All Chapters of The Devil wears Red Lipstick: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Marion's POVThe laundry bin stares back at me like it has something to say.At the top, crumpled and stained like a warning, lies my white silk blouse — ruined.The delicate fabric is streaked with brown-red blotches where the blood dried. My blood. His blood.I scoff.Not because it’s funny, nothing about my life is funny— but I’m too damn tired to cry.I turn to the bed. It’s still perfectly made.The sheets undisturbed. The pillows untouched. No trace of him.Jude never came home.I waited. For hours.Every creak in the hallway. I hoped. I thought maybe — maybe — he’d show up. That he’d open the door with some sarcastic remark. Maybe see my pain, even after Viv had called him.Jude Creed didn’t come to me. God, I needed him.I need him to tell me things will be fine, and yet. I sigh.“Of course, Marion, you are in this alone,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing my purse.My fingers close around the car keys on the nightstand, but my body halts.I remember. The doctor’s voi

Marion’s POVI’m curled up on the sofa in our bedroom, dressed in cozy grey pajamas. I barely remember just lying down like this. My feet are tucked under a knit blanket, legs folded to one side like a lazy cat.My phone is balanced against my thigh, screen dimmed from disuse before I tap it awake again. I’ve fallen into a rabbit hole—one symptom article turned into six, and now I’m in a Reddit thread about survivors who didn’t survive.The words blur together: brain swelling, decline, progressive, non-operative.Fuck, could this be any grimmer?I don’t hear the door open.Not until there’s a presence. A shadow. A breath of cologne and tension.He’s standing right beside me, one hand in his pocket, the other clenched at his side.I lift my head.“Where the hell have you been?” Jude asks, his voice sharp. Not angry—just annoyed. Defensive. His eyes search mine like I owe him something.I scoff, setting my phone down. “I can ask you the same.”He stares at me for a second longer b

Richard’s POV "Is this all you found?"My voice echoes off the glass walls of Icarus’ top-floor conference room like a gunshot.The men standing across from me stiffen. One of them clears his throat. Arnold. Always Arnold with his weak voice and nervous glasses."Yes, Richard. Marion is just… working. We haven’t seen any evidence she’s digging into you.No movement. No calls. No flagged transfers. Nothing that suggests she's looking into Icarus."I stare at him.Lying to me is a skill. Arnold doesn’t have it."I don’t believe that."I turn away from the table, jaw ticking. "I know her. There is no way—no fucking way—she lets me go. Not after everything I did to her."The words taste metallic as they slip out.I lift two fingers to my face, pressing them to my cheek. A painful throb flares in my thigh. She left me a souvenir. I stagger forward slightly, pain biting into bone as the memory hits—Her eyes glinting under the streetlights.The dagger buried in my thigh.Her bloody s

Marion’s POVI pay the taxi driver with a quick “thank you” and step out into the warm Velmara afternoon. My heels hit the pavement with that satisfying, stiletto-sharp click—war drums.The Penthouse Lounge looms ahead, bathed in violet lighting and wealth-soaked silence.I breathe in.Exhale.Things with Jude have cooled. No. Frozen.Ever since I mentioned Ivy, right after he kissed me—stupid, stupid girl—he's barely looked me in the eye.Cold texts. Polite nods. That’s it.I shake my head, tightening my grip on my clutch. “Why did I say that?” I murmur under my breath.It doesn’t matter now.He’s distant, and I’ve got other things to focus on.I push through the double glass doors and walk in. Black dress. Black slingback heels. Red lipstick. A look that screams vengeance.My eyes scan the room. Soft jazz. Dim lighting. Target acquired.Brian.Poor, pathetic Brian. My former employee, now trying very hard to be invisible.“Brian,” I call sweetly, sliding in beside him at the

Jude's POV We sit outside the manor; the air is unnaturally still.Just me, Jace, and Jacob.No one says a damn word. Glasses clink softly as we sip whatever’s strong enough to pretend like it helps.I exhale.Viv can’t have kids.Jace’s voice echoes in my head like it was a headline in a tragedy I didn't sign up for. He had said it quietly, carefully, like the words might break if dropped too fast. And still, it shattered something.Jacob breaks the silence. “What about you?”I glance up.He’s not asking about kids.He’s asking about her.“Why was your wife drinking?” He adds, tilting his glass like the question is casual. It’s not.“I don’t know,” I admit.I don’t. Not really.“She’s pulled away again and I—I don’t know what to do.”Jacob chuckles, low and dry. The kind of laugh you don’t want aimed at you.“I know you know, Grandpa,” I snap.“Know what?” Jace leans forward, forehead wrinkled.“That your brother married Miss Storm as a business deal,” Jacob snaps before I can ev