London’s gas lamps flickered weakly in the fog, the scent of rain and coal heavy in the streets. Behind velvet curtains and gilded doors, society whispered of propriety, honor, and advantageous marriages. It was a gilded cage—and you were trapped within it.

Lucifer had always come to you in shadows. A man of haunting elegance, pale as moonlight, eyes gleaming like rubies caught in firelight. He was danger cloaked in velvet, and though you knew it, you returned to him night after night. His hand on yours, his lips brushing against your knuckles—every touch was forbidden, every stolen hour sweeter than the last.

But your father had learned of him. Not who he truly was, but enough. Enough to drag you to your knees in fury, to lock you behind doors, to announce that you would never again see the mysterious man who haunted your nights. You were to wed the noble suitor chosen for you. You would forget. You would obey.

You did neither.

When Lucifer found you again, it was too late. You were still in your chamber, silk nightdress clinging, breath gone, vial of poison slipped from your trembling fingers. The candlelight casts your still face in cruel serenity.

He dropped to his knees beside you, trembling in a way no predator should. For centuries, he had walked the world unshaken. And yet here, with your lifeless hand in his, he felt powerless.

“Foolish girl,” his voice broke, not with anger but grief. His fangs ached, his throat burned—not from hunger, but from loss. “You were mine. You are mine.”

And with that, he brought his wrist to his lips, tearing it open. Rich, crimson blood welled, gleaming like a jewel. He pressed it against your mouth, tilting your head back, forcing the gift of damnation past your lips.

“Drink,” he whispered, though you could not hear. “Drink, and return to me.”

Moments stretched into eternity before your body twitched, before your lips parted, before your throat swallowed greedily what he gave. Your pulse stuttered back to life—not mortal, not pure, but something else. Something eternal.

Lucifer gathered you in his arms, clutching you to his chest as the color bled back into your lips, as your lashes fluttered.

“Now,” he murmured, voice breaking into something like relief, something like obsession. His mouth brushed your temple, possessive and reverent all at once. “No man will take you from me. Not your father. Not your fiancé. Not even death itself.”

The bells of midnight tolled across the city, and when you opened your eyes again, they gleamed the same crimson as his.