The soft glow of the dim light filled Lucifer's study, casting shadows that danced across the towering bookshelves lining the walls. I wandered quietly through the room, taking in every detail. The air smelled faintly of leather and aged paper-a comforting scent that made me feel oddly at ease.
Lucifer was seated at his desk, engrossed in his work, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He didn't seem to mind my presence, which was unusual for someone who guarded his space so fiercely.
I paused at one of the shelves, my fingers brushing over the spines of old, leather-bound books. Their titles were faded, but they exuded history, power, and knowledge. Then, tucked neatly between two large tomes, I noticed a photo album. It stood out, its worn leather cover and gilded edges hinting at years of handling.
Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out and flipped it open.
The first page was filled with black-and-white photographs, images of the Di Carlo family through generations. Men in sharp suits and women in elegant dresses posed in front of grand estates, their expressions a mix of pride and sternness.
I turned the pages, the photos becoming more modern as I went. And then, there it was-a picture of a newborn baby swaddled in a delicate blanket. My breath caught as I realized it was him. Lucifer.
I traced the edges of the photograph with my fingers, a small smile tugging at my lips before I even realized it. He looked... innocent. Untouched by the weight of the world he now carried.
The next photo was of his parents. They stood close together, his mother's soft smile radiating warmth, while his father looked proud and stoic. They seemed like a sweet couple, and for a moment, I wondered what had gone so wrong.
Then came another photo-this time, the whole family. His parents, holding him as a baby, with his grandfather standing proudly beside them. The backdrop was unmistakable: the grand Di Carlo palace.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice Lucifer approach until his voice broke the silence. "What are you looking at?"
I jumped slightly, snapping the album shut before turning to face him. He was standing just a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression curious but guarded.
"I found your baby pictures," I said with a smirk. "You were cute."
He chuckled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a flicker of something-pain, maybe-that crossed his face before he masked it.
I tilted my head, studying him. "You don't seem happy about your childhood."
His eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. "What makes you say that?"
"Because," I said, holding his gaze, "most people smile when they look at old photos. You didn't."
For a moment, he just stared at me, as if trying to decide whether to brush off my observation or take it seriously. Finally, he sighed, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips. "You really do know how to read minds, don't you?"
I shook my head, closing the album and placing it back on the shelf. "Not minds. Emotions."
He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but before he could, his phone buzzed on the desk. The sharp sound shattered the fragile moment between us.
I groaned softly, muttering a curse under my breath. His lips quirked up in amusement-he'd caught on to how easily I got annoyed by interruptions.
He picked up the phone, glancing at the screen. In an instant, his entire demeanor shifted. His shoulders stiffened, and his expression hardened into the cold, unyielding mask he wore around the rest of the world.
"Yeah," he answered, his tone clipped. A brief pause. "Okay ."
With that, he ended the call, placing the phone back on the desk with a little more force than necessary. His jaw tightened, and I could almost see the blaze surrounding his heart growing stronger-barriers rising to shield himself from whatever emotion had been stirred.
I couldn't let that happen. I'd worked too hard to soften those walls, to show him it was okay to feel, to trust.
I crossed the room quickly, standing in front of him. "What happened?"
"Go to bed, Amara," he said, his voice curt.
I blinked, taken aback. He'd never spoken to me like that before. It wasn't the words-it was the tone, sharp and dismissive.
My eyes narrowed slightly, but I held my tongue. There was no point in pushing him right now. He was shutting me out, and I hated it. But I also knew I couldn't force him to let me in.
"Fine," I said, turning on my heel. "Goodnight, mr.salvatore ."
I could feel his gaze on my back as I walked out of the study, my mind racing. Whatever had happened on that call, it wasn't good. And while he might think he could handle it alone, I wasn't about to let him retreat into his fortress of silence.
The night was cool, the soft breeze sweeping through the terrace as I stood there with a bottle of wine. The moon cast its silvery glow over the sprawling estate, but my mind was elsewhere. I took a small sip, the rich taste of the wine lingering on my tongue. I wasn't someone who got drunk easily-my kind never did-but the act of drinking felt oddly cathartic tonight.
I swirled the wine in the glass, staring at the liquid as if it held answers. Human emotions. They were exhausting. Suffocating. And yet, here I was, entangled in them, feeling far too much for a man who wasn't supposed to matter.
Lucifer.
I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on the glass. His words from earlier echoed in my mind, sharp and dismissive. "Go to bed, Amara." He'd never spoken to me like that before. It shouldn't have bothered me. It really shouldn't have. But it did.
What was I doing here? I'd come to retrieve the Blaze Heart, to fulfill my mission. That was the reason. The only reason. Or at least, it should've been. But now...
I shook my head, finishing the wine in a single gulp. The bitter taste burned my throat, but it wasn't enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in my mind.
I couldn't leave. Not without the Blaze Heart. That much was clear. But what scared me more than anything else was the truth I was too afraid to admit. I didn't want to leave because of him. Lucifer.
The realization hit me like a storm, and I laughed bitterly to myself. La Muerte, the one who brought fear to gods and mortals alike, now reduced to brooding over a man. How utterly pathetic.
I turned to leave the terrace, deciding to retreat to my room and let the night pass. But as I walked down the corridor, a guard approached me. He bowed respectfully, his voice steady but formal.
"Madam, someone has come to see you. He says he is your assistant."
I blinked, caught off guard. My assistant? Who would...
My mind raced, but I quickly masked my surprise. I waved the guard off. "Dismissed."
The moment he was gone, I hurried to the living room, my curiosity growing with each step. As I entered, I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Enzo?"
