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30

Author: Toxic_Sweetie
last update Last Updated: 2025-04-22 06:12:34

DAMIEN RAPHAËL POV

I watched as Roxanne turned back toward the guy at the door, her shoulders visibly tense.

She let out a soft sigh, one hand curling around the edge of the door.

"Look," She said, voice tight but composed, "I’ll talk to your father today. I’ll give him the cash I have now, then pay the rest tomorrow."

She paused, narrowing her eyes.

"And I’ll forget this even happened."

Her hand made a brief, dismissive gesture toward him—toward that—like she was trying to flick the memory away before it burned too deep.

He scoffed. "Yeah, right."

But then his eyes flicked to me again and I met his gaze. Calm. Cold. Steady.

That was all it took.

His smirk faltered. His throat bobbed with a hard gulp. And suddenly he wasn’t so sure of himself anymore.

"Well…uh—see you around then." He mumbled, shrinking back a little before turning and walking away down the hall.

Roxanne didn’t move right away. She just stood there as the door clicked shut. Then she pressed her forehead
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  • The Devil's Mistress   88

    ROXANNE POV I linked pinkies with Angelina and we sealed it with a giggle. We opened the food and started to eat, occasionally passing the corn or fries between us, giggling about how spicy the sauce was or how the syrupy fruit punch stained our tongues red. I was about to wipe her cheek with a tissue when something in the distance pulled my attention. I looked past the crowd and food stalls, across the miniature game booths and rows of folding chairs. There he was. Damien. Dressed in a fitted black polo shirt with the sleeves hugging his arms and a simple pair of ash-grey trousers that did unspeakable things to his stride, he walked through the crowd with an ease that commanded attention. His watch glinted in the sun, and even his damn shoes looked like they could outdress a runway. That was Damien Raphaël. Always sharp even when surrounded by sticky children. I didn’t say anything to Angelina. I just watched quietly, lips curled in a small smile, waiting for the moment. It

  • The Devil's Mistress   87

    ROXANNE POV It was the day of the spring festival at Angelina’s school. And I had to admit, I was a little more excited than I expected to be. The sun was warm but not too harsh, the wind soft and carrying the scent of cotton candy and grilled hot dogs from the booths scattered across the school’s front lawn. I wore a flowy off-shoulder sundress that fell just below my knees, with a pair of nude wedges and sunglasses covering my eyes. My purse swung gently against my hip with each step, and my hair was combed into soft wavy curls that framed my shoulders. I looked…well, like someone who was actually trying. Angelina, on the other hand, looked like a magical little dream in her flower fairy outfit which was completed with sparkly wings, a flower crown, and glitter on her cheeks. She held my hand tightly as we walked past the booths, stopping every so often to admire the face painting station or the table where kids were trying to throw rings around stuffed flamingos. Fred, wh

  • The Devil's Mistress   86

    ROXANNE POV I sat in the passenger seat of Damien’s car, watching the blur of buildings and trees slip past as he drove. We’d just left my therapy orientation, a surreal experience, to say the least, and were now heading toward Angelina’s school to pick her up before stopping by Mr. Jones’s clinic. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the opportunity lingered in my mind since he handed me that card. I curled my fingers in my lap, then glanced over at Damien as he drove, one hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear. "Thomas came up empty." I said after a pause. He flicked his gaze toward me, silent for a moment. "He said he couldn’t find anything about which prison my father’s in. Or even...who he really was." I said, fingers fiddling with the seatbelt strap across my lap. Damien’s jaw tensed subtly. "We’ll figure it out," He said, eyes back on the road. "Don't stress yourself too much about what's buried. Once you start therapy, the memories

  • The Devil's Mistress   85

    DAMIEN RAPHAËL POV By the time I arrived at the therapist's office, I'd already cleaned up and changed, with the blood on my conscience already absorbed into memory. I saw her the moment I walked in. Roxanne. She was sitting in the waiting room, legs crossed as she scrolled aimlessly on her phone. She wore that soft pink blouse that I liked. The one that clung to her in all the right ways. But the look in her eyes wasn’t soft at all, she was glaring. I glanced at my watch. Still on time. I stepped closer, leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before she could say anything. "I know I should’ve been here earlier, kitten." I said, looking down at her. "I was taking care of some business." She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. "Let me guess...confidential?" I gave a half-smile. "You could say that." I said with a short nod. "But, it’s over now." She looked like she wanted to press, but I saw the way her fingers relaxed over her phone. A door opened. A tall woma

  • The Devil's Mistress   84

    DAMIEN RAPHAËL POV The air up here was quiet. Still. Like death before it made its final move. I crouched near the edge of the old tower’s ledge, the concrete cool beneath my gloves, the metal of the rifle resting heavy on my forearm. A sleek, military-grade sniper rifle with custom grip, modified trigger, suppressor intact. The kind of toy that whispered kill instead of screamed it. Dahlia stood a few feet behind me with that same unimpressed look she wore when I ignored her intel briefs. She was leaning against a rusted steel beam with a cigarette tucked between her fingers. Below us, a busy market stretched wide with flea stalls, flower vendors, food trucks, it was loud and bustling. The usual spot. And somewhere among them, the man I came to kill would be taking his regular stroll, oblivious. He wasn’t high-profile. Just a middleman with sticky fingers and a big mouth. Pushed dope across the wrong borders, and skimmed off the top from one of my client’s shipments. Said so

  • The Devil's Mistress   83

    ROXANNE POVIt was finally the day.The infamous Daddy-Daughter Bake Off Angelina had been buzzing about for weeks. And now here we were, inside the school’s bright and colorful multipurpose room, transformed for the event with decorated tables, pink streamers, and way too much glitter for a Tuesday morning.Ms. Carter stood front and center with a huge clipboard tucked to her chest, calling out instructions like she was the host of a televised competition. "Alright parents and darlings, welcome! We are so happy to have you here today for our annual bake-off!" Cheers erupted. Kids clapped. Parents smiled. Cameras flashed.I stood off to the side of the room beside Dahlia, Fred, and Mrs. Jones, watching with a smile tugging at my lips. Mrs. Jones looked proud, clutching her purse. Dahlia chewed on a piece of gum as she leaned against a nearby wall, looking impressively disinterested despite the bright decorations. Fred stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding politely at parents

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