The Devil at the Door
868 Words
The door swung open with a crash.
Damien didn’t wait for permission.
He strode in like the storm he was—tall, dangerous, jaw tight with something between rage and possession. His all-black attire clung to him like sin, his eyes sharp and predatory as they zeroed in on Luca’s hand resting protectively on Vivienne’s shoulder.
Vivienne instinctively stepped back, heart hammering.
“Nice to see you up,” Damien drawled, voice calm but edged with steel. “Looks like I missed the afterparty.”
Luca didn’t move. “She was drunk. I brought her home.”
“Yeah?” Damien’s eyes flicked to Vivienne. “And did you help her out of that dress too? Or were you just being the good boy, Luca?”
The tension snapped like a wire. Luca stepped forward, his voice low and tight. “Watch your mouth.”
Vivienne quickly moved between them. “Stop. Both of you.”
Her voice cut through the room, clear and commanding, though her knees trembled.
She looked at Damien. “Why are you here?”
He tilted his head, a smirk never quite touching his eyes. “Because I woke up thinking about you, Red. And when I saw you weren’t in your bed, I figured I’d find you in his.”
Luca’s hands clenched at his sides.
Vivienne stepped closer to Damien, forcing him to look only at her. “What happened last night?”
He paused, almost amused. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember you kissing me. And then I blacked out.”
His expression darkened slightly. “You weren’t mine to take—not yet. I left you with Luca because he looked ready to break someone’s jaw if I touched you again.”
Vivienne’s gaze darted between them. “So that’s it? A pissing contest?”
“No,” Damien said. “It’s a warning.”
“To whom?” she asked, voice shaking.
“To him.” He turned, eyes narrowing at Luca. “Because she doesn’t belong to anyone—but if she did, it wouldn’t be the boy playing knight in shining armor.”
Luca took a step forward, shoulders tense. “You think she wants someone who tears through women like they’re disposable?”
Damien smirked. “You think she wants someone who disappears every time things get messy?”
Vivienne’s throat tightened. “Stop—both of you. I’m not some prize to be won.”
Silence.
She turned away, rubbing her temples. “You both don’t get it. I’m not here for love. I’m not here to fall for anyone. I just…” Her voice cracked. “I wanted to forget.”
Luca’s voice came, softer. “You don’t need to destroy yourself to heal.”
“And you,” she said, rounding on Damien, “you don’t get to barge in here like you own me. I kissed you. That’s it.”
Damien’s eyes gleamed. “You didn’t kiss me, sweetheart. You devoured me. Don’t rewrite the story just because the lights are on.”
Her skin flushed with heat—half fury, half something else.
She looked away, breathing hard.
Damien stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You want me to leave? Tell me to.”
Vivienne didn’t respond.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and his voice dipped darker. “That’s what I thought.”
Luca stepped in between them. “She doesn’t need this.”
Damien didn’t back off. “And what do you think she needs, Luca? A band-aid and a bedtime story?”
Vivienne shoved her hand between them. “Enough!”
She was shaking now—not from fear, but from the sheer magnitude of the chaos between them.
“I don’t need saving. I don’t need fixing,” she snapped. “What I need is space. And silence. So both of you—leave.”
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Luca gave her one long, lingering look—one that said I’d stay if you let me—and turned, walking out the door without another word.
Damien lingered.
He stepped close—too close—so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath and feel the heat radiating off his skin.
He reached up, brushing a thumb across her jaw. “This isn’t over, Red. You know that.”
She didn’t move.
He leaned in—his lips ghosting her ear. “Tell yourself you don’t want me. Lie to him. Lie to yourself. But when you’re alone tonight, shaking from everything you’re trying to bury… remember whose hands made you feel alive again.”
Then he left.
And Vivienne was alone.
She stood in the silence, the scent of them both lingering in the room—one like warm woodsmoke, the other like danger and temptation.
She hated the way her body ached. Hated the way her heart pulled in two directions. Hated that she wasn’t strong enough to walk away from either of them.
In that moment, she didn’t feel like a woman in control. She felt like a fuse—lit and waiting to explode.
And she didn’t know which of them would burn her first.
- Writer
