Author's POV

At that moment, the goons realized who they were dealing with. Devillian Giordano wasn't just some rich guy-they'd walked right into the lion's den.

But there's one goon who got really irritated with siana's oversmart trick. He stepped forward and slap her hard.

"Don't play smart bitch"

The force of the blow sent her staggering, her head whipping to the side. Pain exploded across her cheek, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. She lost her balance, her body swaying as she was about to fall.

But before she could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, catching her just in time. Devillian's grip was firm, steadying her as he pulled her close. Siana looked up at him, her vision blurry, her cheek stinging from the slap. She saw the shift in his expression - a cold, chilling fury that was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Devillian's calm, almost indifferent demeanor vanished in an instant, replaced by something terrifying and dark. His entire being seemed to radiate with a dangerous energy, a pressure that made the air crackle.

His jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes, now like burning coals, locked onto the goon who had dared to strike Siana.

The goon, still smirking from the slap, had no idea what he had just unleashed. But as Devillian slowly released Siana, letting her stand on her own, his face shifted into something unreadable-something far more dangerous than mere anger.

Without a word, Devillian took a step forward. The air seemed to crackle with tension as he moved with deliberate, controlled menace. His eyes, cold and filled with wrath, bored into the man who had struck Siana.

The goon, realised too late the gravity of his action, he stammered, "I -I didn't mean to-"

But it was too late. Devillian's hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat in a vice-like grip. With a swift motion, he lifted the goon off his feet as though he weighed nothing. The man's eyes bulged in terror, his hands clawing at Devillian's arm, but it was futile. Devillian's expression was icy, his grip unrelenting.

"You put your hands on her," Devillian growled, his voice low and menacing, sending chills down the spines of everyone around them. "And now you'll pay for it."

With a violent jerk, Devillian threw the man to the ground. The goon hit the dirt with a sickening thud, gasping for breath, his body trembling in fear. Devillian stood over him, his towering figure casting a long, manacing goons stood like a shadow.

The other goons stood frozen, too terrified to move. As devillian take another step towards them they runaway from their as if running for life. Which they were actually.

Devillian deadly eyes looking at their running figure with nerrowing eyes and clench fist.

Devillian's voice was deathly calm as he spoke. The words left his mouth without his knowing in a whispered tone."No one touches her. Ever."

The warning hung in the air, the weight of it pressing down on everyone present. He turned away walked back to Siana, his features softening ever so slightly as he reached out to gently touch her cheek, where the red mark from the slap was still visible.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low, but there was an undeniable edge of protectiveness beneath the calm.

Siana nodded, still shaken, her heart pounding. She had seen a side of Devillian she hadn't known existed- a side that would destroy anyone who dared to harm her. And though the fear of the moment still gripped her, she couldn't deny the strange sense of safety she felt in his presence.

Devillian's sharp gaze fell on the small bead of blood pooling at the corner of Siana's lips, the result of the slap. His jaw tightened visibly, a muscle ticking as a dark storm brewed behind his eyes. The sight of her in pain, with her soft cheeks already showing the harsh imprint of the strike, sent a wave of unrelenting fury coursing through him.

He took a step closer to her, his towering figure casting a protective shadow over her trembling form. His large hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the corner of her lips.

Siana flinched at the unexpected contact, a soft hiss escaping her lips as the tender spot protested against the touch. Her wide, glassy eyes locked with his, filled with a mix of pain, fear, and confusion.

Devillian froze, his fingertips lingering just near the cut, as though realizing what he was doing. His touch, though unexpected, was gentle-completely at odds with the fury radiating from him moments ago. For a second, the cold, ruthless man seemed vulnerable, as though something about her pain had pierced through the layers of ice around his heart.

His voice was low, rough with restrained anger, as he spoke, "Does it hurt?"

Siana blinked, her throat tightening at the question. She wasn't sure how to answer. This wasn't the Devillian Giordano she had been warned about. This wasn't the man whose reputation for cruelty preceded him. This was someone else entirely-a man who, despite his deadly aura, seemed deeply unsettled by the sight of her suffering.

