𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 18+

Chapter VI

C H A P T E R 6:  THE DEViL'S INVITATION

Sofie Malone-

The doorbell rings again, sharper this time, cutting through the quiet hum of my apartment. My fingers tremble slightly as I adjust my coat, my mind racing through all the possible outcomes of this evening. 

What am I doing? Why am I even entertaining this?

I've never been one to let anyone intimidate me, let alone dictate my life. But Rafael DeLuca is something else entirely. His presence feels less like a person and more like a force—a storm, dark and unrelenting, that pulls everything into its path. Including me.

When I open the door, he's standing there, calm and composed, as if he owns the very air around him. Maybe he does. His suit fits him perfectly, a sharp contrast to the wild, electric energy that simmers just beneath the surface of his controlled demeanor. His eyes—those piercing, unreadable eyes—lock onto mine, and I feel that strange heat again, that awareness of him that I can't seem to shake.

"Good evening, Sofie," he says, his voice as smooth and deliberate as ever.

I swallow hard, trying to summon some semblance of control. "Rafael."

There's a flicker of amusement in his expression, like he's entertained by my attempt at composure. As if he can see right through me. It's infuriating. And yet, there's something about it—about him—that makes me want to rise to the challenge. To prove to him, and maybe to myself, that I'm not as easy to crack as he thinks.

He steps aside, motioning toward the sleek black car waiting at the curb. The driver stands by the door, his posture rigid and professional, the very picture of discretion. I glance back at my apartment—the last piece of my world that feels normal—and then at Rafael, who stands there patiently, as if he already knows what I'll choose.

And maybe he does. Maybe I do, too.

I step past him, my heels clicking against the pavement as I head toward the car. His hand brushes the small of my back—a barely-there touch that feels more like a command—and for a split second, I wonder if this is a mistake. But the thought vanishes as quickly as it comes. Mistake or not, I'm in this now.

The car is as sleek and intimidating as the man beside me, its leather seats cool beneath my palms as I settle in. He slides in a moment later, and the door closes with a soft thud, sealing us into a space that feels far too small and far too charged. The silence stretches between us, heavy and unyielding, as the car glides smoothly through the city streets.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, studying his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble that only adds to his air of dangerous sophistication. He doesn't speak, doesn't even look at me, but his presence is enough to make my skin prickle with awareness.

"You're quiet," he finally says, his voice breaking the tension. "Regretting your decision already?"

I turn to him, meeting his gaze head-on. There's a challenge in his eyes, a glint of something dark and knowing that makes my pulse quicken. He's testing me. Always testing me.

"Not yet," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and for a moment, I think he might actually smile. But the moment passes, and he leans back in his seat, his gaze never leaving mine. "Good. I don't like wasting my time."

There it is again—that quiet arrogance, that absolute certainty in himself that would be unbearable in anyone else. But with him, it's... compelling. Infuriating, but compelling. Like a puzzle I can't help but want to solve, even if it means losing myself in the process.