In the Name of Love, I Worshipped the Devil

Missy’s POV

Everyone said Micah Abbott was like a saint—untouched, unattached, above worldly temptations.

I sold my soul to possess his heart.

On his birthday, I knelt on a floor covered in broken glass just to tie his shoes. When he had a stomach flare-up, I carried his full-grown ass up eighteen flights of stairs. I broke two ribs and didn’t even cry.

He became my husband, but in eight years of marriage, he never touched even the tip of my finger. “It’s against my values,” he said.

One time at a charity auction, I bid on some rare wooden prayer beads. His sweet little first love—back from Italy—whined that she wanted it too.

Without hesitation, I made my move; I raised the paddle and outbid her.

She stormed out in tears, got in a car wreck that night, and ended up unable to bear kids.

Later that night, as soon as Micah came home, he pinned me against the window in our high-rise villa.

He ripped my dress open like he’d been holding back for years.

He grabbed my hips like I was something he owned.

He went so wild that he even shoved the beads inside me. One. By. One.

“Micah…” He made me say his name over and over—all night long.

I thought he’d finally come to his senses. I thought, ‘God, my husband finally saw me!’

But then came another auction, and he stood there in a tailored suit and smiled like the devil.

“One million,” he said. “For her first-time sex tape!”

Some old creep in the crowd actually raised his hand to bid.

My fingers shook, but I pressed the button again like my life depended on it.

——

The auctioneer chuckled. “This next item’s a little special,” he said, his voice thick with sleaze.

“From Mr. Abbott’s private collection. An intimate video. Starting at one million. But first, let’s give you all a 10-second preview.”

When the screen lit up, my body went numb.

There I was—naked, slammed up against the window. Every inch of me was exposed.

And the beads—God—the prayer beads were scattered across the floor, catching the light like it was some movie set.

I turned to look at Micah. He sat calmly in the VIP section, rolling prayer beads through his fingers like he was in church. Right next to him was his protégé, Becca Winthrop, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.

“Why?” I choked out, tears blurring my vision. “Because I got the prayer beads?”

He glanced at me like I was dirt on his shoe.

“You know exactly why, Missy.”

And just like that, my heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand.

That fucking prayer beads was the final item of the night. Becca wanted it. So did I, so I outbid her. She stormed off, wrecked her car, and lost her fertility.

But I never thought Micah would blame that on me!

I used to think he was just… emotionally cold. In our eight years of marriage, he never once touched even my fingertips, always saying it would disrupt his spiritual practice. I thought that was just how he was.

But then, I saw how he looked at Becca tonight—hot and romantic.

Apparently, even the “enlightened” can fall passionately in love… even to a homewrecker.

He had no idea that after his car crashed, when doctors said he might never wake up—Becca left the city and didn’t visit him, not even once.

I was the one who stayed. I slept in hospital waiting rooms. Spent three months begging doctors to keep trying. Every. Single. Day.

I wanted to tell him—so many times. But whenever I looked into those cold, hollow eyes of his, the words just wouldn’t come.

A voice from the crowd dragged my mind back to the auction hall.

“Skin’s real nice,” some guy drawled. “Wonder how many times she moans in the full video.”

Then this bloated guy in a cheap suit stood up, buttons stretched tight over his gut.

He licked his lips and rubbed his hands together.

“Three million!” he shouted. “That video’s mine! Gonna spend all night enjoying that!”