روايات وقصص ضمن The Devil Wears Prada

My mouth falls open when I see Samuel's spirit among them. "Thank you, I'll take it the rest of the way." Michael smiles and twirls his finger. A bright light appears above, and the souls start floating up towards it. Michael spreads his large wings, flies upward, and guides the souls toward the brightness. I had tears in my eyes; it was beautiful. Lucifer glances down at me and kisses my cheek. I glance up at him. "Will you marry the Devil, Lilith?" he grins. I grin and nod my head. He raises his fingers, and a large ring appears. It's a large blood-red ruby surrounded by black diamonds; it's beautiful.

I stand in front of the floor length mirror in Dante De Luca’s guest bedroom, which is my bedroom now, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. I am wearing a long black dress which is supposed to match Dante’s sleek black suit. The fabric clings softly to my waist before falling straight to the floor, elegant without being loud. A deep but tasteful slit runs up my left leg, stopping just high enough to make me uncomfortable every time I move. The neckline is simple, square cut, revealing my collarbones but nothing else which I appreciate given almost my whole thigh is out . I smoothen my hands down the fabric again, nerves buzzing under my skin. The stylist Dante hired without a

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.

I didn’t have to. The sound of soft footsteps drifted down the hallway. I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Isabella. She paused outside the door, almost… afraid. A quiet knock. “Adrian?” Her voice barely carried. “Let her in,” I said without turning. Luca opened the door. Isabella stepped inside, her hair pulled loosely over one shoulder, wearing one of my shirts—something she often did without thinking. Her fingers twisted the hem subconsciously.

Thus, Seraphina quickly understood what Devon wanted to convey, and she chose to wear only his clothes. Devon becoming possessive towards Seraphina, even though she has only just agreed to enter into a courtship with him. He cannot fully understand that when Seraphina wear a crop top and shorts, the demon within him becomes uncontrollable. He would not hesitate to kill anyone who dares to look at her figure and her angelic face. "Of course you are," Devon replies, cheerfully watching the lady. At this moment, he cannot comprehend that he is secretly smiling, something he rarely does.

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.”

“He’s not exactly Satan.” “Yes, but—” I groan in frustration. “You don’t understand.” How do I explain that the Devil up there...the ripped, tattooed, pierced, so amazing in bed that I can’t think about anything except his cock...set my fucking wardrobe on fire because he wanted me to wear dresses without panties? He's clearly insane. “What I understand is that you’re living with Dorian Reed,” she says. “He’s like...legendary when it comes to fucking.”

“Oh, great. Fantastic. This dress is Dior. Do you know what that means, you male labrador in a suit?” The woman standing before him was short, furious, and stylishly lethal. Her high heels glinted with studs. Her hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail that looked like it could double as a whip. She dabbed at her ruined emerald gown with a napkin and snarled. “Lady—” “Don’t ‘lady’ me. That’s a three-thousand-dollar dress you just turned into a cranberry juice ad. Where were you looking? Up? At birds? You ran into me like you were possessed!”

The creaking of the giant double doors sent a wave of fear through the chained-up man and gestured that it was a sign for him to stop what he was doing, but the fear quickly morphed into a burning rage. The doors swung open, revealing a man whose body is chiseled to perfection. His dark suit wrapped around his body, his green eyes devoid of emotion as he surveyed the scene. This was Lucien Belucci, the man known as the Devil’s Incarnate, the most infamous name in the mafia world dubbed devil’s incarnate for being cold, merciless, and having no regard for life. “I knew you’d betray me. Bastardo!” the chained-up man snarled in a thick Italian accent, the veins in his neck standing out in rage.

And it was time for my dress. I wore a white sexy dress that they said Valerian requested for them to make me wear. It was so pretty and I don't have any complaints. I partnered with a white lacy heels. I was rained of compliments the moment I was finally finished with everything. It makes me feel so pretty, the dress, the heels, the compliments, everything. The door suddenly opened revealing Valerian wearing a tuxedo. Fuck. I was completely astonished by how hot and handsome he looked in his tux.