"It's... fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible. But her words did little to ease the tension gripping him.

Devillian's eyes darkened further, his hand pulling back as though burned. His rage resurfaced, but this time, it wasn't wild-it was cold, calculated, and far more dangerous. He turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking to the road the goons have already runaway who had dared to touch her. His expression promised a wrath so severe that even the bravest of them would have begged for mercy.

"You'll regret this," he thought. his eyes hald a chilling promise that carried more weight than any shout could.

Turning back to Siana, his expression softened just enough to be noticeable. Without waiting for her to protest, he placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "Stay here," he instructed, his words leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a request-it was a command.

For the first time, Siana felt a strange, conflicting sense of security. Though she was shaken and scared, the look in his eyes told her one thing with absolute certainty: as long as he was there, no one would dare harm her again.

Devillian walked to his car with measured steps, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the storm simmering beneath his calm exterior. He retrieved a water bottle, his movements deliberate, before turning back toward Siana.

As he approached, she stood frozen, still holding her cheek, her eyes cast downward. When he held out the bottle to her, she hesitated for a moment before accepting it with trembling hands.

"Drink," he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual coldness.

Siana took a small sip, her throat dry from both the pain and the fear still lingering in the air. "Thank you," she mumbled softly, her voice barely audible.

Devillian didn't reply, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. Then, as if deciding something silently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp white handkerchief. Without a word, he held it out to her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and her gaze traveled from his hand to his face. Tentatively, she reached out to take the handkerchief, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. Their eyes met as the handoff completed, and for a fleeting second, the world around them seemed to fade away.

His dark eyes were unreadable, but there was an intensity in them that made her breath catch. It was as though he was searching for something in her gaze-an answer, a reaction, or perhaps even a reflection of what he was feeling. In stark contrast, Siana's wide, innocent eyes glistened with confusion and vulnerability, a softness that seemed to disarm him in ways he didn't understand.

Time seemed to stretch between them, the moment charged with unspoken emotions. Devillian's fingers twitched slightly, as if fighting the urge to reach out and touch her again. But instead, he took a step back, his features hardening just enough to reassert his control.

"Clean your lip," he said, his voice low but firm.

Siana nodded, breaking their gaze as she dabbed the handkerchief against the corner of her mouth. The faint trace of blood smeared onto the pristine white cloth, and she felt a pang of embarrassment. But when she glanced back up, she found him watching her intently, his expression softening ever so slightly.

For the first time, she saw something other than indifference or fury in his eyes. It was fleeting, but it was there-a flicker of concern, buried deep beneath layers of control and power.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, his tone quieter now, almost gentle.

Siana shook her head, her voice trembling as she replied, "No... I'm fine."

.

.

.

Devillian's fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel as he parked in front of Siana's house. The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the faint sound of her unbuckling her seatbelt. She turned toward him, her expression softer now, the earlier fear and pain replaced by a quiet gratitude.

"Thank you," she said softly, offering him a slight, genuine smile.

Devillian didn't meet her eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, his face carved into its usual unreadable mask. He gave a subtle nod, his only acknowledgment of her words.

Siana lingered for a moment as if expecting him to say something more, but when he didn't, she opened the car door and stepped out. She glanced back at him once, hesitating as if she wanted to say something else, but instead, she turned and walked toward her house.

Devillian's eyes followed her retreating figure until she disappeared inside. As soon as the door closed behind her, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. He sat there in silence, staring at the spot where she had been moments ago, his mind clouded with unspoken thoughts.

His gaze eventually drifted downward, landing on the handkerchief lying on the passenger seat. The faint smear of her blood was still visible on the pristine white fabric. A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes-anger, frustration, or perhaps something deeper he wasn't ready to name.

He picked up the handkerchief, his thumb brushing over the stain as his jaw clenched. The memory of the slap, the sight of her bleeding, and the look of vulnerability in her eyes replayed in his mind. His calm mask cracked slightly, revealing a simmering rage just beneath the surface.

Reaching for his phone, he dialed a number, his voice cold and sharp when the call connected.

"Are they in the dark cell?"

Let me know about your views on this chapter.