He wasn’t the kind of danger that crept in shadows or snarled from the dark. He was the shadow—refined in manner, godlike in appearance, and ruthless in the pursuit of what he wanted. And what he wanted… was her. He seduced the air she breathed, twisted her world with just a glance, and set her entire being ablaze with a smile dipped in sin. It started on a night painted with desperation. Her brother lay dying in a cold hospital room. No insurance. No time. She was young, broke, and invisible in a city that chewed up the weak. So she did the unthinkable. She sold herself for one night. No names. No rules. No regrets. But regret came anyway. Wrapped in crimson sheets and whispered promises. What was supposed to be a transaction became a trap. He wasn’t just rich. He wasn’t just powerful. He was Malphas Azazel The Devil Himself A man whispered about in boardrooms and feared in back alleys. She tried to disappear the next morning. To forget his lips, his voice, the way he’d looked at her like she was the last light in a world of ash. But he found her. In her dreams. In her nightmares. In every shadow that stretched just a little too long. “You thought you could leave me?” he whispered one night, in the same voice that had once made her tremble with want. “Darling… you belong to me now.” She was shy. Quiet. The kind of girl who flinched when someone raised their voice. And yet… he chose her. Not the women who threw themselves at him. Not the seductresses who would have bled for a glance. Her. He wrapped her life around his finger like a thread, pulling tighter and tighter until she couldn’t breathe without him. Now, the line between love and obsession is blurred. Between pleasure and punishment. Between the girl she was and the woman he’s turning her into. She should run. She should hide. But monsters don’t stop chasing when you scream. And the Devil doesn’t give back what’s his. Not without blood.
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