A Deal with the Devil Who Wants Me

Chapter Five – Uninvited

The apartment is too quiet.

I lock the door behind me, press my back to it, and exhale the breath I’ve been holding since Damien vanished into the night.

Safe.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I peel off my jacket and toss it on the couch. I force my body into routine—kick off my shoes, reheat leftover noodles, scroll numbly through my phone. Normal things. Ordinary things.

But my pulse won’t settle.

Because I can still feel him.

The ghost of his thumb on my lip. The burn of his stare branding every inch of me.

I try to shake it off. I tell myself he’s gone. He has no reason to follow me here. I’m just a waitress scraping by in a shoebox apartment—why would a man like Damien Blackwood waste his time on me?

The lie almost convinces me.

Until the knock comes.

Three slow, deliberate raps against my door.

I freeze. Fork suspended. Breath caught.

Nobody knocks this late. Nobody visits me, period.

My heart claws at my ribs. I tiptoe to the peephole, my palms clammy. One look and every last ounce of denial shatters.

Damien.

Leaning casually against my doorframe, black shirt unbuttoned at the throat, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

The devil.

At my door.

Panic surges, but beneath it—shameful, undeniable heat.

I should pretend I’m not home.

I should call the police.

But somehow, my hand betrays me. Fingers twist the lock, slow, trembling.

The door creaks open.

“Miss me already?” His smirk is devastating.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is sharper than I intend, shaky with nerves.

He tilts his head, amused. “Checking on you. Making sure you got home safe.”

“I don’t need—”

His gaze cuts me off, sweeping over my bare feet, the thin tank top I threw on without thinking, the tiny apartment behind me. A spark of possession ignites in his eyes.

“Cute place,” he murmurs, pushing past me without waiting for permission.

My jaw drops. “Excuse me—”

“Excused.” He’s already inside, strolling through my living room like he owns it, like he owns me.

The audacity steals my breath. But when he turns, leaning against my counter with a predatory calm, the fight drains from me. Because I know—every protest is useless.

“Why are you really here?” I whisper.

His smile fades, replaced with something darker. “Because you ran from me. And I don’t like being run from.”

My stomach flips, dread and want tangled in a dangerous knot.

He steps closer, slow, deliberate. Each step steals air from my lungs until his shadow swallows mine. His hand lifts, brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek.

“I told you,” he says softly, his mouth inches from mine. “I take what I want.”

And then his fingers curl around my jaw, firm but not cruel, tilting my head back until I’m forced to meet his gaze. My knees go weak, heat flooding every nerve.

“Tell me no,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes my cheekbone, feather-light. “Tell me to leave, Seraphina, and I will.”

The words are there. Balanced on the tip of my tongue.

But they won’t come.

Because the truth is terrifying.

I don’t want him to leave.

And he knows it.

The smirk returns, slow, victorious. His mouth hovers above mine, a kiss never given but already stolen.

“You’re mine, little ghost,” Damien whispers, his breath hot against my lips. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

Then he’s gone—stepping back, leaving me trembling, abandoned in the wreckage of my own desire.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And I crumble.

Heart pounding. Skin burning.

Knowing I’ve just let the devil into my world.

And worse—

I want him to come back.