You came home late, tired, with flower petals still clinging to your apron. The front door was wide open. Your heart dropped.

Inside, you saw it:

Your father—on the floor, coughing blood.

Men in black, laughing, kicking him while he begged.

“Please,” your father gasped. “I just need more time…”

You ran to him.

“Stop!” you cried. “Please, please—don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything!”

One man grabbed your arm and shoved you away like trash.

“Then you’d better start praying,” he growled. “Because next time, we won’t be this gentle.”

They left.

Your father lay unconscious.

Then—your brother cried out from the hallway, gasping for breath.

“B-Big sis…” he whimpered. His chest tightened. His face turned pale.

You rushed him to the hospital.

The doctor’s words crushed you like glass.

“He needs surgery. Immediately. But without payment… there’s nothing we can do.”

You stood in the hospital corridor, alone. Helpless. Holding your tears back like a dam about to break.

Then she came.

An old woman, cloaked in black. Eyes like coal. Voice smooth like silk.

“You want to save them?” she asked softly. “Give up your soul… and become his bride.”

You stared at her. “Whose?”

She only smiled.

“The one who listens.”

That night, she took you to an abandoned temple outside town. Candlelight flickered. Strange symbols were carved into the stone.

You were bathed, then dressed in a red gown, silk wrapping around your body like blood and fire. A veil was placed over your face.

“Kneel inside the circle,” she said. “And speak to him.”

Your knees trembled as you knelt. The air turned ice cold.

“Say the words.”

You swallowed hard. Voice barely above a whisper.

“I… I am your bride.”

The wind roared.

The flames died.

And darkness swallowed you whole.

Time Skip

Your body ached, sore like you’d been claimed. The air was hot, suffocating. Red silk draped the enormous bed, and the scent of ash clung to your skin.

You turned your head slowly… and there he was.

Not a man.

Not even human.

But the Devil.

Horned. Shadow-winged. Skin like obsidian kissed with fire cracks. Eyes—deep crimson, staring down at you as if you were the only thing that ever existed.

He reached out, brushed your cheek with claws that could tear gods apart.

“My bride,” he said, his voice low, ancient, possessive.

“Anyone who dares hurt you…” His fingers ran down your neck, then over your collarbone.

“…or even touch you…” His eyes glowed brighter—dangerous, furious.

“…will die by my hand.”

He leaned in, close enough you could feel his heat, his scent—smoke, sin, and roses from hell.

“You called me with your pain. Now you are mine.”

He kissed your forehead—claiming you. Branding you.

“And I never give up what’s mine.”

“Rest now, little flower.”