The weeks that followed were a blur of exquisite torture and absolute surrender. Angela lived a double life that was rapidly collapsing into a single, dark reality. By day, she was a college student and a waitress, a ghost moving through the streets of Milan. By night, she was a creature of the penthouse, a living doll for the most dangerous man in Europe.

She no longer felt the need to scrub Lucifer’s scent from her skin. In fact, she craved it. The soreness in her body had become a permanent hum, a baseline of existence that made the world feel muted and dull. The only time she felt truly alive was when she was under him, being stretched, broken, and claimed.