In the Name of Love, I Worshipped the Devil

Micah was the same cold, self-important bastard as always—dressed like royalty, glass of water in hand, laughing with business elites like he wasn’t made of ice. And then there was Becca, floating around in a red mermaid dress. They looked like the perfect couple.

She spotted me instantly. Her lips curled into that smug little smirk, like she’d already won something. She walked toward me, hips swaying like a damn performance.

She held out a glass of champagne. “Drink with me?”

I stared her dead in the eyes and spoke slowly. “Where. Are. My mother’s ashes?”

She blinked in all fake innocence. “Ashes? What ashes?”

I stepped in, close enough to feel her flinch. Rage rolled off me in waves.

“My mother’s ashes,” I hissed. “Where the hell are they?”

She laughed, and then she blew on her nails like this was a goddamn spa day. “Oh, those? Who knows what kind of dirt we dug up. Wind caught it, poof, gone!”

I snatched the champagne from her hand and smashed it against her head.

Screams erupted. Chaos. Someone shrieked. I didn’t care.

Micah’s face turned thundercloud black. He stormed over and hit me hard in the belly. I flew backward and crashed into the long table behind me.

“Missy! Are you insane?!”

Becca was sobbing now, blood running down her face, her hands clutching her head. “Micah… Micah it hurts.”

Micah’s eyes practically burned through me. “Security! Get her the hell out of here!”

A bunch of guards grabbed me and dragged me across the floor like I wasn’t human.

And behind me, Micah’s unforgiving voice rang out. “Take her to the northern meditation quarters. Maybe that’ll calm that demon in her the fuck down.”

The scent of incense clung to the air.

I was kneeling on a meditation mat, tears spilling quietly down my cheeks.

They desecrated my mom’s grave, dug it up, and threw her ashes into the wind like garbage!

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and dialed the number I hadn’t touched in years.

It only took one ring. A lazy, familiar voice answered. “Well, well. The princess finally remembers me?”

My mouth opened, but no sound came.

Then I broke.

“I want to go home…” I sobbed, my shoulders shaking, my voice cracking.

The other end went dead silent.

Then came a voice cold enough to freeze hell. “Who touched you?”

I choked on my own breath. “He doesn’t love me… They—they dug up Mom’s grave… and now he’s locked me away—”

“Stay put,” the voice growled, a storm beneath it. “I’m coming.”

The moment the call ended, Micah’s name popped up on my screen.

I picked it up and shouldn’t have.

“You lunatic,” he spat. “Thanks to you, Becca can’t bear a child anymore!”

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” His voice twisted into something cruel. “She recommended a spiritual teacher. Says he’s good at taming wild women like you.”

As soon as he hung up, the door creaked open.

A tall, lanky man in monk robes stepped in. There was something wrong with his eyes—wet and greedy. He walked toward me, slow and steady, like a predator.

Then—he grabbed me.

I screamed, pushing and fighting. “Get off me! This is supposed to be sacred ground!”

He leaned in, breath hot and filthy against my ear. “Sir Micah says to reform you… thoroughly.”

“Help!” I shrieked.

But all I got was a slap.

My world spun, and blood filled my mouth.

He grinned, lifted his foot, and stomped on my phone. It crushed it into pieces.

“Let’s see who comes now.”

That son of a bitch threw me down. My skull hit the floor with a crack, and my vision blurred.

But I saw it—a white porcelain vase on the coffee table. Without wasting a second, I grabbed it with the strength of the damned.

Missy’s POV

The vase shattered against the son of a bitch’s temple. His eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a sack of trash.

I stumbled to the door—it was locked. I ran to the window.

‘I’m on the third floor. Shit!’

Behind me, I heard footsteps. “She’s trying to escape!”

There was no time to think.

I jumped.

Agony exploded in my leg as I hit the ground. I couldn’t move, not even scream.

Ansel, the “spiritual” freak, appeared above me, and I could see rage twist on his face.

He mercilessly stomped on my broken leg.

When I almost passed out, he dragged me back.

“You want to run?” he snarled, tearing off his belt. “Here’s your final lesson.”

His greasy hands reached for my collarbone. “So soft…”

The red light on the camera blinked. ‘He’s fucking recording!’

I wanted to puke.

Just then—a blade flashed, and it drove straight through his hand.

He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Behind him, a figure stepped in.

Tall. Calm.

I watched as bloody gloves slid off the figure’s hands casually.