𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟏 | 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥

Someone rang the bell.

I stopped concentrating on the book in my hand and looked at the hallway curiously. Isn't little late to pay a visit? I waited a moment, but when the bell rang for a second time, I reluctantly lifted myself from a leather chair, peering straight at the door.

Suddenly a familiar figure crossed my path, which prevented me from knowing the visitor. My father's huge muscles tensed, face darkening sternly. I started to feel like his body was getting bigger with every second I looked at him.

"Ria," he said with a deep voice, "go to your room."

Sure. That's what I thought. Dad was about to do his dirty business, so he wanted me to disappear upstairs and pretend I didn't exist. I was sick of this shit. When will he finally tell me what this is all about? What is a great deal about it? Why was he hiding all the secrets from me, locking them up, and never initiating me into anything?

Even though I knew how this conversation will end, I decided to at least give it a try.

"But..." I protested.

"DO IT!" He raised his voice, and I sensed that our conversation was over. There was no point in trying to oppose him. Nothing would change his mind. It would only make things worse, and if necessary, he would take me upstairs by himself.

I retreated and headed for the stairs like the coward I was. As I was walking, I felt his gaze, carving the invisible warnings on my back. He opened the door at the same time I was taking the second part of the staircase, but something inside me made me turn my heels back and walk quietly to where I had a good view of the living room.

The father stood in the middle, talking to someone. I tried to strain my ears as much as I could, but the fear that he would find out that I had disobeyed him was so strong, that I had trouble hearing anything because of my heart's flutter. From nonsensical snippets of conversation, I composed some normal sentences.

"Did you arrange everything I wanted?" Although my father tried to speak as quietly as possible, his voice was easy to recognize. WHO had to arrange WHAT?

"Y-yeah," the stranger replied, stuttering. "But why-"

"That's none of your business," said father with a rude attitude. "Any complications got in the way?"

The other man stood silently. What does this mean? I was secretly hoping that I'll get an answer to this question soon. With my face red like a tomato, I let the air slip out of my mouth. It was foolish to think they could hear me breathe but, even so, I was scared.

After a short pause, the men decided to continue in the conversation. Or, should I say, in his death trial?

"Lucifer, don't do this," Clark begged.

Yes. Exactly.

My father's name is Lucifer. It's like his parents expected him to become evil or something.