A year to love the devil

YASMINE'S POV

"P—please…"

"Please save my husband! Someone! Anyone! Please!" I screamed into the downpour, my voice barely rising over the storm's roar.

I stumbled on the slick pavement, falling to my knees as I crawled toward a lone figure standing under the streetlight. Tall. Still. Unnaturally calm. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch—just watched me approach like I was something unfortunate lying in the road.

"S—sir, please," I cried, grabbing onto the hem of his pants with shaking hands. "Please, he’s dying. We had an accident—please, just help us!"

He looked down at me slowly. His eyes were the color of old smoke, dark and hollow like everything had died behind them. My heart lurched when I saw his face—handsome in a way that felt dangerous, unnatural. His features were perfect, too perfect, carved like a statue of a forgotten god. Beautiful and terrifying.

"Get your hands off me, young lady," he said, his voice low, smooth… but utterly devoid of sympathy. "It’s already time for your husband to die."

"N—noo," I sobbed, tightening my grip on his coat, hoping he’d feel my desperation—hoping it would matter, hoping he'd pity me.

“Please, he can’t die now. I’m pregnant. He’s my husband. He’s all I have left."

He didn’t react. Didn’t blink. The rain poured over him and yet he seemed untouched, as if the water avoided his skin. He looked at me like one might look at a dying animal on the side of the road—bored, distant, mildly inconvenienced.

Without a word, he slipped his leg from my grasp with a lazy motion. I gasped—more from the cold that surged through my fingers than his rejection. His body felt like… nothing. Like touching fog shaped into flesh.

"You’re going to regret saving him," he said flatly, already turning to leave.

I stumbled after him, my fingers clutching at his coat again, this time higher—closer to his back. “Is it money? What do you want?" I was sobbing now, my knees scraping raw against the road. "I’ll give you anything. Just save him. Please."

He stopped.

The rain was deafening in the silence between us. His back was still to me. Then, with a sigh so long and slow, it felt like the wind shifted with it, he turned.

"You still don’t get it," he murmured, more to himself than to me. His voice was like ice running through my spine.

Then he faced me. I stopped breathing.

Even now, with him only a few feet away, I couldn’t bring myself to close the distance. Something in me screamed not to.

He crouched—not too close, but enough that I could see his face clearly under the wide brim of his hat. Water clung to his lashes like diamonds, yet his expression was as lifeless as a corpse.

"You think this is about an ambulance? About hospitals?" he said, his tone almost… tired. "Some lives aren’t measured in heartbeats. And some deaths can’t be delayed with machines and doctors."

He raised a gloved hand and, gently—without truly touching me—placed it beneath my chin, guiding my face up. The touch didn’t feel real. It was like pressure without substance, heat without warmth. My heart clenched.

His eyes weren’t human. Whatever shimmered behind them was old. Ancient. Something that looked like it didn’t belong in this world.

I trembled, unable to pull away. "Then… what do I have to do?” I whispered. "Please. Anything. Just tell me."

He watched me a second longer, then stood again, rising like a shadow stretching in the light.

"There is a way, if you insist," he said, voice now deep and deliberate. "But it comes at a price."

I scrambled onto my knees. " Anything. I’ll pay anything. Just save him."

He tilted his head slightly, be like I was something to be studied. "How much money do you think you can offer me?"

"I don’t care," I said quickly. "Whatever you want—just save him. Please."

"I’ll save your husband," he said, and for the first time, I saw the faintest twitch of amusement in his otherwise blank face.

"Thank you—thank you," I gasped. "How much? What do you want?"

"I’ll tell you when the time comes."

I hesitated for a second. My chest was tight. My stomach was twisted in knots. "I said anything," I whispered.

His lips curved—barely. "Very well," he said. Then added, "But I am a demon, young lady. This is your last chance to back out.""

The word demon didn’t even register until later.

"I agree," I said without thinking.

A gust of wind shot through the street. Hard. It almost knocked me back. Shadows gathered at his feet like ink poured into water. The rain slowed… and the air turned heavy, suffocating as I’d stepped into a place where time didn’t belong.

Then—he vanished, I was alone, and behind me—I heard it.

A breath, fragile, weak, but real, alive.

I spun around, my heart crashing in my chest. "Francis?!"

He blinked, his body, crumpled in the wreckage as he shifted slightly. "Y—Yasmine?"

I crawled to him, my hands trembling as I cradled his head in my lap. "I’m here, I’m right here," I whispered, my fingers running through his rain-soaked hair.

His skin was cold—but he was alive, tears spilled down my face, mixing with the rain.

"What… happened?" he whispered, voice hoarse and cracked.

"You’re alive," I said again, like saying it could make it true forever. "And that’s all that matters."

Moments later, sirens wailed through the storm. Red and blue lights danced across the wreckage. Paramedics ran to us, shocked and confused.

One of them stared at us with wide eyes. "Mrs… I don’t know how to explain this, but you and your husband… there’s barely a scratch on either of you. The car’s totaled. It looks like no one should’ve survived."

I nodded numbly. "Please take us to the hospital. Full scans. Everything."

He nodded, still stunned. They loaded Francis onto a stretcher, and I followed—still soaked, still shaking, heart pounding in my chest.

As the ambulance doors closed behind us, a whisper curled into my ear.

Not from inside the vehicle. Not from outside. From nowhere.

"I kept my end of the deal, Yasmine. When the time comes… I’ll come for you."