Page 6 of Sinful Obsession
But there was one catch: I had to be married to a Moretti before the competition ended.
No marriage, no money.
I dropped the paper, heart pounding. My skin crawled.
So this was his plan all along?
The implication was clear—he knew I, as a woman, couldn’t compete in theHouse of Devils, so he’d crafted a loophole to secure my future, tying it to a marriage I dreaded.
The Morettis were a death sentence in themselves, their sons—Cassian and Luca—whispered to be as ruthless as their father, their empire built on blood and betrayal.
I stood up, pacing, my bare feet leaving prints in the dust.
My chest ached.
But as I stared at the document, my gaze fell to my flat chest, a legacy of the cancer that had ravaged me, a body caught somewhere between what it used to be and what it now resembled.
A reckless idea sparked.
A thought so wild I almost laughed.
What if I didn’t marry into the Moretti family?
What if I disguised myself as a male and applied for the House of Devils?
If I won, I’d claim the money—my birthright—without chaining myself to a Moretti.
The thought was madness, a gamble with death itself, but it burned brighter than the alternative.
No silk dress.
No wedding vows.
No pretending to smile beside a man who saw me as property.
I could cut my hair.
Flatten my voice.
Move like the boys I’d studied in silence for years—sharp elbows, squared shoulders, eyes that didn’t flinch.
The femininity my father always mocked... I could shed it like skin.
My chest was already gone.
I could pass.
Not perfectly. But enough.
Enough to infiltrate the devil’s house.
Enough to win.
Or die trying.
My Grayson surname would give me an edge in the application, a nod to my grandfather’s legacy, though acceptance wasn’t guaranteed.
The one year training would be my crucible—hiding my gender amidst killers, surviving trials designed to break even the strongest men.
