The Kiss That Broke The Devil

Chapter 6: The Kiss That Broke The Devil

Lucian Devlin stood in the marble-tiled hallway, his silhouette commanding beneath the golden chandelier’s glow. He was carved from perfection, tall and devastating in a tailored black suit that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered waist like it had been stitched directly onto his body. Crisp white shirt, black tie, polished leather shoes. Immaculate. Effortless. Dangerous.

His dark hair was slicked back with precision, revealing a sharp jawline that could cut glass and cheekbones sculpted by gods with cruel hands. His eyes, cold and silver, scanned the hallway ahead as if expecting something. But for the first time in a long time, there was a flicker behind them. A crack in his marble armor.

When Serena stepped into view, he saw her.

And for a brief, unguarded moment, Lucian Devlin forgot how to breathe.

She was stunning.

The satin of her deep emerald dress hugged every curve, dipping at the back, clinging at the hips, cinched at the waist like sin had taken form. Her dark hair was pinned up in soft waves, with diamond teardrops dangling from her ears, catching the light like fire. Her lips, glossed and full, parted slightly when she met his gaze.

He was awed. Then, quickly, he buried it.

"How do I look?" she asked, standing with a little defiance in her posture.

Lucian’s gaze dragged over her. "Better than before," he said coolly.

But inside? Inside, he was burning.

He offered his arm. She didn’t take it. But she followed.

In the back seat of the town car, silence stretched. The city blurred past the tinted windows, all luxury and lights, but Lucian’s voice cut through it like steel.

"You remember the rules."

She said nothing.

He continued, without looking at her. "No entertaining male guests. You are to act as Mrs. Devlin tonight. No outbursts, no mistakes. You will not embarrass me again."

Serena turned to him, her eyes hot. "I’m not your slave, Lucian."

He shifted his gaze to her, slow and cold. "You’re right. Slaves don’t get to speak like that. You, however, will learn."

He said nothing more. She folded her arms and stared out the window.

---

The banquet was a gallery of wealth—glistening gowns, dripping diamonds, and champagne laughter that tasted like power. The suite was one of Lucian’s private properties, reserved for events where global billionaires gathered to talk deals, flaunt wealth, and make quiet threats with smiles.

All eyes turned when Lucian entered with Serena on his arm.

Whispers flared like embers in dry grass.

“Is that really her?”

“Lucian Devlin’s wife? Since when?”

“Didn’t Beverley Devlin die five years ago? He’s never been seen with another woman.”

“But look how he stares at her…”

Serena tried not to flinch. She wore the smile Mona had taught her in the mirror. Cool. Distant. Mrs. Devlin.

Lucian was every inch the ice sculpture beside her—until their hands brushed by accident, and his fingers curled, as if holding himself back.

When he left her side to greet some top-tier investors, Serena slipped away to the bathroom, her chest tight with nerves.

Inside, silence. She braced herself on the marble sink, breathing hard, her reflection looking back at her like a stranger.

Then came the voices from just outside the bathroom door.

“…but Beverley was different. She was his obsession. Some say he bought her too.”

“Did she love him?”

“No one really knows. But she died in that house. Heart failure, they said. Some think it was grief.”

Serena’s pulse spiked. Was that her future too? Just another name in Lucian’s locked file of women he possessed?

She shook her head and turned to leave, only to collide with a hard, warm chest, the chest that felt so familiar.

It wasn’t Lucian.

She looked up and froze.

Emerald green eyes.

Eyes she knew like her own name.

“Serena,” he whispered.

She choked on his name. “Marcus…?”

The years had changed him, but not those eyes. His hair was longer, his jaw stronger, and that familiar scar by his eyebrow still danced when he smiled.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t demanding. It was desperate. Hungry. Like the past had crawled back from its grave for one more taste.

Tears glistened in Marcus’s eyes. He tried to fight them, but failed.

Serena should’ve pulled away. She didn’t.

Because that kiss wasn’t just lips—it was memories. Laughter in the old compound. Her dad still alive, her mom healthy and triming the garden. Her siblings dancing. That basement where she gave herself to him. Where love still lived.

And then…

A shadow fell over them.

Lucian.

His eyes didn’t blaze. They froze.

He felt his walls closing in, his chest tightened up,he couldn't breathe properly, and worse still he didn't know why his body reacted as fast as lightning.

His voice was ice. "Get your hands off my wife, with that he threw his fists to Marcus face and it left a mark.

Marcus turned,"Are you crazy?, What did you just say? Who is she to you?"

Lucian didn’t flinch. "My wife."

The way Marcus’s expression crumpled—Serena felt it in her stomach.

Lucian grabbed her wrist and yanked her from Marcus’s hold. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t.

Inside the car, silence screamed.

Lucian didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at her.

When they reached the mansion, he stepped out without a word and turned to Kael, his security head.

"Find out who he is. Everything. Every breath he’s taken."

Then to Serena, his voice clipped: "Mona gave you the rules, yet you chose to default, get ready to face the consequences of your actions.

And with that, Lucian drove away, vanishing into the night.

Inside the banquet, murmurs grew. Some said Lucian had snapped. Others called it arrogance. But Marcus stood on the balcony, staring at the city.

"Why, Serena?" he whispered. "Why did you marry him?"