𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 : 𝑨 𝑴𝒂𝒇𝒊𝒂 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

|78|•ꜱɪɴ & ꜱᴏʀʀʏ•(🌶)

The car braked hard in front of our mansion.
Tyres screaming. Heart racing louder.

She just sat there. Gaping.

Drunk. Reckless. Dangerous.
Her eyes were glassy, head tilted slightly back against the seat like she had no care in the world.
Like she hadn't just set me on fucking fire in front of thousands of men.

I stared at her.
My mind couldn't make sense of what she did.
How the fuck could she do that?
I know she's angry with me. I know she hates me.
She has every right to.

I fucking killed her mother. Lied to her for years.
Broke her in ways she'll never be able to explain.

But that?
Dancing in front of men?
Like she was untouchable. Like she wanted their eyes on her.
Thrusting her hips. Letting that dress ride high up her thighs like a fucking invitation.
That wasn't pain.
That was revenge.

I slammed the door hard-so fucking loud, the sound echoed off the walls of the mansion.

My blood was roaring.
I stormed to her side, yanked the door open.

She didn't move. Just blinked at me like I didn't exist.
Like I wasn't burning alive right in front of her.

I stood there. Waiting.

"Get the fuck down," I growled, voice low, dark, and shaking with barely restrained rage.

She flinched-just for a second.
But then lifted her chin, defiant as hell. And didn't move.

That was it.

I lost it.

With a jolt, I grabbed her arms-firm, not gentle-and yanked her out of the car.

She stumbled into my chest, but I didn't fucking care.
She smelled like alcohol. Like sweat. Like men's stares.

My fingers dug into her arms as I held her in place.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I hissed.

She didn't answer.

Didn't even look scared.
Just... empty.
Which was worse.

I fucking dragged her.

My grip on her wrist was tight, her heels clicking across the stone path as I pulled her through the door of our mansion like she was some misbehaving kid.

But she wasn't.
She was mine.

My wife.
My fire.
My goddamn destruction.

She stumbled once on the stairs, drunk off her rage more than alcohol, but I didn't stop. I didn't speak.

The front doors slammed shut behind us, the echo loud like a warning to the silence we left outside.

And then-
I threw her.

With a shove and a growl of frustration, I hurled her onto the hall sofa, her body bouncing once before she sank into the cushions.

Her hair flew over her face, lipstick smeared across her cheek, dress wrinkled and pulled high on her thighs.