DANCE WITH THE DEVIL

PROLOGUE

Cherry High |

The night bar buzzed with life, as vibrant and intoxicating as the cocktails being served. Rich scents mingled in the air, a heady mix of expensive perfumes clashing with the crisp, neutral aroma of the air freshener. It was spacious, filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, yet the atmosphere felt as predatory as the crowd it attracted—affluent patrons, all chasing something elusive.

At the far end of the bar sat a man, lost in thought, his gaze drifting over the shelves of liquor behind the counter. He wore all black, a fashion statement that mirrored the shadows he seemed to carry with him. His raven hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his pointed shoes gleamed under the dim light.

In his hand was a glass filled with a deep red liquid, each sip sliding down his throat like a guilty pleasure. His expression was blank, but his dark, droopy eyes hinted at a tired soul—one that had seen too much and felt too little. His lips were thin, a slight pinkish hue that rarely broke into a smile.

He sat with an effortless confidence, his posture regal, as if he belonged in another world entirely. Here, in this bustling bar, no one knew his name, but that didn't matter. He was a mystery, familiar yet foreign, like an old song that had faded from memory but still tugged at the heartstrings.

A silver-haired girl caught his attention, her laughter cutting through the noise. He watched as the bartender greeted her with a smile, preparing her drink while they exchanged playful banter.

"Going light this time?" the bartender teased, glancing her way.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "My older brother caught me sneaking in at midnight. I can prove I'm not drunk until the world spins and I trip."

The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. "Let me guess.. you sneaked out again today?"

"Bingo!" she replied, her smile bright enough to light up the room. "But this is the last time, I promise."

"You said that last time," he said, laughter tinging his voice. "Enjoy your last night then, young lady."

With a mock salute, she grinned. "Aye, John!"

He couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement. Trouble. More trouble, he thought, setting his empty glass down with a soft thud that reverberated through his thoughts.

Their eyes met for a moment, and he felt a spark of recognition. She looked familiar, like a memory he couldn't quite place.

"Hey, do you have some spare time?" A new girl approached, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. "I thought you might want some company."

He scoffed inwardly. Drunk women were all over him over the past hour.

"So? Are you free?" she asked, batting her eyelashes playfully.

"Sorry," he replied, keeping his voice low as he turned away, seeking refuge in the thrumming crowd.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the persistent ringing a reminder of responsibilities he couldn't escape. He ignored it, stepping outside into the cool night air, grateful for the chill that cut through the haze of the bar.

He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling deeply, savoring the moment of solitude. Just as he exhaled, his phone rang again, this time from a number he clearly recognize.

Rolling his eyes, he answered, irritation creeping in.

"What?" he rasped.

[Jae]

"What now, Mark?"

[The men tracked the location of the spy. They're heading there now. Any orders?]

"You know what I want."

[I don't think the spy has the records of the business plan. Is it really necessary to kill?]

"Exactly what I want."

[Jae, don't make any rash decisions.]

"Are you questioning my orders, Marcus Lee?"

Silence hung heavily between them, a tension he could feel in his bones. He took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling into the night.

"Just go with it. Send his head to their boss too. That'll be a simple warning."

He ended the call, flicking the cigarette aside like a weight he no longer wanted to carry. His midnight eyes gleamed in the darkness, void of emotion but heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. He was clean on the surface, but deep down, his hands were stained with the sins of his past.

He had many names, each one whispered by those who feared him.

Jaemin Devon Na. Twenty-seven. The second son of a powerful legacy, running a top mafia organization while living life on the edge as a street racer.

He was a figure of fear, untouchable, his existence a dangerous game. Revealing his identity could mean digging your own grave.

Devon– sounds like demon, but no offense taken—he's a direct incarnate.

But what would happen if he found himself unexpectedly drawn to a silver-haired troublemaker—wild, persuasive, and completely unaware of the chaos she could unleash? When fate decided to shift its pawns, they would become entangled, caught in a game that neither of them chose.

The ultimate clash of opposites.

Areum Soleen Lee. Twenty-six. The invisible middle child, often overlooked by her family but never one to shy away from trouble.

She is his chaser.

He is her demon.

─────♚─────

He's a charming, pale-skinned criminal with the eyes of a black hole; I sink. With lips like trickling blood and hands gripping my waist, I am held. He is my sweet torture, my greatest sin— my demon.