Devil In Disguise Lisa Kleypas Novels & Stories

A while later, while Callum got dragged into a loud debate about film budgets near the kitchen, a woman approached me holding a glass of champagne. She looked around my age, dark hair, bright eyes with nervousness in her face. “You’re Hautea Javier,” she said immediately. “Sinclair-Javier,” I corrected automatically. She smiled. “Right, sorry. I’m Piper.” She shook my hand quickly. “I write for The Lens.” That caught my attention immediately, it was an actual arts publication. Not about gossips nor society press. “I know your work,” she continued before I could respond. “The Queens industrial series? I found your site last year and completely fell in love with it.”

I opened the door, seeing Althaia had changed her clothes and was sitting on the bed with her sketchbook. “How’s my curious little psychopath?” I teased and sat on the bed in front of her. Her cheeks started to flush when she gave an innocent smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have been here all the time.” “Sure you have.” I chuckled and grabbed her waist. I had her straddle me as I continued to give her a teasing look. “Have I not said you would be one terrible spy?” “You really are The Devil! How did you know?”

“So, Lisa, tell me. What, exactly, were you thanking Klaus for?” A curt smile played at the corner of my lips. I was right. This madman fancied the same girl was foretold to be his nemesis. It was a cruel twist of fate, and I was going to make it worse. I have information that would make his admiration turn to hatred. I just needed to wait for the right time to drop it. But first, I needed to find out what debt I owe, before I delivered my parting shot. “You have no idea what this bastard put me through,” Lisa yelled in a weak attempt to evade the question, “this brutal man and his demonic household treated me worse than a slave, worse than an animal.”

“No. He said the Christian concept of the devil was founded on him...on his race. Devils. I…I still don’t really get it. But whatever he is, he’s so, so powerful, unlike anything I'd ever seen before.” Leita stares at Valencia, unblinking. “The devil?” she utters. “You were rescued by the devil?” Valencia nods. “Yes, I was. And he hid my existence from anyone who wished to harm me. Said he was masking it. After he took me away, he told me his plan. He wanted me to approach the Alpha of the Leighwen pack and convince him to attack the Rexellen pack. Make Farris take the power of the Alpha King from Theon, conquer Rexellen pack, and make him imprison Theon and Callista. Especially Callista.”

Zayden clenched his fists. This was his child. His woman. And she was living like a soldier on minimum rations, while he had mansions, money, and power stacked like bricks around his name. He couldn’t take it anymore. So… he made a move. ⸻ The Disguise of Kindness One afternoon, an elderly woman showed up at the restaurant Hema worked at. She was frail, her hair tied in a messy bun, with a cloth bag slung over her shoulder and sadness written across every wrinkle on her face.

Davina's POV: The early morning silence of the unfamiliar space was a stark contrast to the pulsating bass and forced laughter of the Devil's Club, a silence I desperately clung to, a brief respite from the sensory assault of my new reality. My fingers flew across the worn keys of my laptop, driven by a desperate need for information, for any leverage against the man who now controlled my life and, by extension, the lives of my family. "Ezra De Luca" glowed starkly in the search bar.

And if you thought the shadows had been laid to rest, then you saw what happened in that hospital room. Yes, she’s back. Tiffany. Not defeated. Not silenced. Not gone. Her shadow waits, and her vengeance has only just begun. So this is not goodbye, dear readers. This is only a pause. The fire still burns, and when it returns, it will burn brighter, darker, and more merciless than before. From the depths of my heart Thank you for making The Devil’s Handmaiden unforgettable. Thank you for giving Aurora her voice. And thank you, for proving that no story, no matter how dark, is ever truly alone when it is shared.

DAPHNE ~✼~ Sunlight prickled my skin, golden rays pouring into the room through the slightly ajar window. My lids flutter open, my eyes still heavy with sleep. ‘Where was I?’ I looked around, my surroundings unfamiliar. The scent of Tom Ford mixed with vodka filled the air, and I knew one person who had that scent: Alex. That bastard! I threw the blanket off, my gaze moving to my body. My dress was gone. Replaced with a pink nightie and some bunny slippers. Realisation hit me — did Alex change me out of the dress? No! He couldn't, he shouldn't, he wouldn't!

I figured it was time to pull out my trump card in case she decided to rat me out but to my surprise, I didn’t need to. She simply smiled. “We are all devils with different masks.” “What does that even mean?” I muttered, observing that she had totally ditched the luscious voice she liked to speak with. “I didn’t think Miles had it in him. Sending a woman to Curtis and succeeding in getting her close to him, I don’t know whether to praise him for making an excellent choice or you for being so convincing.” She chuckled, looking me up at down with those sparkly eyes. “You have to show me your cauldron.”