Reborn As The Devil's Bride

Ghost

He threw another punch.

Then another.

Bone cracked beneath his knuckles, the sharp sound echoing through the underground ring like music.

Sweet, violent music that settled something dark inside his chest.

The man staggered, barely able to stand, blood already pouring from his split lip. His swollen eyes struggled to stay open, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

Ghost didn’t stop.

He drove his fist forward again, the impact snapping the man’s head to the side. A spray of blood scatters across the concrete floor.

The crowd surrounding the ring roared.

Men shouted.

Money exchanged hands.

Excitement filled the air.

But Ghost heard none of it.

All he heard was the rhythm of violence.

All he felt was the pressure building in his chest

Anger, betrayal and rage finally breaking loose.

He stepped forward and delivered a brutal kick straight into the man’s ribs.

A sickening crack followed.

The man collapsed instantly, coughing up blood.

Ghost stood over him, chest rising and falling slowly, his breathing controlled despite the violence he had just unleashed.

This was the underground world.

There were no rules here.

No mercy.

No justice.

Only power.

And tonight, power belonged to him.

He turned away from the ring without another glance, wiping the blood from his knuckles with the white cloth wrapped around his hand.

The fabric was already soaked red, but he cleaned himself carefully, as if the act itself brought him calm.

It had been a long time since he fought with his own hands.

Too long.

He had needed this.

Needed to feel bones breaking beneath his fists.

Needed to release the anger clawing at his insides.

Today, he had been betrayed.

Not by an enemy.

Not by a stranger.

But by one of his own men.

A man he had trusted.

A man he had called a friend.

For three years, that man had stolen from him.

Lied to him.

Used his trust like a weapon.

And he hadn’t known.

Because he trusted him.

He had been a fool.

“Sir, everything has been arranged.”

Sam’s voice floats through the noise behind him.

Ghost didn’t turn immediately. He continued unwrapping the cloth from his hand.

“Did they catch him?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, sir.”

Ghost nodded once.

“Good.”

Without another word, he walked toward the private corridor leading to the showers.

The sound of running water soon filled the tiled room. Steam rose into the air as he stepped beneath the water, letting it wash the blood from his skin.

The water turned lighter red as it flowed down the drain.

He stood there longer than necessary, staring at the wall in silence.

His expression never changed.

***

A minute later, he stepped out fully dressed, his suit perfectly tailored, his dark hair slicked back neatly.

There was no sign of the violence he had just committed.

He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the main floor.

The doors slid open.

Noise flooded his ears instantly.

Music was blasting….Coins clinking.

Machines rang…..Voices overlapped.

His casino was alive.

As always, people filled the massive floor, gamblers hunched over tables, dealers shuffling cards, women laughing, men shouting in excitement or frustration.

Morning….Afternoon….Midnight.

It didn’t matter.

They were always here.

Always ready to throw money into his pockets.

Always ready to lose everything.

Ghost walked through the crowd, his presence instantly changing the atmosphere.

Conversations lowered.

Laughter faded.

People stepped aside without being told.

“Oh, sir – I forgot to report something.”

Ghost didn’t slow his steps.

“What is it?”

Sam followed closely beside him as they moved toward another restricted area of the casino… a hidden corridor leading to the underground operations where the real business happened.

“Mr. Collins is offering his daughter for marriage to you,” Sam said carefully. “He is hoping his debt will be cleared.”

Ghost stopped walking.

Slowly, he turned his head.

“ Another marriage?” he repeated.

A faint smirk touched his lips.

“Why not just sell her?”

He already knew the answer.

To him, it was the same thing.

Marriage simply made it legal.

Marrying them meant ownership…. a clean record, no accusations of trafficking, no legal complications. Just contracts, signatures, and silence.

Most of the women working in his establishments had arrived that way.

Not bought.

Married.

Given to him in exchange for debts their families couldn’t pay.

It worked perfectly.

It was legal.

And the law allowed him to have as many wives as he wanted.

“Is she pretty?” he asked.

That was the only detail that mattered.

Sam pulled a photograph from his pocket and handed it to him.

“Her name is Emily,” he said. “She’s twenty-one.”

Ghost took the photo.

His eyes scanned the image.

A young woman stared back at him.

Soft features and wide eyes.

She looked too innocent.

Too fragile.

“She looks like someone who won't survive a day here ,” he said quietly.

He handed the picture back.

“Cancel it.”

His tone was final.

“Take men to Collins’s house tomorrow and collect my money. If he doesn’t pay– kill him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam remained silent for a moment, still staring at the photograph.

“You know, sir… looks can be deceiving,” he said slowly. “She is pretty. Very pretty.”

Ghost glanced sideways at him.

“What?” he asked.

A pause.

“You like her?”

Sam’s head snapped up immediately.

“I wouldn’t dare, Ghost.”

Ghost held his gaze for a second longer.

Then he looked back at the photograph still in Sam’s hand.

A long silence passed.

“Fine,” he said at last.

“Agree to the marriage.”

*****

They stepped into another elevator, descending to a different level of the building…… one designed to look legitimate.

Offices lined the hallway, paperwork stacked neatly on desks, employees typing quietly behind computers.

Everything appeared clean.

Professional.

Legal.

The moment Ghost stepped out, every worker stood up instantly.

Heads bowed.

Eyes lowered.

No one dared meet his gaze.

Fear filled the air like a scent.

