THE DEVIL'S SMILE
1191 Words
---
The Devil’s Smile
(Part Six of “Mine Until Death”)
Rain whispered across the rooftops like a secret, tapping against the cracked windowpanes of the silent bookstore. The streetlights outside flickered faintly, golden halos dissolving into the mist. The corpse from earlier had already been cleaned up — swept away like it had never existed. But the memory still lingered in the shadows. And so did he.
Lyra didn’t look up as the door creaked open. She already knew who it was.
His presence didn’t walk — it intruded. Like a shadow that knew its worth. Smooth. Silent. Inevitable.
“Elvis,” she said flatly, not even glancing at him.
“I like the way my name sounds from your mouth,” he replied, voice deep, warm, and wrapped in sin.
She didn’t respond.
Instead, she placed a worn copy of Inferno back onto the shelf, spine trembling faintly in her hand. Her fingers were steady, always. Even when covered in blood. But now… they hesitated.
He noticed. Of course he did.
Elvis leaned against the doorframe like he owned the entire building, one hand in his pocket, the other carrying a cup of hot coffee. He placed it on the counter beside her, the lid gently steaming.
“You take it black,” he said.
“I don’t take anything from strangers.”
“Oh, come on, Lyra,” he smiled. “We’re not strangers anymore.”
Finally, she looked at him.
And just like before — he felt the fire. But this time, he didn’t just admire it. He stepped closer to it.
Her eyes were cruel, wild things dressed in apathy. Ice carved over lava.
“I don’t want your games,” she said coldly.
“I’m not offering a game,” he murmured. “I’m offering a war.”
She stared.
He smiled.
That devil’s smile.
---
Hours Earlier…
Elvis stood in the shadows, unmoving, as Lyra walked away from the alley, blood drying against her collarbone like a kiss from hell.
She didn’t panic. She didn’t run.
She didn’t even flinch.
She just walked — like death had become her rhythm, and the world around her wasn’t worth saving.
And that’s what got him.
Not the tattoo. Not the kill.
But the way she walked away from it all like it was a prayer.
A living, breathing mystery.
And he’d been trained his whole life to solve mysteries…
...or destroy them.
---
Present
“Why are you following me?” Lyra asked.
“I’m not following,” he said. “I’m chasing.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw it.”
Her brow raised.
“Saw what?”
He took a slow step forward. His voice lowered. “The warmth inside you. The part you hide.”
She laughed. Cold. Cruel. Beautiful.
“Warmth?” she echoed. “You must’ve seen someone else.”
“No,” he said softly, “I saw you.”
There was a pause.
A heavy one.
She reached for a blade beneath the desk. Smooth. Familiar.
“If you’re trying to flirt, you’re about five years too late.”
“Five years ago, you weren’t a queen,” he said. “Now? You’re exactly my type of hell.”
She snapped the blade from beneath the counter and threw it.
Fast.
Deadly.
It embedded into the wooden column beside his head.
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Just smiled.
The devil’s smile.
---
Later That Night
Lyra sat alone in the back of an abandoned bar — her sanctuary. The whiskey tasted like fire. The music had long since stopped. It was just her, the silence, and the weight of her sins pressing against the walls like ghosts.
And yet...
She felt him before she saw him.
Elvis didn’t knock. He never did.
He leaned in the doorway, suit jacket slightly open, his presence soaked in audacity.
“I figured you'd be here,” he said.
“Of course,” she murmured. “You don’t strike me as the type who respects locks.”
“I don’t need locks. I already have what I want.”
“You don’t have me.”
“Yet.”
She met his gaze then. For real.
No blade. No running. No act.
And what he saw in her eyes wasn’t hatred.
It was fear.
Not of him.
But of herself.
Of what she might do… if she let him in.
---
Flashback (Lyra – Age 23)
“You’re not supposed to feel anything,” her mother had said, hands soaked in blood. “Not when you’re born into this world. Feeling gets you killed.”
So she buried every laugh.
Every tear.
Every part of her that was still human.
Until nothing was left but the monster.
But now…
Now there was this man.
This smile.
This madness.
And it scared her more than the guns ever did.
---
Present – The Beginning of the Spiral
Elvis followed her for days.
Not like a stalker — like a storm.
Everywhere she turned, he was there. Not close. Not touching. But watching. Waiting.
Leaving little things behind.
A black rose on her windowsill.
A coffee, exactly the way she liked it, on the counter of her favorite diner — even before she arrived.
A note in her coat:
> “You don’t have to fall for me. Just let me burn.”
And every time she threw the things away…
She felt worse.
Because part of her wanted to keep them.
---
Lyra’s POV (Narration)
> “This was supposed to be a clean job. Kill the traitor. Erase the witnesses. Leave no trace.
But then he showed up.
Like a song I forgot I knew.
Like a wound I never stitched right.
And now he won’t stop bleeding into my life.”
---
The Confrontation – One Week Later
She’d had enough.
She stormed into his penthouse like a goddamn hurricane. Red leather. Black boots. Rage.
He was by the window, wine in hand.
“I’m not yours to chase,” she hissed.
“Then why do you keep letting me catch you?” he said.
She stepped closer, shoved the glass from his hand. It shattered across the floor.
“I will ruin you,” she growled. “You think I’m some fantasy? I’m death in high heels.”
He stepped even closer.
“And I think that’s exactly why I can’t stop wanting you.”
---
Silence
The air between them turned into glass.
Breath hitched.
Eyes burned.
She hated how he didn’t look away.
She hated that she didn’t either.
And she hated — most of all — that her heart skipped when he smiled.
The devil’s smile.
---
Closing Scene
He leaned in, whispering into her ear.
“You can run, Lyra. Burn me. Kill me. Hate me.
But I’ll still come back…
Because I saw something real in you.
And I’d rather die chasing you…
Than live without ever touching that fire again.”
She turned her head, eyes unreadable.
And whispered back.
“Then I hope you're ready to burn.”
---
[TO BE CONTINUED…]
- Writer
