Devil Night Clothes Novels & Stories

Crystal chandeliers, silver trays, wolves in suits pretending we weren't one wrong word away from tearing each other apart. Devon had ordered me to "assist." Translation: stand in the corner looking useful while he paraded his perfect future Luna. I wore the dress he'd sent: black leather, backless, hem barely covering my ass. No bra. Thong optional. I'd rolled my eyes when the box arrived, but I put it on anyway. Because screw him. And because I wanted every wolf in that room to choke on the sight.

Wolves collided with the shadows of those wings, thrown across the room as blood and instant death erupted. Vivica froze, eyes wide, her chest rising as she watched the devil himself descend upon them. The dark blue aura surrounding him pressed against her burning skin, sending a thrill along her heated skin, and desire, through her. All the rumors about him turned out to be true. He was the Devil. The real Devil. Finn stepped forward deliberately, each movement slow, lethal, deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, the room now deathly silent except for the beat of her pulsing heat.

I could smell the tension and instant jealousy in the air as the room stood silent. August, always composed, gave a nod. "Nico." Nico ignored him, it seemed August had hurt his masculinity by saving his daughter when he couldn't, He kept his eyes on me. Nico whispered, "You look... different," as he scanned my body. The outfit was the cause. Elegant and slightly exposing, midnight peach silk. A long slit from my thigh revealed my beautiful long legs. It had been picked to have an effect. It had too. Devina was up to something, there’s a trap waiting for me and im going to walk in with elegance and poise.

She yelled at the manager, standing there with both hands on her hips. Groaning, I facepalmed. This is another problem. Some of the sun loungers were damaged, along with the glass door we just walked through. "Shit..." I muttered. "I know." I jumped in place, hand on my chest. Not out of surprise, but out of fear of having an evil suddenly summoned behind me when I can't quite recall casting a spell. As far as I'm aware, the devil should wear black or red, never anticipated a pink shirt, a beach hat, and a pair of green and white Hawaiian shorts. His toes are showing. Is he that proud to show the world his toes?"

I look at the dress Walter picked, it is a beautiful sparkling white off the shoulder mermaid wedding gown, it has a v-shaped neckline which deepened and exposed some cleavage in a non-tacky way. I looked at it and knew I would not wear it, I would rather die than let him keep controlling me, I am no longer going to let these heartless mafia king rule my life anymore, I would much rather be free and it seems like death is the only place where I can know true freedom.

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.

And for the first time in years… her smile was real. ⸻ Tonight, was their big night. Upstairs, Hema was in front of the mirror, slipping into a fitted western cocktail dress — an off-shoulder navy blue outfit that hugged her curves delicately. She looked beautiful. Her hair was curled and parted on one side, her lips glossed in nude peach, earrings sparkling subtly under the soft bedroom light. Zayden walked into the room just as she slipped on her heels. He stopped in his tracks, leaning against the doorframe, one brow lifted.

Adrian POV Morning creeps in behind gray clouds, washing the villa in a pale, exhausted light. The rain from last night still clings to the windows, streaking the glass like veins. I haven’t slept. I can’t. My mind keeps replaying the footage—the hooded figure, the black corridor, the moment the camera died. A ghost walking through my house. Luca is already waiting in the study, a mug of coffee untouched beside the files. He looks like hell, but focused hell.

The limo door opened into a blur of light, music, and masked faces. Ayla stepped out onto the cobbled drive of the Serrano estate, her heels clicking softly against stone polished to a mirror finish. Above her, chandeliers flickered beneath a vast glass dome, casting broken stars across the arriving guests. Everything reeked of power and decadence. Her mask — crafted in deep black velvet, lined with silver embroidery — clung to her face like second skin. Lucian’s note had come with a final line: “The devil doesn’t wear horns. He wears charm. Find his weakness.”