When the Demon Calls Her Name

The room was thick with tension, suffocating, and electric.

Lucian stood in the doorway, an immovable force, his presence warping the very air around them.

His gaze swept over the scene—the tangled sheets, Kilian’s smug expression, Claire’s flicker of guilt before she masked it with indifference, and finally, Evie.

She stood there, raw and broken, her body trembling under the weight of betrayal.

Lucian drank it in.

The devastation in her eyes, the way her breath hitched like she couldn’t quite process reality—it was intoxicating.

Pain was such a beautiful, fragile thing when wielded correctly.

And Evie?

She was primed for destruction.

His lips curled in a slow, knowing smirk. “Ah,” he mused, stepping further into the room with a casual elegance that made Kilian tense. “So this is the infamous ex-boyfriend. I must say, Evie, I expected someone grander.”

His eyes flicked over Kilian with barely veiled amusement, like he was an insect to be examined before being crushed.

Kilian scoffed, sitting up in bed and reaching for his jeans. “Who the fuck are you?”

Lucian ignored him, tilting his head toward Evie instead. “I have to say, little one, you have a real talent for picking the worst possible people to trust.”

Evie flinched.

The weight of his words settled deep into her bones.

It was true, wasn’t it?

Kilian.

Claire.

Everyone she loved turned into ghosts of broken promises and twisted betrayals.

Claire, ever the opportunist, crossed her arms and shot Lucian a withering look.

“And who exactly are you? Evie’s new boy toy?”

Her voice was biting, meant to wound.

Lucian chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that sent shivers through the room.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, stepping closer, towering over them all. “You’re not nearly important enough to ask me questions.”

Claire’s face twisted in annoyance, but Kilian, sharp enough to sense something deeper beneath Lucian’s polished exterior, narrowed his eyes.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing—”

Lucian cut him off with a slow, predatory grin. “Oh, but I do.”

He turned to Evie, his voice lowering, silk and steel. “And you, little one? Do you know what game you’ve been playing?”

Evie swallowed hard.

The weight of the night was pressing against her ribs, squeezing every ounce of clarity from her thoughts.

“Lucian…” she whispered, unsure what she was asking for.

Lucian reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The touch was deceptively gentle, a stark contrast to the way his words coiled around her like a noose.

“They made you believe it was your fault, didn’t they?”

Evie’s breath hitched.

Kilian scoffed. “Because it is her fault. She’s always been so damn dramatic—”