Night with the devil

The sketchpad stared back at me like an old lover - I also wanted to be like Eliza one time, to be known for more than my beauty. That was when I found a passion in drawing and painting - but I was too scared to leave something that worked for me, for something… new.

I hadn’t touched a pencil in years.

The smooth paper beneath my palm was pristine, untouched, and terrifying. I gripped my mechanical pencil and hovered it over the first page, willing inspiration to strike like lightning. But nothing came. My hand trembled slightly, the weight of everything I’d buried pressing down on me.

I used to be good at this. At creating beauty from chaos. At pouring emotion into fine lines and colors.

But now… I couldn’t even draw a straight line.

I slammed the sketchpad shut, cursing under my breath. The ache in my chest deepened.

“Eliza was wrong,” I muttered to myself, dragging the pad off the table and tossing it onto the couch. “This was stupid.”

I wandered to the balcony, the city buzzing beneath me like it didn’t care that my world had crumbled. People were moving on. Laughing. Falling in love. Living.

And I was just… stuck.

My head still echoed the

Later that afternoon, I sat curled on the sofa in one of Elizabeth’s oversized knit throws. She had gone to a meeting, leaving me alone in her sanctuary. I tried reading. Journaling. Watching TV. Nothing worked.

Maybe I just needed to go back to another thing I once loved - social media. I turned on my phone and created new accounts. New Life. New accounts. New Me… I hoped.

But of course the world was against me today, as always. There was nothing going on on the internet and every ‘sensational’ topic seemed bland.

In a moment of weakness - or maybe curiosity I typed Philip Simpson into the search bar.

The article was the second one on the page.

“Philanthropist and Export Mogul Philip Simpson Announces Engagement to Model Solara Vienne.”

The breath caught in my throat. There they were - Philip in a tailored black suit, his smile smug and familiar. Solara was in a cream-colored cocktail dress, the kind I would’ve once borrowed from her closet. Her hand was on his chest, fingers showing off a massive diamond ring.

Engaged.

The word stabbed into me like glass.

A thousand thoughts screamed through my mind. He had moved on. So easily. So shamelessly.

After everything, he got a shiny new future, and I was here—traumatized, aimless, barely able to draw.

I felt the tears come before I could stop them.

They weren’t soft, delicate sobs like the ones in movies. They were violent, shaking, ugly cries that tore from my chest in gasps. I sank to the floor, hugging my knees, rocking like a child while everything inside me shattered all over again.

The front door clicked open.

“Silvia?” Elizabeth’s voice echoed through the apartment. Then silence. Footsteps. A gasp.

“Oh my God—Silvi.” She was kneeling beside me in a flash, pulling me into her arms. “What happened? Talk to me.”

"Che sta succedendo?”

Then she saw my phone lying on the floor, the article open for the world to see.

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at the screen, her lips pressed in a tight line.

“He really did it,” I whispered hoarsely. “He married her in his heart the moment I left, didn’t he?”

Elizabeth’s arms tightened around me. “You don’t deserve this.”

“I must be cursed,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Philip said it. That I bring bad luck. Maybe he’s right.”

“Don’t you dare.” She pulled back just enough to look into my face, her eyes fierce. “That man used you, broke you, and then replaced you with a shallow imitation. He doesn’t get to define who you are. Not anymore.”

I sniffed. My face was hot, my throat sore. “I feel like I’m disappearing, Liz. Like… I don’t know how to be me anymore.”

“Then come find yourself,” she said quietly. “Get out. Breathe again. You’ve been cooped up here for weeks. Go do something reckless. Be alive.”

I blinked at her. “Reckless?”

“Just one night. No Philip. No shame. No past. Just… you. And a couple of drinks, maybe even a male stripper.”

A slow, unsure smile crept onto my lips. Maybe it was truly time I walked out of the shadows of my past Life, Philip definitely wasn't waiting for me. I understood that it would take time, but I could still take it one step after the other.

“Where do I even start?”

Elizabeth grinned. “Call Edward.”

—

The club was already thumping with bass-heavy music when Edward pulled up in a sleek black car. Euphoria loomed above us, its glass façade shimmering like a dream.

“Euphoria?” I asked, eyes wide as I stepped out.

Edward smirked from the driver’s seat. “Only the best for Miss Moretti.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Eliza really told you to bring me here? I must need more help than I thought.”

Edward smiled warmly. “I'm sure she means well, we sometimes find our cure in the most unlikely places.”

“Is it too late for me to go back home?” I asked dramatically. There was something about this cab driver that just made me smile, like a grandpa. “I seriously don't feel like going in there, even though my mind is practically begging for a drink.”

I was feeling more like covering myself in blankets and playing my sad songs playlist than entering a club, with the frigid air and glances. I was once the life of the party, yet look at me now - too scared to join one.

“Go go, you can call me if you feel like running away later.” Edward said, practically shooing me away.

“Alright deal.”

Inside, it was another world.

Velvet ropes, golden chandeliers, dark walls lit with moody purple lights. Music pulsed through the floor, a perfect beat that made my chest vibrate. The air was heady with perfume, whiskey, and lust.

