Devotion Novels & Stories

“You do not know love. You know obsession.” “I know enough,” he replied. “And I will show you what devotion looks like. I will show you every day you spend here.” He leaned closer again, speaking softly near my ear. “You will never be alone again. Not even for a moment. I will be here. Watching. Guarding. Wanting.” “Never,” I whispered. His breath touched my skin with a quiet, chilling laugh. “I can wait.” He straightened and moved toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back, his face shadowed with something twisted and consuming. His expression held no triumph or rage. It held something far more frightening. It held the kind of de

My tycoon husband was a charmer. But I never worried about it. Not when I still remembered throwing myself in front of a car to save him, losing both my legs in the process. Sebastian Walker had promised he would love me for the rest of his life, even if I could never give him a child of my own. When I was rushed into the hospital after the accident, the doctor said my spine couldn't handle the weight of a pregnancy. If I ever got pregnant, my back would break. So Sebastian made the call himself. He cut back on how often we were intimate, and he even set aside his pride as a man to get a vasectomy. Everyone said I was the one thing that mattered most in Sebastian's life. I believed it t

After a car accident leaves me with mild PTSD, my doctor says I just need time to get comfortable in cars again. But my husband, Don Alessio Valenti, takes away all my car keys, gets down on one knee, and makes me a promise. "From now on, tesoro, you have me and every driver I employ at your beck and call, day or night." For five years, Alessio treats me like a queen. I'm the envy of every woman in the Valenti family. Then Bianca Moretti returns. She's his former assistant, the woman who once took a bullet for him during a bloody power struggle within the family. On our fifth wedding anniversary, Alessio insists on taking me to a remote castle in the mountains. But halfway up a deserted

“You are safe here.” She remembered scoffing internally. Safe had become a word people used too easily. “Devotion Assurance is designed to support clarity, purpose, and emotional alignment,” the voice continued. “Participation is voluntary. You may disengage at any time.” A pause. “Do you wish to proceed?” Mara had hesitated. She told herself she was just tired. That this was no different from meditation protocols, from the grounding exercises Rowan himself had once taught during a brutal winter. “Yes,” she had said.

But beneath the steel in his voice was something else. Strain. Because if this were easy for him, the words would not weigh so heavily. “True devotion,” he finished, “is proven not in the absence of feeling… but in the mastery of it.” Silence. Then soft applause as he stepped back. Applause. As though he had delivered a beautiful, noble teaching. As though he hadn’t just drawn a line through my chest. Mass continued. I stood, knelt and responded automatically. But my mind replayed every word.

The world feels frozen. Like the end of the world rests on my shoulders. In this minute, everything can change. No one seems to move once I start speaking. The clouds open up and lightning strikes. I’m running out of time. “Devotion isn’t about your soulmate. It comes from so much more. From the bond created to cement a life beyond what we all thought was possible. From friendship that has a power to destroy a person once their gone. Devotion to a mother that could transpire the grave. To the ability to stay friends with the nobody, everybody else hated. To a bond so strong you stayed by her side and helped her find her way home

I gave myself to it, to him, because I trusted him in ways that made my chest ache. “Mine,” he growled softly, forehead pressed to mine as his hand slid over my waist. “Always mine.” “Yes,” I breathed, the word tumbling out unbidden. “Always.” What followed blurred into fire and need, into the kind of intimacy that made the rest of the world fall away. Devon’s dominance was steady, unyielding, yet laced with a tenderness that made me tremble. He pushed, yes, teased and claimed and reminded me with every movement that I was his but he also worshiped, as though every inch of me deserved his devotion.

It’s walking with us. I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, the house quiet, my thoughts settled. This was the commitment I hadn’t known how to name before. Not a promise that demanded certainty. Not a future locked into shape. But a living choice renewed quietly, held lightly, and strong enough to keep choosing itself without needing to be defended. And that felt like the most honest kind of devotion there was.

I post a short story about a girl with a hopeless crush. She keeps risking her life for him and humiliating herself, and the story blows up online. Some people call me out for abusing the heroine, and one says I must be the heroine herself. When I see this comment, I reply, "Yeah, I'm her." I put my phone down. I get a little tipsy at the party and fall asleep against the couch. When I wake up, I see Yvonne Scott holding my phone, laughing as she reads my story aloud. "Black stud earrings, always dressed in black. I knew it was Xavier as soon as I read that. I can't believe you're the author." She waves the phone around. "See? I knew she had a crush on you for five years, but she never

Devoted. And in that moment, I knew it wasn’t just possession anymore. It was something deeper, something that scared the hell out of me but felt impossibly right. This was devotion. And God help me—I’d burn the world to keep her mine.