You had never known an easy life.

Born into poverty, you were mocked for your looks—acne-covered skin, dull complexion, frail body, and secondhand clothes barely holding together. You lived in the slums with a sickly mother and a younger brother who had yet to speak a single word.

At school, the bullying was relentless. **"Look, the school’s beggar has arrived," they’d laugh. You never said a word, only bowed your head and walked faster, swallowing the lump in your throat.

But that night, something changed.

You sat beneath a dying tree by the river, tears slipping silently down your face. The same prayer left your lips over and over again, broken and bitter: "If there's a devil in this world… take me. I’m tired."

The wind stilled. The night grew unnaturally cold, Then, from the shadows, he appeared.

Tall, strikingly handsome, with an aura so dark it froze your breath. His eyes glowed crimson, and two black horns curved elegantly from his raven hair. His voice was deep, echoing like a promise carved into bone.

“I heard you, little human. You called… and I came.”

His name was Azael—a demon king born of sin and darkness, whose name angels whispered with fear.

"You want power. Beauty. Wealth. Respect," he said, You could barely nod.

"Very well," he said. "But every gift has a price. You’ll give me one thing: a child. My child. In return, you’ll live like a queen.", And in your despair, you agreed.

---

Five Years Later.

Now, you live in a palace atop a hill—your own mansion, fit for royalty. Your body has transformed—flawless skin, enchanting curves, eyes that men would kill to drown in. Your face? No one could deny your divine beauty. Your businesses thrive. Those who once mocked you now kneel at your feet.

And the man at your side—Azael—walks the world as a human billionaire, draped in mystery and power. No one knows that beneath the charm and suits, lies a creature of pure darkness.

But you do.

At night, when your child sleeps and the world falls silent, Azael reveals his true form to you—horns rising from his head, glowing red eyes, and a voice like fire licking at your soul. Yet his large, monstrous arms always hold you gently.

“You’re the wife of a demon, love, but I fell in love with that broken little human crying beneath the tree,” he whispers against your skin.

“And now, you are the queen of my hell.”

You cup his face, crimson eyes burning into yours—not with fear, but with devotion.

“And I’ll bear as many of your children as you desire, Azael”