All Chapters of The Devil wears Red Lipstick: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Ivy’s POVThe afternoon light slices through the high-rise curtains in pale gold blades, making the hotel room look softer than it deserves. It smells like sin and bad intentions, sweat, sex, and something sweet rotting underneath. I stand at the window, my reflection fractured in the glass. My hair's a mess, lips swollen, makeup a ghost of itself. The bedsheets cling to my skin like they know the crime we just committed.A cigarette balances between my fingers. The smoke curls up lazily, mocking me.“You should see this,” a voice says—husky, amused, lazy.I turn.Richard is stretched out across the bed, bare except for a thin sheet and his damn phone. He’s sprawled like he owns the world and doesn’t give a damn what it costs to keep it.God.What was supposed to be one discreet meeting has turned into a full-blown affair. Of course it has. He’s exactly the kind of disaster I like: powerful, mean, and dangerous enough to make it fun.I press the cigarette into the ashtray until

Marion's POVWhat the hell is he doing?I stare at Jude, blinking against the night breeze and the floodlight pooling around us like we’restanding in the center of some twisted fairy tale. He’s still on his knee, one hand holding a ring, the other outstretched, trembling slightly as if even he can’t believe what he’s doing.My brain’s scrambling. Trying to catch up.But none of the questions swirling in my head—Why is he doing this? What if I say yes? What if I break him?—matter half as much as the words he just said.“Jude…” I whisper. My voice is too thin, too real. “Why are you doing this?”He looks up at me with those damn eyes. And it haunts me. He makes me ache.“I told you,” he says softly, taking my hand in both of his, “things will change.”And just like that, my heart skips.“Marion…” His voice cracks, just enough to make my stomach twist. “I want us to try. To makethis marriage real. No more contracts. No more deals. Just you and me.”I feel the tears begin to build,

Richard's POVThe clock ticks too loudly.Every second, needles under my skin.I pace the length of my study, the cigar between my fingers burning low. The smoke curls up into the lamplight, slow and lazy, mocking me. My pulse isn’t slow.Where’s the fallout? Where are the screaming headlines? Where’s the call telling me Marion’s little glass castle just cracked in half?I drag on the cigar, the bitter heat scratching down my throat.“What’s taking so damn long?” I mutter, the words slipping out like an impatient growl.Behind me, the door clicks open. Emma’s heels cut across the wood floor. “What’s going on with you lately?” she says, and it’s not curiosity, it’s accusation.I keep pacing. “Not now, Emma.”“It’s never now anymore.” Her voice spikes, sharp as broken glass. “You’ve been ignoring mefor weeks. Ignoring Emily. Or did you forget you have a daughter now?”I stop mid-step, turn on her. “I’m working on getting us out of a mess. And in case you haven’t noticed, your fa

Jude's POV“So you still haven’t found anything?” My voice is flat, tired.“No, sir.” Martin’s voice crackles through the speaker. “I can’t even find the street Ivy claimsshe was attacked on.”I pinch the bridge of my nose.“I don’t know, sir… this feels like a setup.”Martin’s words hang there like smoke in a stale room.“Okay.” I hang up before he can start speculating further.The silence in my suite feels heavier than usual. I walk to the window, fingers drumming against the sill. Across the driveway, Marion steps out of the black town car, her posture immaculate, her headhigh, like she’s walking into a gala, not her own home.She disappears through the front door. Not once looking up. Not that she ever does.One week.That’s how long it’s been since we last spoke. Since she’s acknowledged my existence at all.My texts? Left undelivered.My calls? Never even ringing.When we pass each other, in the office or at Creed Manor, she walks straight past, her eyes fixedon some in

Marion’s POV The room is low-lit, all shadows and whispers, the hum of the Penthouse Lounge seeping faintlythrough thick velvet curtains. My beer mug is full of apple juice, the kind of ridiculous disguise that makes me smirk into the rim."I need to find a new place to hang out," I mutter under my breath, tracing a bead of condensation down the glass. This booth is a secret, VIP access, floor-to-ceiling drapes, and a perfect view of the room without anyone seeing me.I glance at my watch. My mind drifts, uninvited, back to the night Brian sent that text. The file, the photos, the little crumbs that could ruin an empire. It’s almost funny, the way Richard keeps handing me bullets, loading the gun for me himself. I don’t even have to go looking for them.The curtain parts.A flicker of light. Then her silhouette."Well, well…" Emma’s voice is sugary with razor edges. "This has to be a joke."She steps in like she owns the place. Pink Chanel skirt suit. Hair bleached to that e