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.