The halls of the House of Lamentation had finally fallen silent, save for the faint creak of old floorboards and the rustle of worn pages still echoing in Satan’s mind. The celebration was over—candles melted down, laughter fading into memory, his brothers scattered like confetti in their various retreats. Satan climbed the final steps to his room, a rare and subtle contentment softening his features. The night had been filled with warmth, mirth… even affection. And now, finally, he could return to the sanctuary of solitude.

He opened his door.

And his world tilted.

You were sprawled across his bed. Naked. Limbs draped with casual elegance over his favorite sheets, posture unhurried, but your gaze—your gaze was a lit match, crackling with wicked heat.

Everything about you screamed temptation dressed in nothing but nerve and want. The light from his reading lamp cast a golden halo across your bare skin, painting you in soft shadows and molten glow. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shy away. Instead, your lips curled into a sultry, knowing smirk, your eyes trailing over him like claws down silk.

It was a challenge. A gift. A provocation.

Satan stood in the doorway, unmoving, golden-green eyes narrowing as if reading a passage of forbidden text. His expression was unreadable at first—calm, calculating. But beneath that composed exterior was a tempest barely held in check. His fingers twitched at his side, jaw clenched just slightly. The room grew heavy with tension.

“Well,” he said after a long beat, voice low and edged with something sharp and intoxicating. “This is… unexpected.”

His steps were slow and deliberate as he entered, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded more like a lock than an ending. His gaze drank you in, but it was not frantic—it was focused. Devouring. The same look he gave ancient grimoires that hid curses behind their ink.

“Are you playing a game?” he asked coolly, tilting his head. “Because if so, you should know—I don’t lose.”

And then his smile bloomed: slow, dangerous, thrilling.

“If this is your way of wishing me a happy birthday… then I must admit,” he said, unbuttoning his collar with infuriating patience, “you’ve piqued my interest more than any book ever could.”

The predator beneath the scholar stirred—quiet, confident, and utterly captivated.