3. Chapter

Straddling him, the butterfly knife pressed against his skin, we locked eyes in perfect stillness. His pupils were completely black—bottomless pools that reflected no emotion, no thought, nothing at all. I could see nothing human there, and yet the emptiness itself felt almost… sentient. People used to tell me my eyes gave everything away; now I found myself wishing I could read his. Even though, physically, I might have had the upper hand, something about that dark gaze made me feel utterly exposed. Vulnerable.

I pushed off him and stood up.

Each step I took away from him was measured, deliberate, a calculated attempt to regain control of both the situation and myself. When I finally sat down on the torn, dusty couch opposite him, I could really take him in for the first time. For a split second, I thought I saw his chest rise too fast, a faint trace of breathlessness—but his composure never broke. Even bound, even half-conscious, he carried himself with that unnerving calmness of something that doesn’t need to try to be powerful. His shirt was torn open, giving me an unobstructed view of his chest—broad, lean, unnaturally perfect. His tangled black hair and the slight quickness of his breathing only made him more dangerously attractive.

“So,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and maddeningly confident. A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips, though his lashes were lowered in mock humility. “What happens now, darling? What’s the grand plan behind dragging me here like a trophy?”

The question struck deeper than I expected. The truth was, I had no plan. Not a single one. I hadn’t thought past the moment of knocking him out and chaining him to my parents’ living room column. But he didn’t need to know that.

“I think you already know exactly what my plan is,” I said, lifting my chin, careful not to bite my lip even though the heat of his gaze was setting my pulse on fire.

“Please,” he said with that infuriating, taunting smile. “Do you really think anyone’s stupid enough to believe you? You drag your little prize home, and now you’re sitting there trying to come up with a plan for what to do with it. Admit it, sweetheart—you have no idea what to do with the gift that just landed in your lap.”

He hit a nerve, and I hated how easily he could see it. But showing weakness wasn’t an option.

“Fine,” I said simply, rising from the couch and walking back toward him. I straddled his thighs again, lowering myself until I was sitting on him exactly as before. “Then let me tell you the plan, darling.” I leaned closer, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. “One name.” I paused, watching his expression carefully. “Isaac.”

The demon’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the tension ripple through his body—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his muscles shifted beneath my legs.

“Isaac?” he repeated, eyes locking on mine with unnerving intensity. “I assume you mean our Isaac. We don’t reuse names where I’m from.”

I nodded slowly, studying every flicker of movement in his face.

“Then I suppose you should know,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “Isaac is dead.”

My nod faltered. For a split second, my mask nearly slipped. I forced my expression blank, but inside, my mind spun. He could see through me—he knew I had no plan, and now he knew I was completely ignorant of whatever world he came from.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t a chuckle or a dry, sardonic sound—it was a full, rolling, uncontrollable laugh that filled the house, echoing off the cracked walls. The chains rattled as his body shook with it. His laughter was so deep, so unexpected, it somehow made him even more devastatingly handsome.

And, God help me, I started laughing too.

I matched his laughter, feigning hysteria, even wiping away fake tears while I tried to think. How could I turn this around? How could I win this?

When his laughter finally subsided, I caught his gaze and let the humor drain from my face. My expression turned sharp, cold.

I placed my hands on his thighs, leaning forward until my eyes met his.

“Oh… forgive me,” I said softly, with a mocking tilt of my head. “I just got a little carried away. It was so funny—hearing you actually believe he’s dead.”

I drew back slightly, letting a beat of silence hang between us before continuing, my tone suddenly calm and deliberate.

“Darling,” I said, savoring the word, “Isaac is alive. And he sent me for you.”

It was a good thing I’d leaned back when I did—because the instant the words left my mouth, the demon lunged forward with such force that the chains barely had time to rattle before they went taut.