Under The Devil's Eyes

‎I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, the bitter scent of espresso clinging to my skin like a second layer. The clock above the counter ticked mercilessly toward 4 p.m., mocking my aching feet and the endless loop of "one more hour" I'd been chanting in my head. Downtown's hustle buzzed outside the café window—cars honking, pedestrians rushing like ants to their hives—but inside, it was just me, the hum of the coffee grinder, and the faint jazz playlist Gina insisted on to "keep things classy." Classy. As if slinging lattes for minimum wage plus tips screamed sophistication. But hey, it paid the bills. Barely.‎My name's Nora Faez, and at 22, I've learned that life doesn't give you lemons—it hurls them at your face while you're already dodging boulders. Four years ago, a drunk driver turned our world into shattered glass and twisted metal. Mom and Dad were gone in an instant, leaving me and my little brother Elias orphans at 18 and 16. The foster system? A nightmar

‎Mikhail’s POV‎Dawn crept over the city like a thief, gray light bleeding through the skyline. I hadn’t slept—Ingrid’s visit last night was a fleeting escape, but that fiery waitress from the club still haunted me. Her face, her nerve, the way she’d flung that drink like I was just some prick in her way. No one dared that. No one. I was sprawled in my penthouse office, silk robe loose, sipping espresso when my phone buzzed. Dmitri’s name flashed. Answers about the warehouse theft, finally. I answered, voice sharp. “Talk.”‎“Got the report, boss,” Dmitri said, tense but on point. “Three punks, early 20s. Small-time idiots, probably thought they could flip our goods. Names, photos, locations sent. First two live alone. Third one, Elias, stays with his older sister, Nora, in a rundown spot.”‎Nora. The name hit like a spark. Where had I heard it? My mind flashed to the club—her manager calling out “Nora” as she dragged the spitfire away. Could it be the same one? My pulse ticked up, not

‎Mikhail’s POV‎The SUV hummed through the city streets, the engine’s low growl the only sound breaking the suffocating silence. Nora sat plastered against the far door, her body rigid, as if touching the leather seat next to me would poison her. Her bag clutched in her lap like a shield, her eyes fixed on the blurring skyline outside. It irritated me—more than it should. I wasn’t used to being treated like a leper, especially not by a woman I’d just pulled into my world. Her defiance from the apartment still lingered, a spark that both annoyed and intrigued me. But this? This childish avoidance grated on my nerves.‎“I don’t bite, you know,” I said, my voice casual, laced with that cocky edge I knew would rile her. “You can sit comfortably.”‎She whipped her head around, those dark eyes flashing like daggers. “Sit comfortably with you? A cold-hearted killer? You literally kidnapped me!”‎I chuckled, leaning back, arms spread across the seat. “No, I didn’t. You’re simply paying the pr

‎Nora’s POV ‎The club was a sensory assault—neon lights pulsing like a migraine, bass thumping through my bones, the stench of overpriced cocktails and cologne clinging to the air. My shift at Luxe Meridian had been a grind, each tray of drinks heavier than the last, my sneakers sticking to the floor, my arms aching from hours of hustling. The entitled patrons with their fake laughs and grabby hands made my skin crawl, but it was Elias who kept me on edge. His guilty eyes, his trembling apologies after his latest screw-up, haunted me. The memory of Mikhail’s men dragging him out, the gunshots echoing through that phone—Rick and Theo’s pleas cut short—played on a loop. I’d saved him by agreeing to Mikhail’s twisted deal, but at what cost? Six months with that devil, his sultry smirk and piercing blue eyes a constant threat to my sanity, my freedom. ‎Elena cornered me by the bar as I dropped off another tray. “Nora, where the hell were you yesterday?” she snapped, arms crossed, her sh

‎Nora’s POV Few Days Later... ‎The apartment buzzed with nervous energy as Elena worked her magic, her brushes and palettes transforming me from exhausted bartender to something out of a dark fairy tale. She’d arrived early, her eyes widening at the gown and accessories. “This isn’t some cheap knockoff, Nora. Vivienne Caldron? Who’s this mystery man really?” ‎I dodged, forcing a laugh as she zipped me into the emerald silk. “Just a rich guy with connections. Let’s not make it a thing.” ‎The fabric clung to my skin like a second layer, the low bodice plunging to tease the curve of my breasts, cinching my waist before flaring over my hips, the thigh-high slit promising a glimpse of leg with every movement. It was sinful, molding to my body in a way that made me feel exposed yet empowered—femme fatale incarnate, ready to seduce or destroy. Elena’s makeup was masterful: smoky eyes that deepened my gaze into mysterious pools, red lipstick that turned my mouth into a bold invitation, fo