By the time I stepped out of the shower, the sun had already started its descent behind the trees. The water hadn't done much to cool the flush in my cheeks—not from the game earlier, but from the image still burned in my mind.
Alex. Black shirt. Sharp eyes. His warm touch on my thigh.
I don't why he was like that, hot and then cold. Soft and then harsh.
Sincere and than fake.
I wrapped the towel tighter and made my way to the closet. Choosing what to wear for the evening to work on the pile or reports on my desk.
A notification buzzed on my phone.
Alex: Meeting in town tomorrow. Dress appropriately. Governors will be there.
Appropriately? For who? Him?
With a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth, I reached for the red dress hanging like sin from a hanger in the back of the closet. It was calling me - calling me to go to hell and then comeback to earth like nothing happened.
It will be a tease for him. And my evil plan was to break him - break the coldness and resentlessnes he has.
I want him to suffer the way I do. When he wants something that is out of his reach but so close to getting it at the same time,
But that will be for later. Right now I put my cozy and fuzzy PJs. Before plumping into the chair and getting for another long resless night trying to read an understand what these apeprs on my desk want from me.
I hated him for that. He would just come in, dropped this pile and leave without saying anything.
Alex was just a fucking sociopath - barely talks, barely shows anything with his body language.
I always feel alone.
Even when I have Lizzy and Jasmine, even when the corridors of the estate echo with footsteps and laughter, there's a part of me untouched by it all. Unseen. Unheard.
And Alex?
He doesn't make it better.
He makes it worse.
Because when he's near, I feel everything.
And when he's not, I feel nothing at all.
He walks in, drops a stack of files onto my desk like dead weight, mutters a few words that barely register as speech, and then disappears—cold and clinical.
But then his fingers will brush mine when passing a pen, or he'll stare just a second too long at my lips when I speak. He leaves me drowning in the gray areas of everything he refuses to say.
I don't know how to fight him.
I don't know how not to.
So I sharpen myself like a blade, dress my pain in silk, and smile like I'm winning.
If he wants to play this game, he'll find out just how sharp I can cut.
***
Red like a warning.
Red like the flush I wanted to see across his cheeks.
The dress clung to my skin like a second breath—whisper-light, dangerously slick. The fabric shimmered under the dim light of the room, catching shadows and secrets in its folds. The slit up my leg kissed my hipbone, and the backless cut exposed more skin than it concealed. Each step in the mirror looked like temptation incarnate.
The heels clicked against the hardwood as I turned to check the final details. Lips, red. Eyes, smoky. Perfume—just a trace, enough to haunt.
I wanted to be a fucking problem.
YOU ARE READING
Against Devil
Fantasía"I don't care if I fell in love with a devil, as long as that son of a bitch will love me the way he loves hell. Love is complicated and full of sacrifices." - Isabella Sage Isabella Sage was never destined to be ordinary. As a loyal member of the G...
