Lucifer's Heart

"Get back here, Lucifer!" Cleopatra’s voice rang through the opulent stairwell, trembling with fury and desperation. She clutched the banister tightly, her feet rushing to keep pace with his long strides. He was descending the grand staircase with infuriating calm, as if her shouts were mere background noise. "Stop while you still have the chance, Mother," Lucifer replied, his tone sharp and unyielding. He didn’t look back, . At twenty-seven, nothing fazed him—not her anger, not her tears, and certainly not her threats. Lucifer had long stopped caring about anything, least of all the desperate shouts of the woman running after him. His stone-cold stare, framed by his jet-black hair gleaming under the chandelier’s glow and piercing black eyes, never faltered. Standing at six foot three, he towered over her, easily capable of shoving her aside, but he chose not to. He didn’t care if she yelled until the roof came down. He didn’t care that she was running down the stairs, despite just recovering from a serious illness. And he didn’t care that he had just beaten his brother halfway to death. He had made his choices. Everyone else would have to deal with them. Cleopatra’s heart ached with every step. Her body, still recovering from illness, protested the exertion, but she pressed on. This time, he had gone too far. "What do you think you’re doing?!" she shouted as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Do you want to tear this family apart?! Do you want us all dead?!" The words barely reached him as he continued his descent, blood dripping slowly from his clenched fists onto the marble steps. Lucifer finally stopped, turning to face her with an expression carved from ice. His black eyes met her tear-filled green ones, and for a moment, the air between them felt heavy enough to shatter. A servant approached with a napkin, and without a word, Lucifer took it and began wiping the blood from his knuckles, his cold expression not once softening. "In my defense, Mother, I didn’t intend for it to go that far," he said coolly, inspecting his now somewhat clean hands that still felt sticky. "But he left me no choice." Cleopatra’s voice cracked as she fought back tears. "You never intend to, but you always do! Nothing your brother did could justify what you’ve done to him this time. He’s your brother, Lucifer!" Day after day, week after week, her oldest son would commit outrageous, sometimes atrocious deeds, and she had finally had enough. Her husband, Lucifer Oliver Barrett, often called Oliver, was frequently falling ill, preferring to distance himself from his strong-willed son. He had long given up trying to control Lucifer. Her younger son, Callahan Barrett, was always at odds with Lucifer. But Arianna Barrett, their only daughter, was the one who managed to get through to him, though she refused to involve her now. Today, Cleopatra would deal with Lucifer herself. "Callahan is your son, yes," Lucifer said, his voice like a blade. "But so am I, in case you’ve forgotten. Your first son, in fact."His eyes flashed with something like contempt, but it was difficult to tell if it was for her or something deeper. "My first son behaves like a savage!" Cleopatra snapped, her voice trembling with rage. Her fingers clenched the edge of the banister as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Lucifer chuckled darkly, a low, humorless sound. "Savage? That’s rich, coming from you." Cleopatra froze, the venom in his tone cutting deeper than any insult. He continued wiping his hands, but they still felt unclean. "A bowl of water and soap," he instructed the servant with a dismissive wave. "You will not speak to me that way," Cleopatra said, her voice faltering under the weight of her own words. She took a step closer, her trembling hand rising as if to slap him. Lucifer’s gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mother. Unless, of course, you’re willing to lose that hand,"I bet you still love having functional hands. Better yet, both hands." Her hand froze mid-air, and for a moment, they stood in a tense silence. Cleopatra’s tears spilled over, her anger mixing with heartbreak. "I am your mother, Lucifer. I deserve your respect," she said, though her voice betrayed her weakness. Lucifer smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. "Respect? You think you’ve earned that from me?" He stepped closer, towering over her as his voice grew colder. "Do you really want to know why I hit Callahan?" He knew all about her secrets. He’d kept quiet about them because he’d had no reason to bring them up but she stood here making his resolve waver. He knew about her promiscuity,her illegitimate children,he knew about her atrocious sins which his father may or may not be aware of;not that he cared anyway as he hated him too,he knew she was infact not his biological mother but a woman responsible his his real mother's death,a woman who had risen to claim his mother's rightful place — a woman who would be at the receiving end of his wrath in due time. So no,he wouldn't break now,it wasn't the right time yet. Cleopatra stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. "What did he do?" she asked, her tone softening, though the lump in her throat made it hard to speak. Lucifer leaned against the mahogany dining table nearby, a predator savoring his victory. "Why don’t you ask your precious son with the swollen face upstairs?" He gestured dismissively as a maid brought the bowl of water and soap he’d requested. "You’ll regret this, Lucifer," Cleopatra hissed, her voice low and dangerous. She turned on her heel and stormed away, her steps echoing through the vast estate. Lucifer watched her retreating figure, shaking his head as he dipped his hands into the soapy water. "Useless," he muttered, scrubbing his hands clean with deliberate precision. As the dining hall fell silent, the cold smile never left his face. This was only the beginning. The lies, the betrayal—they would all come to light in time. And when they did, everyone would have to answer for their sins.