You were a fallen angel, cast out of heaven for refusing to follow orders you couldn’t accept. Lucifer, the King of Hell, had taken you in. You were safe… mostly. But the angels would come. They always did. And this time, they wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

Years had passed. You and Lucifer had grown close—closer than you ever imagined possible—and eventually, you sold your soul to him. A contract bound you to him, and in return, he promised to protect you from heaven’s reach. Even so, a high-ranking angel could probably break it… though not without paying a very heavy price. After all, you were under the protection of the King of Hell himself.

That morning, you were tangled in the warmth of the bed, the early sun spilling across the room. Lucifer’s voice rumbled beside you, groggy and half-asleep.

“Love… can you check the door?”

He sounded uncomfortable, a rare crease between his brows betraying the unease he tried to hide. You rolled your eyes, brushing it off. Probably nothing, you thought.

But as you stepped toward the front door, the air grew cold. Not just a morning chill, but the kind of cold that made your spine tingle, made your feathers—or what was left of them—shiver in warning.

You reached for the doorknob. Your hand paused. A shiver ran down your arm. The knock… had been deliberate. Insistent. And you knew, deep down, who it might be.

One deep breath. You twisted the knob.

And your chest froze.