Ghost walked past them without acknowledgment and headed straight for his office.

He stopped at the doorway.

John was kneeling in the center of the room.

Two men held him firmly in place.

His face was swollen beyond recognition. Blood covered his mouth, his nose and his clothes. One eye was completely shut.

Ghost walked forward slowly and sat down in his chair.

For a moment, he simply stared.

This used to be a man he trusted.

A man who laughed with him.

A man who shared drinks with him.

A man he called brother.

“How long?” Ghost asked.

John understood immediately.

“Three years,” he said hoarsely.

Ghost already knew.

He just wanted to hear him say it.

To confess it with his own mouth.

He studied John in silence.

A question lingered in his mind.

Why?

He paid him well.

Protected him.

Trusted him.

Why betray him?

“If you’re waiting for me to beg for my life, Ghost,” John said, breathing heavily, “I won’t.”

Ghost said nothing.

“I know nothing I say will save me,” John continued. “So why bother?”

A slow smirk formed on Ghost’s lips.

“Try me,” he said.

“Who knows.”

John laughed weakly.

“It’s impossible for you to feel pity,” he said. “You have no empathy…. No human emotion….. No conscience.”

Ghost hummed softly.

“They call you a devil,” John continued. “But you’re worse than the devil.”

Ghost tilted his head slightly.

“You sound like you hate me,” he said calmly.

John laughed again.

“Hate is an understatement,” he said. “You have no idea how much I detest you.”

“Can I ask why?” Ghost asked.

John sneered.

“I doubt you even care. You enjoy being hated. You twisted bastard.”

Ghost stared at him without blinking.

Then John’s voice broke.

“You knew I loved her,” he whispered.

“You knew I loved her, Ghost.”

His breathing turned uneven.

“And you sent her on that mission to die.”

Ghost frowned slightly.

“Can you be specific?” he asked.

John struggled violently against the men holding him.

“I’m talking about Aria, you monster!” he screamed.

A pause.

“Oh,” Ghost said.

Understanding flickered in his eyes.

“You loved her?”

John growled.

Ghost stood up slowly.

“Oh, Aria,” he said, stepping closer.

“I remember her.”

He bent down until their faces were level.

“I remember her sneaking into my room one night,” he continued calmly. “ I remember her begging to touch me to suck my dick. I remember her mouth on me. She begged me with tears in her eyes to fuck her”

His voice remained steady.

“I didn’t touch her though,” he added. “I couldn't put my dick into her knowing that's the hole you fuck every night”

“Liar!” John shouted.

“I did you a favor,” Ghost said quietly.

“She didn’t love you. She used you to get close to me.”

John’s body shook with rage.

“You sent her to die!”

“Her death was her own doing,” Ghost replied coldly.

Silence filled the room.

Tears rolled down John’s face.

“I hope you die a horrible death,” he whispered.

“I hope you love someone one day… and watch them die in front of you.”

Ghost chuckled.

“Well,” he said lightly, spreading his arms,

“I hope you stand up right now and fly.”

A few men forced nervous laughter.

Ghost leaned closer, smirking.

“See?” he said softly.

“It doesn’t work.”

His expression hardened.

“You said it yourself,” he continued.

“I have no human emotion.”

A flicker passed through his eyes.

A memory.

Blood on the floor.

A woman lying still.

His own reflection in the red pool of blood beneath her.

He was twelve years old.

And he was smiling.

Ghost blinked once.

The memory vanished.

“I couldn’t even love my own mother,” he said quietly.

John stared at him with disgust.

Ghost straightened his posture.

“You betrayed me because of a woman” he said

“A woman who used you…she didn't care about you at all”

He chuckled softly.

“How does that feel?”

John lowered his head.

Tears continued falling down his swollen face.

Regret filled his eyes.

But it was too late.

Everything was too late.

“Say hello to your bitch when you meet her,” Ghost said.

John suddenly lifted his head.

“You will die a horrible death, Damien Cross!”

The room went silent.

Completely still.

Every man froze.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

That name was forbidden.

Damien.

A name no one was allowed to speak.

A name buried in the past.

“That’s right,” John continued.

“That’s your name.”

The men around them looked down immediately, terrified.

Ghost leaned back in his chair.

“Congratulations,” he said calmly.

“You get to say my name to my face before you die.”

He waved his hand.

“Take him away.”

“You will die a horrible death, Damien!” John repeated.

“Wait,” Ghost said suddenly.

The men stopped.

Ghost tilted his head slightly.

“How many times did he steal and divert my containers?” he asked.

“Thirty-two times in three years,” Sam answered.

Ghost hummed softly, pretending to think.

Then he spoke.

“Shoot him thirty-two times,” he said calmly.

A pause.

“Make sure you count every shot out loud.”

Sam nodded.

Ghost accepted the cigarette Sam handed him, placing it between his lips. He lit it slowly, inhaled once, then bent down toward John.

Smoke drifted from his mouth.

He blew it directly into John’s face.

“I want to hear your voices,” he said smirking “Counting the gun shots “

“You’re a monster,” John screamed, blood and spit flying from his mouth.

Ghost reached into his pocket and pulled out his white handkerchief….the same ones he always carried.

Calmly, he wiped the blood from his face.

Then he dropped the cloth on the floor and stepped on it.

“Goodbye, John,” he said.

A slow smile spread across his lips.

“Say hello to my horrible father for me, will you?”

He smiled.

“Monster!”