Dealing with the Devil [Yandere x Reader]

Chapter 23 - Acception

I sat down with a heavy sigh, bracing myself to confront the inevitable cascade of disappointment in my inbox. Rejection, rejection, rejection—my eyes skimmed over the familiar words, each one a dagger to my hopes. Then, amidst the sea of negativity, a lone beacon of hope:

An acceptance?

My heart pounded as I scanned the message, suspicion creeping in.

"Did Chris have something to do with this?" I murmured, my mind racing with questions.

A notification chimed on my phone, interrupting my thoughts.

"Aw, I'm your Chris now?" the message from my future husband teased. Frustration surged through me.

Did he change his name?

"Well, did you?" I demanded aloud, though I knew he couldn't hear me. The reply came swiftly:

"Nope, you're just so talented."

With a mixture of disbelief and excitement, I opened the message, revealing the unexpected twist in my story.

My English project, once a mere assignment, had transformed into a short story—and now, an artist wanted to collaborate with me to turn it into a book, illustrations and all. I sat back, stunned.

"Holy crap," I breathed, scarcely able to comprehend the magnitude of this opportunity.

"Want to go out and celebrate?" my future husband suggested eagerly. But amidst the whirlwind of emotions, I found myself hesitating.

"Nah," I replied, my mind already consumed by the possibilities stretching out before me.

I'm still in disbelief that the thing I've been longing for has finally come to fruition. I mean... I really can't wrap my head around it.

"Can I come over?" the text popped up on my screen.

"Nah, I'm heading out," I replied.

"Can I come with you?" came the immediate follow-up.

"I'm celebrating alone," I declared firmly, determined to savor this moment by myself.

Heading out, I made a quick stop at a campus store for some notebooks and highlighters. As I approached the checkout, a sense of unease washed over me, as if someone's gaze was fixated on me.

"Did you find everything you need?" the cashier inquired, breaking the silence.

"Uh, yeah," I muttered, still feeling jittery under their scrutiny.

"A pretty girl like you must have a pretty big project," the cashier remarked with a smile that made me squirm uncomfortably.

"Yeah, pretty big project," I echoed, trying to deflect the attention.

"That'll be 40.56. You know, this could be on the house if you wanna give me your phone number," he said slickly, a suggestive tone creeping into his voice.

"No thanks," I replied firmly, reaching for my wallet.

"Oh, come on—" he began, but before he could finish, a hand swiftly darted past my face, seizing his shirt and yanking him up abruptly.

Horror gripped me as I witnessed Christian holding the man aloft.

"Go outside," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

"But—" the cashier stammered.

"Go," Christian reiterated, his tone leaving no room for defiance. It was clear he wouldn't hesitate to physically remove me himself if necessary.

Reluctantly, I complied, stepping out into the cool night air. Yet even from outside, I could still hear every word exchanged inside.

"You gotta be pretty stupid to hit someone at their job with cameras," the cashier remarked, his fear palpable but attempting to maintain a facade of confidence.

"Good thing no one will be checking them," Christian retorted coldly.

My heart pounded in my chest as a loud crash shattered the tense atmosphere, making me jump out of my skin. For a fleeting moment, I debated whether to flee home or stay rooted to the spot. Eventually, the silence that followed urged me to stay put.

Then, to my surprise, Christian emerged from the store, a bag in hand.

"Here," he said, extending the bag to me with a gentle smile. "Sorry your big day had to be ruined."

Grateful yet bewildered, I accepted the bag, my voice tinged with surprise as I managed to utter, "Thank you."

"Let's go celebrate together," he suggested, pulling me towards a nearby late-night sweet treat shop.

But as he led me away, I couldn't help but notice the bruises on his hands and the redness in his palms, sparking a pang of pity for the cashier left behind.

Was he even still alive? 

The thought lingered ominously as we disappeared into the night, leaving behind the echoes of chaos and uncertainty.