My Sister's Husband Sex Doll. Now I Am His Demoness.

"Sister, please." My voice broke. "I can't do it."

Seraphine looked at me the way you look at something you've stepped in.

"You will do it whether you like it or not," she said. "It is just one night."

That calm in her voice made me feel stupid for crying.

"You ungrateful girl." My mother's voice cut through the room. "Has Sera not done enough for you? She is only asking you to sleep with her husband in her place, and you stand there crying like a child."

"What if he finds out," I said. "What if he knows I'm not her, what if..."

"Stop your what ifs."

The slap landed before I finished the sentence.

I held my face and stayed quiet.

"You're going, and it's final." My mother turned to Seraphine, her whole expression softening. "Come, baby, you still need your hair done."

"Okay, Mom." Seraphine picked up her bag and paused at the door. She looked back at me. "Wash my clothes. Feed the dog. And don't let me see the blood stains on my underwear when I get back."

Then they left.

I don't want to do this, I thought.

But I was going anyway. Because the alternative was the street, and I had nowhere else to go.

Mr. Lucifer Cain. Every woman in this city knew the name. Cold. Untouchable. His last wife had died six months into their marriage, and no doctor had ever explained why.

And my sister had married him for his money, then handed her place in his bed to me.

They came back at eight to prepare me. Seraphine did my makeup herself, pressing foundation onto my face while I cried, wiping the tears away like dirt on a surface she was cleaning.

"Please, Mom," I tried once more. "I can't do this."

"I'm tired of your voice." Another slap. "If you don't go, I throw you out tonight. No clothes, no money. You know what happens to girls like you on the street."

"Mom, please—" Seraphine's voice dropped, soft, almost sweet. "If she really doesn't want to go, I'll go myself."

My mother's face went still.

"No." She gripped Seraphine's hands. "You are not going near that man. Have you forgotten what happened to his last wife?" She lowered her voice like she was saying something holy. "You are there to spend his money and live well. Let Amanda go. She's better to lose than you."

I heard every word.

It didn't always used to be like this. She loved me once, before the trip six years ago, before they found Seraphine standing at the edge of the slums, thin and lost, and my mother stopped the car. By the end of that day I had gone from daughter to inconvenience, and Seraphine made sure it stayed that way.

Seraphine circled me slowly, hands behind her back. "When you get to his room, you don't say a word. If you speak, he'll know you're not me." She stopped in front of me. "Don't enjoy it. Just stay still."

I looked at the floor and said nothing.

She lifted my chin with one finger.

I looked at her.

She slapped me.

"How dare you look me in the eyes."

"You made me look at you," I said.

Something moved behind her eyes, and for a second I thought I'd finally get a real reaction out of her. Instead she just dropped her hand.

"I won't waste energy on you," she said quietly. "Lucifer will do that for me."

He came home at half past ten. I heard the front door, heavy footsteps, then silence.

Seraphine went to meet him. I stayed near the kitchen entrance and watched.

He was tall, dark suit, collar loosened, and he looked like a man who hadn't slept properly in years. One look from him was enough to make women forget whatever good sense they'd walked into the room with.

Seraphine reached for his arm. He moved it away.

"I'm tired," he said. His voice was flat. "I don't want to be touched tonight."

He walked past her.

I looked down too late. Seraphine caught my eyes, and the look she gave me could have burned through stone. She turned back to him.

"Lucifer." Her voice went soft, nothing like how she spoke to me. "I've been waiting for you."

"You know what they say about me," he said. "You've heard it."

"I've heard things."

"Then you know." His eyes dropped to her, then lifted. "My body kills. Slowly. My last wife—"

"I know about her."

"Then you're either brave or foolish," he said.

She stepped closer. "I'm your wife."

He looked at her for a long moment, something moving across his face that I couldn't read from where I stood.

"Go to the room," he said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Seraphine smiled. She turned, caught my eye, and tilted her head toward the stairs.

Your turn.

My legs felt unsteady, but I moved, because I had no choice, because the only other option was a street with nothing in it. I walked up. I pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

The room smelled like him, something dark and cold. I stood near the door and waited.

Twenty minutes passed.

The handle turned.

He stepped in, loosening his tie without looking at me, and set his watch on the dresser. Then he turned.

And stopped.

He looked at me for a long time. Not the way a man looks at a woman he wants.

"Seraphine," he said, testing the name like he already doubted it.

I said nothing. I remembered the rule.

He crossed the room slowly. Stopped close enough that I had to keep my eyes down. He reached out and tilted my chin up, slower than Seraphine had.

His eyes moved over my face.

"You are not my wife."