He stood there, his expression a mix of curiosity and nervousness, his hands clasped behind his back. For a moment, I just stared, unable to believe it was really him. Then, without thinking, I ran to him, throwing my arms around him in a tight hug.
Enzo stiffened, clearly not expecting the gesture, but after a second, he hugged me back, albeit hesitantly. "Uh... La Muerte, did I do something wrong?"
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "No, Enzo. For once, you didn't screw up. I'm just... I'm so happy to see you."
He pulled back slightly, his face a mix of confusion and shock. "You missed me?"
"Yes, I did." I smiled, though my voice carried a tinge of frustration. "I almost made a mess of things without you."
He raised a brow, his tone cautious. "I, uh... I'm sensing something different about you, ma'am. Human emotions, maybe?" He paused, as if bracing himself for my wrath. "Why are you so sensitive all of a sudden? I mean, you've always had a short temper, but this... this is new."
I narrowed my eyes, stepping back. "You really know how to make me angry, Enzo."
He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. But then, to my surprise, he stepped forward and hugged me again.
"What are you-" I began, but he cut me off with a whisper.
"Someone's watching us," he murmured. "And they look like they're ready to kill me."
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I smirked, a plan already forming in my mind.
"Enzo," I said, my voice low but commanding, "twirl me."
He pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing. "What?"
"You heard me," I said, my smirk widening. "Do it."
He hesitated but finally obeyed, spinning me around in a playful twirl. I let out a soft laugh, my hair catching the light as I moved.
The sound of glass shattering broke through the moment. I glanced subtly toward the doorway and saw him. Lucifer.
His jaw was clenched, his eyes blazing with barely-contained fury. His hand, bloodied from the shards of glass he'd crushed, hung at his side. He looked like he was seconds away from losing control.
Oh, my jealous Lucifer. That's what you get for talking to me like that.
I turned back to Enzo, my smile sweet but mischievous. "Enzo, we need to talk."
He nodded quickly, still looking unnerved. "Uh, yeah. Me too."
We left the living room without another glance at Lucifer. The moment we stepped outside, Enzo led me to a sleek black car parked in the driveway.
"Your plan?" I asked, raising a brow as he opened the door for me.
He shrugged, looking sheepish. "I couldn't exactly teleport here in front of everyone, now could I?"
I chuckled, sliding into the passenger seat. He joined me, starting the engine as we pulled away from the estate.
I leaned back in the seat, a satisfied smile on my lips. Let Lucifer stew in his jealousy for a while longer. Whatever had happened earlier, he'd brought it upon himself.
I sat alone in my study, the dim light casting long shadows across the walls. A half-empty glass of whiskey rested on the desk before me, the amber liquid reflecting my turmoil. I swirled the drink absentmindedly, my mind replaying the conversation from earlier.
"Go to bed, Amara." First of all , i never talked to her like this. Second , I was lucky enough , she didn't shoot me that time because I got to know about her temper ...
My words hung in the air like a curse, mocking me. Her expression had shifted-anger, disbelief, hurt-and I had walked away, too proud to acknowledge the weight of what I'd done. I shouldn't have spoken to her like that. I knew her temper, her wrath, her unpredictability. She wouldn't forgive me easily, and honestly, I didn't blame her.
My jaw tightened as regret settled deep in my chest. I had lost control, spoken harshly, and now I was left to deal with the consequences.
That time ,I stared at the screen, my mood souring further as I saw the caller ID. My so-called family.
I answered with barely concealed irritation. "What?"
"We'll be arriving shortly," came the curt reply.
I ended the call with a single word, tossing the phone onto the desk. My grip on the glass tightened. Them. My hatred for them was a deep, festering wound, but I had refrained from taking action-for the sake of the Di Carlo name, for the sake of the family's legacy. If it weren't for that, I would've ended them long ago.
I downed the whiskey in one gulp, the burn doing little to calm my anger. The thought of their arrival was suffocating, but there was no escape. I poured another drink, trying to numb the rising tide of emotions.
Then I heard it-quick, light footsteps echoing in the hall outside. Someone was running.
Curiosity sparked, and I stood, following the sound. As I stepped into the corridor, I caught a glimpse of her. Amara.
She was running-not away, but toward someone. My breath hitched as I quickened my pace, following her. When I reached the edge of the stairs of the living room, I stopped cold, my body going rigid.
She was there, in his arms.
That man. Vincenzo.
My blood turned to fire as I watched her throw herself into his embrace. He hesitated for a moment but then hugged her back. And they didn't break apart.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. My vision tunneled, focusing only on them. The way they were speaking so casually, like old lovers reunited. The way her laugh-soft, genuine-rang out as if I didn't exist.
And then he did it.
He twirled her.
She laughed again, the sound cutting through me like a blade. My anger surged, raw and unrelenting. My hand tightened around the glass in my hand, the pressure building until it shattered. Shards bit into my palm, blood pooling and dripping onto the floor, but I barely felt the pain.
She knew I was there. I could see it in the subtle tilt of her head, the way her smirk played on her lips. She didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge me. Instead, she walked off with him as if I were nothing.
The sound of a car honk pulled me from my rage-filled daze. I moved to the window, watching as they climbed into the car. The engine roared to life, and they drove off into the night.
They were leaving. Together.
I slammed the remaining glass onto the table, shards scattering across the wood. My jealousy burned hotter than ever, mingling with an unfamiliar sense of dread.
She was angry-truly angry-and I knew better than anyone what that meant. Amara's fury wasn't loud or brash. It was a silent, deadly storm, one that destroyed everything in its path without warning.
Despite my jealousy, a sliver of fear crept into my chest.
When Amara was mad, she was utterly unpredictable.
And that made her terrifying.