The Devil In A Suit Novels & Stories

I knew someone had break my ranks, something had to be done, that’s when I hired the Devil, I didn’t have to pay them my soul, instead I had to pay her in dollars to an indiscreet bank account. Devil was a woman, a beautiful woman, she’s giving a psycho crazy vibe, but I loved crazy, I loved crazy very much, maybe after our job is done. “He talked” she answer me, I smiled, of course, they talked, they all talked, that’s why I hired Devil, she’s known for her ways of making people talk. “Who does he work for?” I ask, I need to know who my enemy is, the Irish won’t be this bold, but who knows, everything could happen.

The devil stood there still in the human form, wearing a tuxedo. He looked so handsome and charming that a genuine smile automatically appeared on my lips looking at him. He smiled back as he walked to me. “It’s been a long time, I have worn a suit.”He said, looking nervous while scratching his neck. “You look too handsome,” I said as I fixed the bow at his neck. “Ella,” The devil held my hand that was fixing his bow and then he kissed it with love. “If there is anything bothering you, please tell me.”His words seem like a plea that I don’t understand at all.

“Or you’ve spent years prioritizing survival over comfort.” The accuracy of it irritated me instantly. “Thank you for the psychological evaluation.” Something flickered briefly across his face. “Your suite is this way.” He led me down a long hallway lined with framed architectural photography. Real prints, original work, and some are from photographers I’d studied in college. That alone almost distracted me from the fact that I was following my future fake husband through a multimillion-dollar apartment. He opened double doors at the end of the hallway so I stopped walking. The suite was larger than my entire Brooklyn apartment.

My body jabbed backward and I hit the mirror behind me but it did not break. Fvcking hell! It was Mr Pompous himself, in flesh, and blood. When did he start knocking on my door? He barges in whenever he wants. I covered my mouth and raised my eyes to see the calm look on his face. Gosh! My sight narrowed down to see he was back in his usual dress code; the Armani suit of the emotionless Dev-- I'll say it, Devil. Maybe a good prefix, the charming devil. Haha... I wanted to stop myself from grinning but I already did.

Nick. I still had trouble saying his name without the bile rising in my throat. A week after Devon had disappeared from my life, the trial happened. The courtroom was packed. Cameras. Reporters. Victims. Officers. Lawyers. And him. He sat there in that stiff gray suit like he was starring in a courtroom drama, like this was just another role he was playing. No remorse. No shame. Just that same twisted grin that haunted my nightmares. He was wearing a tailored suit and a disarming smile, as if he hadn’t destroyed so many lives. As if he hadn’t made hell feel like a tangible place, a better option.

He hangs up and turns around. 6'4" of pure intimidation. Tailored three‑piece anthracite suit, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar revealing a discreet tattoo a stylised shadow, maybe a raven. Short black hair, three‑day stubble, piercing green eyes like blades. No smile. Just a look that pins me in place. "Sit down, Miss Hayes." I obey, legs trembling. He sits opposite, steepling his fingers. "You have an excellent profile. Intelligent. Ambitious." He pauses. "But curious."

And Cassiel had no idea his perfect world was already unraveling. Sleeping beside Cassiel now felt like lying next to a cunning predator masked by charm and power. Julian had once convinced himself that entering this marriage could be the key to saving his brother, Bash. But it was all a fabrication. A beautifully crafted lie. He laid there, stiff as a board, emotionless. The man beside him — known among the underground as the devil in a suit—had fooled him into believing there was still some trace of humanity left in him. Julian now realized how foolish he’d been to trust even an ounce of that illusion.

Only the foolish make deals with the devil. Only the ones drowning in pride… or pain. Because the devil doesn’t barter. He doesn’t wait at crossroads. He doesn’t ask for permission. He takes. He does not knock—he kicks down the door. He does not beg—he commands. He does not love—he consumes. He wraps his hunger in charm, his cruelty in confidence, his madness in tailored suits and cold, perfect smiles. And once you catch his eye, it’s already too late.

Everyone's shocked is priceless as he entered the grand entrance of Darkspot, bowed in fear as they realized who it was walking in confindence and authority to the company he will surely own someday. “Those people,” he added with silent curse in his breath, “who knows what inside their head?” he must really be careful more than he used to. Now that the engagement he have to a Soner is still the talk of the town, everyone still not get over with their doubt. How they feel bad for a poor Soner to marry a devil? “The devil,” Whispered from the people inside the close door who don't know their place. “How can we enthrusted the Darkspot to an anti-social freak?”

three seconds. Then, came the sound of footsteps. Calm, measured, and authoritative. Approaching the living area. Ezra turned toward the sound, and in that exact moment, his entire body froze. The Devil's Deal A tall, powerfully built man stepped out from the adjacent room. A custom-made black suit hugged his well-proportioned frame flawlessly. He had a sharp, symmetrical jawline—the kind of face that looked almost too perfect to be real. However, it wasn't the man's striking looks that left Ezra speechless, but his eyes. A pair of dark, sharp, and icy eyes that felt capable of stripping away and reading Ezra’s deepest secrets in a single glance.