CHAPTER EIGHT

ELLA

Tonight, Lucifer is set to join me for dinner. Daphne prepares a table downstairs, serving a meal of grilled fish, rice, beans, and plantains. She mentions proudly that it's her special Caribbean recipe.

"Are you joining us?" I ask as she carries the dishes to the table.

I'm showered and dressed in the outfit Daphne provided: a lacy white bra and panties set under a yellow dress with white floral patterns, paired with white high-heeled sandals.

The look is sweet and delicate—far from my usual jeans and dark tops. It makes me feel like a porcelain doll.

I still can’t believe they’re letting me move freely around the house. There are knives in the kitchen, sharp and within reach.

I could take one and use it on Daphne at any moment. The thought tempts me, though my stomach churns at the mere idea of blood and violence.

Perhaps soon. But not yet. First, I need more information about this place.

I’m learning something about myself: I’m not one for impulsive or dramatic actions that serve no purpose.

A calm, rational voice in my head reminds me that I need a plan—a clear way off this island—before I make any moves. Attacking Daphne now would be reckless. It might get me locked up—or worse.

No, this is better. Let them think I’m harmless. It’s my best chance of escaping.

For the past hour, I’ve been in the kitchen, quietly observing Daphne cook. She’s skilled, efficient, and entirely at ease. The distraction has kept my thoughts from straying to Lucifer and the night ahead.

"No," she answers simply when I repeat my question. "I’ll be in my room. Lucifer wants to spend some time alone with you."

"Why? Does he think we’re dating or something?"

She smirks. "Lucifer doesn’t date."

"Right," I say, dripping with sarcasm. "Why bother dating when you can just kidnap and coerce instead?"

Her expression hardens, and her tone turns sharp. "Don’t be ridiculous. Do you honestly think he needs to force women? Even you can’t be that naive."

I blink at her. "So you’re telling me he doesn’t make a habit of abducting women and bringing them here?"

She shakes her head. "You’re the only person besides me who has ever set foot on this island. It’s Lucifer’s private sanctuary. No one else even knows it exists."

A chill runs down my spine. "So why me?" I ask cautiously, my heart beginning to race. "What makes me so special?"

She smiles faintly. "You’ll find out eventually. Lucifer will tell you when he’s ready."

I’m sick of her cryptic answers, but I know she’s too loyal to betray him. I decide to try a different angle. "What did you mean earlier, when you said you owe him your life?"

Her smile fades, replaced by a hardened expression. The softness in her features is gone, leaving behind something bitter and unyielding. "That’s none of your business," she says coldly. "Little girl."

For the next ten minutes, as Daphne finishes setting the table, she doesn’t say another word to me.

Once everything is ready, she leaves the dining room, leaving me alone to wait for Lucifer.

My emotions are a strange mix of nervousness and anticipation. For the first time, I’ll have the chance to face my captor outside the confines of the bedroom.

Despite my fear, I can’t deny the twisted intrigue I feel toward him. He terrifies me, yet I’m drawn to uncovering the mystery behind him. Who is he? What does he truly want from me? Why did he choose me of all people?

Moments later, I sense his presence even before I see him. The air around me shifts, charged with tension and anticipation.

When I finally look up, I see him entering the room. He’s dressed in a soft gray polo shirt and white khaki pants—an outfit so casual, it’s almost disarming. If I didn’t know better, I might think we were having dinner at a country club.

My heart races as he approaches, every nerve in my body heightened. My skin feels overly sensitive; my chest tightens, and I can feel the fabric of my dress grazing my legs, triggering memories of his touch. Warmth pools in my core at the thought.

He stops in front of me and leans down, pressing a brief kiss to my lips.

"Hello, Ella," he says as he straightens, his lips curling into a darkly sensual smile. The sight of him takes my breath away, my thoughts scattering under the weight of his presence.

His smile grows wider as he moves to sit across the table from me.

"How was your day, my pet?" he asks, reaching for the fish and serving himself with an ease that feels almost practiced. His movements are confident, almost elegant.

It’s unsettling to realize that something so dangerous can appear so beautiful.

I manage to gather my thoughts. "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what? My pet?"

I nod, my curiosity overriding my fear for a moment.

"Because you remind me of a kitten," he says, his blue eyes gleaming with an unreadable emotion. "Small, soft, and very touchable. You make me want to stroke you, just to hear if you’ll purr in my arms."

Heat floods my face, and I feel a flush creeping over me. I hope my expression doesn’t betray the effect his words are having. "I’m not an animal," I protest, my voice shaky.

"Of course you’re not. I’m not into bestiality."

"Then what are you into?" I blurt out, instantly regretting my boldness. Fear tightens my chest. He’s not Daphne—he genuinely scares me.

To my relief, he seems amused by my outburst. "At this moment," he says softly, his voice carrying an unsettling intimacy, "I’m into you."

I quickly look away, reaching for the rice with trembling hands.

"Here, let me help you with that," he says, taking the plate from me. His fingers brush against mine briefly, sending a jolt through me. Before I can protest, he fills my plate with generous portions of everything on the table.

He sets it back in front of me, but I can only stare at it. My nerves are wound so tight that the thought of eating in front of him makes my stomach churn. Every ounce of my composure feels like it’s hanging by a thread.

When I glance up, I see Lucifer has no trouble at all. He eats with enthusiasm, clearly enjoying Daphne's cooking.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, pausing between bites. “Not hungry?”

I shake my head, even though I’d been starving before he arrived.

