The moment Satan laid eyes upon her, he knew—he had to make her his.

She was celestial perfection, walking among mortals with a grace that sent ripples through the very fabric of existence. Her presence burned like the sun yet soothed like the moon, and for the first time in his eternal reign, the Lord of Hell felt something unfamiliar—a longing so deep it threatened to consume him.

She was trust incarnate, a being so radiant that even the darkest shadows dared not touch her. And yet, here he was, darkness itself, watching her with the quiet yearning of a man who had everything yet lacked her.

She knew who he was. Every angel did. Yet, when she saw him standing at the edge of the mortal realm, she did not recoil. Instead, she smiled—soft, knowing, filled with a kindness he had never been offered.

Satan stepped forward, his voice smooth as sin itself. "Do you fear me, little angel?"

Her lips curved, not in mockery, but in genuine love. "Why would I fear you?" she asked, tilting her head, sending cascades of golden hair over her shoulder. "You cannot harm me."

His dark eyes gleamed, a smirk playing on his lips. "You are either foolish or fearless."

"I am trusting," she corrected, taking a step closer.

Something inside him twisted—something old, something painful. Trust. Such a fragile, delicate thing, and yet she wore it like an armor no weapon could pierce. He had spent eons breaking it in others, yet here she stood, untouched by his corruption.

"I want you," he admitted, never one for deception when it came to his desires. "Marry me, angel. Be mine."

She laughed—not in cruelty, but in something soft, something warm. "You ask for something I cannot give so easily, King of hell."

"Why not?"

"Because love is not claimed, satan." She reached out, fingertips brushing his chest, right over the place where his heart should be. "It is earned."

He inhaled sharply, the touch of something pure against him burning more than the fires of his own domain.

For the first time in eternity, Satan was willing to wait