccardo thought she would simply be his pawn, he had another thing coming. She would find a way out—somehow.

She wasn’t just going to lie down and accept this.

She was going to fight.

But she needed answers first.