He sets his fork down, his expression darkening slightly. “Why not? Daphne said you spent the day swimming at the beach. After all that exercise, you should be hungry.”

“I’m fine,” I reply with a shrug, avoiding his piercing gaze. There’s no way I’m admitting that he’s the reason my appetite has disappeared.

His eyes narrow, suspicion flashing in their icy depths. “Are you playing games with me? Eat, Ella. You’re already thin—I don’t want you losing more weight.”

The command in his voice makes my pulse spike. Hesitantly, I pick up my fork and take a small bite, the taste completely overshadowed by the knot forming in my stomach.

Something tells me it would be unwise to disobey him, especially over something as trivial as food.

“That’s a good girl,” he says with quiet approval, his tone laced with satisfaction.

I keep eating, forcing each bite past the tightness in my throat. My eyes stay fixed on my plate, unwilling to meet the intensity of his gaze. It’s easier this way—less overwhelming.

“So,” he begins conversationally after I’ve managed to eat half my portion, “Daphne tells me you had a nice day swimming.”

I nod briefly but keep my focus downward, hoping the conversation will end there.

“What do you think of the island?” he presses, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp, studying me as though my answer holds some deeper significance.

“It’s beautiful,” I admit honestly. Then, after a pause, I add quietly, “But I don’t want to be here.”

“Of course,” he says, almost understandingly. “But you’ll get used to it. This is your new home, Ella. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you.”

His words churn in my stomach like a lead weight. The food I just ate feels like it might come back up. Swallowing hard, I muster the courage to speak again. “And my family?” My voice is low, bitter. “How are they supposed to accept this?”

A flicker of emotion—something unidentifiable—crosses his face. “What if they didn’t think you were dead?” he asks softly, his gaze holding mine. “Would that make it easier for you?”

“Of course it would!” I exclaim, hope flaring in my chest. “Can you do that? Can you let them know I’m alive? Maybe I could call them—”

He cuts off my rambling by placing his hand over mine, the warmth of his touch silencing me instantly. “No,” he says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll handle it myself.”

Disappointment crashes over me, but I force myself to ask, “What will you tell them?”

“That you’re alive and well.” His thumb begins to move, gently massaging the inside of my palm. The unexpected tenderness sends a jolt through me, my breath hitching as my body betrays me, turning soft under his touch.

“But…” I trail off, barely able to form the words. His thumb presses against a particularly sensitive spot, and I almost moan. “But they won’t believe you.”

“They would.” He pulls his hand away, and I’m left feeling an odd sense of emptiness. “You can trust me on that.”

Trust him? Not a chance. “Why are you doing this to me?” I blurt out, frustration bubbling over. “Is it because I talked to you at the club?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, Ella. It’s because you’re you. You’re everything I’ve been searching for. Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

I stare at him, disbelief coursing through me. “You know that’s insane, right? You don’t even know me!”

“That’s true,” he admits quietly. “But I don’t need to know you. I just need to know how you make me feel.”

“Are you saying you’re in love with me?” My stomach twists at the thought. Somehow, the idea of him being in love terrifies me more than anything else he’s said or done.

He laughs, the sound echoing through the room as he tilts his head back. I watch him, irritated and offended in a way that makes no sense. I don’t want him to love me, but does he have to find the thought so ridiculous?

“Of course not,” he says once his laughter dies down, though a grin still lingers on his face.

“Then what are you talking about?” I snap, exasperation bleeding into my tone.

The smile fades, his expression turning serious. “It doesn’t matter, Ella,” he says softly. “All you need to know is that you’re special to me.”

“Special?” I let out a bitter laugh. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you just ask me out? Why go straight to kidnapping?”

“Because you went on a date with that boy.” His voice sharpens, laced with sudden anger. The shift in his tone sends a chill down my spine. “You kissed him when you were already mine.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “But I didn’t even know you wanted me,” I protest, my voice trembling slightly. “I only saw you at the club—”

“And at your graduation.”

“Yes, and at my graduation,” I agree, my heart pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ears. “But I thought you were there for someone else. Like a younger sibling or something...”

He exhales deeply, visibly reining in his temper. “It doesn’t matter now, Ella. I wanted you here, with me—not out there. It’s safer this way. For you. For him.”

“Safer for Ace?”

Lucifer nods, his calm demeanor unnervingly steady. “If you had gone out with him again, I would’ve killed him. This is better for everyone. You’re here, away from him and anyone else who might think they can have you.”

He’s not bluffing. The deadly certainty in his eyes makes that clear.

My mouth feels dry, and I instinctively lick my lips. His gaze locks onto the movement, and I see his breathing shift. That simple act—a reflex—ignited something in him. The hunger in his eyes is unmistakable, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

A wild and desperate idea takes root in my mind. He clearly wants me—badly enough to offer gestures like informing my family that I’m alive.

What if I could use that to my advantage? I’m no expert, but I’m not entirely clueless either. I know a thing or two about how to flirt. Could I pull this off? Could I actually seduce Lucifer into setting me free?

I’d have to tread carefully, though. This couldn’t be some sudden, drastic change in how I act. I can’t go from loathing him one moment to fawning over him the next. It needs to be gradual, believable.

He has to truly believe that I’ve fallen for him—that he could take me off this island and I’d stay with him willingly. That I’d never even glance at Ace or any other man ever again.

It won’t be easy, but I don’t see any other way. If I’m going to do this, I’ll have to move slowly, earning his trust and convincing him of my devotion step by step.