Dearest Devil

Episode 3

Mr. Stranger’s POV

By the time I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong.

Not because of noise.

But because of the lack of it.

I stayed still for a moment, staring into blank space, letting the awareness settle the way it always does. Slow. Precise.

The house felt… off.

That was the only word for it.

I sat up, my gaze shifting to the space beside me.

Empty.

My hand moved instinctively toward the gun beside the bed

Slightly shifted.

But still there.

Of course.

Still, something about it didn’t sit right.

I got out of bed and walked out, my steps unhurried, controlled. The house stretched out around me, silent in a way most people would find unsettling.

I didn’t.

Everything was where it should be.

No disturbance.

Just absence.

I hadn't slept properly in years.

The pills sit where I left them, untouched. They never did much anyway—just slowed my thoughts enough to make the nights feel longer.

So I stopped relying on them.

Learned to exist without shutting down.

Even when my eyes close, I’m aware. Always.

That’s why this—

I paused slightly.

—doesn’t make sense.

Because last night…

I did more than close my eyes.

I slept.

The realization settled quietly.

That doesn’t happen.

Not with pills.

Not without them.

Not at all.

My jaw tightened slightly as the memory of her face, her hair, her sweet scent—rushed in.

The sound of her breathing when she thought I wasn't listening.

The way she leaned into warmth like it was something she wasn’t used to having.

The fact that she stayed.

In my space.

That alone should have been enough to keep me alert.

It always is.

But it wasn’t.

I moved through the house again, slower this time, more deliberate.

She left on her own.

That part, at least, made sense.

People don’t stay.

They leave when they realize where they are.

Or who they’re with.

And usually… they don’t come back.

I don’t go after people.

I don’t chase what leaves.

I let things end where they end.

Clean.

Simple.

But this—

This isn’t clean.

I stopped near the doorway, my gaze settling briefly on the empty space again.

Something about it felt unfinished.

Unresolved.

And I don’t leave things unresolved.

My eyes shifted slightly, thoughtful now.

Because if someone managed to do what no one else has done in years—

If she walked into my space, stayed long enough to matter, and left without consequence—

then that’s not something I ignore.

That’s something I understand.

Because whatever she is…

whoever she is,

I need to know.

*****

Elena's POV

Sophie and Damon getting married didn’t shatter anything in me that wasn't already in pieces.

But the realisation that my mom knew about Sophie and Damon’s affair, and instead of addressing it, she was coercing me into being with a man older than Dad.

I could never heal from that.

Damon was my first love, I thought he'd be the only. I had pictured our future together, but none of that matters now. Not if he's been with Sophie long enough to want to marry her.

The idea of Damon I'd loved was a lie. I had been a fool.

I dragged a hand through my hair and forced myself to think.

There had to be a way out.

There were only two exits in this house. The front—blocked by Mom and Sophie, who had made it very clear they weren’t letting me out of their sight.

And the basement.

My gaze dropped briefly.

That was my only option.

I gathered a few things—clothes, small items, anything that would make it look like I was simply clearing space.

When I stepped out, Mom and Sophie turned to me.

“I wouldn't be forced to lock you inside your room right?” she asked, her tone light, but her eyes sharp.

I set the basket down calmly.

“You’re already doing that.”

“Mr. Sean is rich,” Mom said, like that explained everything. “You’ll see the good I’ve done for you in the years that follows.”

My jaw tightened.

“Sophie is older than me,” I said. “And it’s no news she’s your favorite. If he’s that good, why didn’t you ask her to marry him?”

A flicker.

Just that.

Then Mom inhaled. Slow. Controlled.

“Because Sophie had already secured herself a husband.”

The word husband landed heavy.

My eyes shifted to Sophie automatically, and that was when I noticed the engagement ring resting on her finger.

Of course.

Sophie caught me looking and adjusted it slowly, the diamond catching the light.

A quiet reminder of the betrayal.

“Congratulations,” I said flatly. “On securing a husband.”

Mom stepped closer.

“I and your father suffered to raise you girls to this age,” she said. “Is it so wrong that we want peace now? To know you’re settled?”

I let out a small, shaky breath.Mom, I’m grateful, okay? I am.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’ll get a job. I’ll move out soon, I promise. But I can’t marry him." My voice cracked at the end. I hated that it did.

Mom didn’t react to that part.

“It would give me great joy,” she said quietly, almost gently, “to know my children are in good hands even when I’m not there.”

A pause.

Then, firmer. “You will marry Sean. My decision is final.”

I wonder why I thought she'd succumb to me. She never has.

I inhaled and cleaned my eyes with the back of my palm. "These are things I won't be needing anymore. Can I take them to the basement?"

Mom's finger brushed my hair like I was still a child. "Yes you can. And that is a very cute attitude and mindset since you'll soon be married.

The words rang in my ear.

I nodded.

Sophie leaned against the wall, arms folded, that same knowing smile on her lips.

I met her eyes briefly and couldn't stand her.

The moment I reached the basement door, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

Darkness greeted me as I stepped inside.

For a second, I just stood there, letting it settle around me.

Then I moved.

I wasn’t here to think.

I was here to leave.

But the door was locked with a padlock.

I stared at it, frustration tightening in my chest.

“Of course,” I muttered under my breath.

My gaze moved around the space, searching.

There had to be something. Dad kept tools down here. He always did.

I started looking, pushing things aside, checking corners, trying not to let panic rise too quickly in my chest.

Then I heard it.

A hollow sound beneath my foot.

I paused.

Slowly, I tapped the floor again.

Same sound. Different from the rest of the floor.

I frowned and crouched down, running my hand over the surface until my fingers caught an edge.

And then I heard footsteps.

My body went still—someone was coming.

Mom or Sophie.

My eyes snapped to Dad’s toolbox sitting under the table.

I moved fast, grabbed a hammer, and came back to the door.

I struck the padlock once; pain shot up my wrist.

The lock barely moved.

The footsteps outside quickened.

“Elena?” Mom’s voice came faintly through the other side.

My pulse jumped.

I hit the lock again, harder this time.

The metal snapped loose with a sharp c***k.

I grabbed my bag and slipped out, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could and running before anyone reached it.

By the time the cab pulled up in front of the stranger's house, my chest felt tight again.

Coming here felt like a mistake.

I exhaled before walking to the gate. It wasn’t locked.

That alone unsettled my stomach as I asked myself for the millionth time what the hell I was doing in the house of a man who kept a gun in his bed.

I pushed it open and stepped inside.

The house was just as quiet as before.

I moved carefully, my footsteps softer this time, my senses sharper.

And then—

That scent.

Familiar.

I turned.

He was in the kitchen, having a drink rather too strong for the morning.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then he looked up.

His expression didn’t change much.

But his eyes—They lingered.

“You came back,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed, steadying myself.

“I need help.”

He silently watched me for a moment, before setting his cup down slowly.

“That’s not something people usually come here for,” he replied.

A pause settled between us.

“Why are you here?”

The question hung heavy in the air. I could hear the sound of my heart beating.

I hesitated—but only for a second. “Because I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Something shifted in his gaze.

Not softer.

Just… different.

He stepped closer. Not too close. Just enough.

“You realize,” he said quietly, “that walking into a place like this without understanding it… is a risk.”

I met his eyes. “I didn’t come here because it was safe. Nowhere's safe for me.”

His eyes met mine and chaotic riot stirred beneath my skin.

“Then you’d better hope that you chose the right kind of danger.”

His voice was deep, with just the right note of threat.