The women were flawless, their heels high and dresses tighter than second skin. Streamlined shapes and figures all over the club while the men looked like money poured into expensive clothings and watches.

And I - dressed in Eliza’s deep emerald gown with a thigh slit and plunging neckline - felt like a stranger to myself… and yet, completely at home in this home of debauchery. Maybe Eliza was right… just by a smidge of course.

I leaned against the bar, my heartbeat syncing with the music, watching bodies twist and move under strobe lights. For a moment, I just let myself feel.

I ordered a glass of red wine. The bartender gave me a knowing smile.

“First time here?”

“Hm” I nodded, “how do you know?"

“You don’t look like you belong here.” He poured the wine. “But you’re pulling it off.” Then he said quietly. “And I know every face in this private club.”

I took a slow sip, letting the taste warm my throat. “We’ll see.”

Then I felt it.

A gaze.

Someone watching me from a corner.

I turned slightly and caught sight of him across the room—tall, lean, dressed in black slacks and a charcoal button-up with the sleeves casually rolled. Dark hair, intense eyes. He was leaning against the VIP railing, holding a glass of scotch, but his gaze was entirely fixed on me.

When our eyes met, his lips curled into a lazy, knowing smirk.

I looked away first.

But I felt the heat rise in my chest. My stomach was doing a little twirl that I immediately blamed on the sip of scotch. I couldn't be getting so riled up just because of a guy, even though his black hair and eyes seemed to pull me in from a distance. Jeez, how could a man be that handsome?…

Two minutes later, I turned again - and he was gone.

I sighed. Typical. Gorgeous man, gone too fast.

“Looking for someone?”

The voice came from behind me, smooth like whiskey and low like a promise.

I spun around - and there he was.

Closer, taller, more devastating than I’d realized. The scent of something smoky and expensive wrapped around him like an aura.

“You disappeared,” I said, tilting my head.

“I needed a reason to come find you.”

“Did you?”

“I think I just did.”

He extended a hand. “Calvin Riego.”

Something clicked in my brain. Riego. That name. I'd seen it somewhere. But somehow it just couldn't click, I just had 3 sips of my drink yet I was already feeling slightly dizzy. I knew I was a lightweight but it seemed like I had gotten worse.

“You seem familiar,” I murmured, my mind still hazy. “Or maybe you are just one of those rich men who fill the tabloids.”

His grin widened. “Guilty.”

“Wow. Fancy meeting you in a club.”

He leaned closer, his voice brushing my skin like a breath. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”

“So how many ladies has that line worked for?”

“Guess.”

“Judging by your looks, I really can't say.” I said, a teasing smile curving on my lips.

Dammit Silvia, why are you flirting with a guy you just met.

“I will take that as a compliment.” Calvin chuckled, his laughter doing more to my body than I wanted it to. “Well to answer your question, just one. It's an honest question.”

“So do you?”

“Maybe I do,” I whispered.

We talked.

Or maybe we flirted through conversation. I don’t know.

His laugh was warm, addictive. He didn’t ask about Philip or what I did or who I used to be. He didn’t look at me with pity. Just… interest. Real, raw interest.

At some point, he pulled me onto the dance floor.

We moved together like we’d done it a thousand times. His hands found my waist, and I let mine rest on his shoulders. Our bodies were too close, the music too loud, the world too soft around the edges.

When the beat slowed, his hands didn’t move.

Neither did mine.

“You’re dangerous,” I said, breathless.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his lips just barely brushing my ear.

I didn’t remember deciding to kiss him.

But we did.

And when I did, everything else melted away.

---

We barely made it into the back of his car before his lips were on mine again.

His hands tangled in my hair, and I moaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing against mine like he needed to feel every inch of me. There was nothing gentle about it—he kissed like a man who took what he wanted, and in that moment, I wanted to be wanted.

Desperately.

But then we split up. Just to walk into a luxurious hotel. I once had a hobby for reviewing hotels but my mind was too hazy for me to even wrap my head around the environment.

And I didn't want it to clear, not now.

The ride up in the elevator was silent—except for the heavy sound of our breathing and the electricity sparking between our skin.

Then we were inside.

The room was sleek and modern—chrome, golden framed glasses and leather, but I barely noticed.

I let him press me against the wall, his mouth trailing down my neck as his hands explored, pulling the dress down my shoulders until it hit the floor.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, staring at me like he’d never seen a woman before.

“You don’t even know me,” I whispered, breath shaky.

“I don’t have to. Not tonight.”

That night, he worshipped my body like it was a prayer.

There was heat, hunger, and something dangerously close to tenderness. He was rough where I needed him to be, gentle where I didn’t expect. He made me feel seen in ways Philip never had. In ways I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

When it was over, we lay in silence. My head rested on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare back.

I should’ve felt guilty. I was still a married woman after all.

But I didn’t. Damnit

I felt… awake.

Alive.

Like maybe, just maybe, the curse had lifted—if only for one night.