Sometimes… the Devil justdoesn’t give a damn. I was raised to survive, not to belong.
Pulled from the fiery pit of hell and shaped into something useful, I learned that loyalty was just another word for control.
The Devil saved me once, then made damn sure I never forgot the debt I owed. I told myself I should be grateful. I wasn’t.
By day I’m a tenured professor, a respected academic, a man who had made something of himself. At night, I do the Devil’s bidding.
Two lives, one built on discipline and intellect, the other on violence and instinct. I thought I could keep them separate. I was wrong. They say you don’t miss what you never had. That’s a lie.
Because when the truth emerges, I’m forced to face what the Devil never wanted me to learn. That family isn’t a comfort, it’s a liability, and I was nothing but collateral.
She wasn’t supposed to matter. She was grief wrapped in steel, who had nothing left to lose, unafraid of the darkness surrounding her. Wanting her was reckless.
Letting her get close was a mistake I would pay for. Because the Devil doesn’t lose pieces. He sacrifices them.
As the truth is uncovered, it could destroy everything—or worse, prove that none of it was ever mine to begin with. Walking away could prolong the war. Staying means becoming the very thing I hate.
And losing her is not an option. Either way, someone is going to bleed, and when my truth is revealed, it could burn everything to the ground.
