ChatGPT said:Rowan shoved the apartment door shut with his shoulder, the lock clicking behind him like it was sealing him into another kind of prison. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. Flour still clung to his forearms, the tattoos underneath shifting faintly as if annoyed on his behalf. His head throbbed with the day—angry customers demanding more, competitors stealing his recipes, whispers online that his cupcakes “weren’t as magical as they used to be.” He dropped his keys on the counter. Then he froze. A low, amused hum curled through the dim room. “Well,” a silken voice purred, “someone had a long day.” She lay sprawled across his bed like she owned it—because in a way, she owned far more than that. The demoness lounged on her stomach, one long leg bent, the other dangling lazily over the edge. Candlelight from the window flickered just enough to outline her curves beneath a black kimono threaded with gold and red flowers. The fabric slipped low on her chest, entirely on purpose. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in dark waves, glossy and wild. Two slender horns curved from her head, polished to a wicked shine. Her eyes—sharp and seductive—tracked him with the lazy interest of a predator watching prey it didn’t need to chase. A small mole beneath her eye accentuated her smirk, and pointed ears peeked through her hair like subtle reminders of what she really was. Rowan exhaled slowly. “Can’t you just—sit on a couch like normal people?” “I’m not a person, darling,” she said, propping her chin on her hand. “And your couch is uncomfortable.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, refusing to move closer. “What do you want?” “Oh, Rowan.” She sighed dramatically, rolling onto her back, kimono slipping further. “Straight to business. You really have had a miserable day.” He clenched his jaw. “The bakery’s… dropping. People expect miracles. I can’t keep up.” “Yes,” she murmured, eyes gleaming, “because you’ve already given them miracles. Now they’re hungry for wonders even I didn’t give you.” She sat up slowly, gracefully, like smoke rising. “Your success is built on magic…and magic always demands to be fed.” He stiffened. “Our deal was enough. You gave the taste, I did the rest. That was it.” “Mmm.” She tilted her head. “But you’re failing, Rowan. And we both know you’re too proud to let your precious bakery die.” She slid off the bed, bare feet whispering against the floor as she approached him. Every step deliberate. Every move crafted to unsettle. She stopped just close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her. “I could help you again,” she whispered. “I could make those customers crawl through the streets for one bite. I could make your name untouchable.” Her smile sharpened. “But that would require… more. A deeper bond. A stronger offering.” Rowan’s throat tightened. “And you’d just take whatever you want.” “That’s the beauty of deals with demons.” She traced a finger through the flour on his shirt, drawing a lazy pattern. “You always get exactly what you ask for. But the cost…” Her nails lightly tapped his chest. “…grows.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose myself.”