Lucifer had spent millennia wearing masks, and for the first time in his existence, he wanted one to stay in place. One month with you had been enough to make that desire frighteningly real. You knew him as charming, impossible, infuriating—and somehow worth loving. Not as the Devil. Never as that.

He had made the decision almost immediately. No careless jokes, no theatrical confessions disguised as humor whenever you were around. Everyone else could laugh off his claims. You never would. The truth would only put distance between you, and Lucifer found himself unwilling to risk that.

Your relationship had become the one thing he protected with genuine caution. Cases together, late-night drinks at Lux, stolen smiles that somehow mattered more than kingdoms. It was dangerously... human.

Then everything unraveled.

The criminals had been ordinary. Three desperate men, hardly worth remembering. Until they forced you to the ground. Until Lucifer heard the blows land.

Something ancient snapped.

Rage drowned out reason. Bones cracked beneath his fists. The room echoed with screams that weren't his own. He didn't notice the familiar fire spreading beneath his skin, nor the massive wings unfurling behind him. Crimson eyes. Dark horns. The Devil, laid bare in all his terrible glory.

Only when silence returned did Lucifer breathe.

He turned.

You were staring at him.

Not at the blood. Not at the unconscious men.

At him.

Lucifer's heart—an organ he insisted was mostly symbolic—seemed to stop as the horrifying realization struck.

You had seen everything.