The Devil Wears Prada Novels & Stories

So I showered, changed clothes, tied my hair back, and went to work. The moment I stepped into NippyZippy, something felt wrong. People were staring at me. Some whispered. One employee immediately looked away when our eyes met. I frowned. "What the hell is going on?" I muttered. I ignored them. I didn't have the energy for whatever drama was happening today. I checked my phone and saw twenty-three missed notifications. My stomach tightened as I unlocked the screen. My heart stopped. There was a video of me at the hotel. It was my confrontation with Genevieve.

@RealityCheck_Val: "She’s glowing. Is that a 'newlywed' glow or a 'got away with murder' glow? Either way, the silk robe won't hide the truth forever. We see you, Valerie." @Cancel_The_Claires: "I hope that robe catches on a thorn. Shameless, pathetic, and soulless. She thinks she’s still an A-lister. Newsflash: You’re a footnote in a crime doc. #BoycottValerie" @Vengeance_Seeker: "The higher you climb, the harder you’ll fall, Valerie. Enjoy your luxury while it lasts. The world is coming for you, and Cillian can’t buy everyone." The morning sun was barely peeking through the heavy drapes when the door to my room was flung open. I didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

"It's the job. He's demanding, but he rewards well." *Demanding.* That's an understatement. While the makeup artist works on my face, I stare at my reflection. My eyes are wide with fear, not excitement. My pulse isn't racing with desire; it's pounding because I feel trapped. The dress they hand me is black, tight, with a plunging neckline that makes me blush. Too short. Too revealing. I slip it on in a changing room, feeling the silky fabric against my skin, but it doesn't make me feel sexy just exposed, vulnerable.

Foundation to blend my skin in the spotlight and barely noticeable blush. I wore a Prada wine red gown. Laced with diamonds. It was just lace and easy to tear off but still clinging onto my body, onto my curves I never took notice of. I matched it with a five inch wine red Cameron Diaz stilettos. As I focused my stare at the mirror, I exhaled deeply. Ever since yesterday, Nyx had been calm but yet restless, I had convinced her that after the show was the location spell and we'd know if it was all bluff.

He didn’t need to speak for me to hear his thoughts: How far will she go before she forgets herself? They called me many things now. Some whispered “queen.” Others muttered “witch.” But the name that stuck, the one that spread like wildfire through the underworld, was the one I never asked for, the one I never denied. The Devil’s Handmaiden. From been sold as a Handmaiden into the blackwood mansion, to rising as the queen, the one who stole the heart of the Devil “Dominique”. I hadn’t chosen it. But it was mine. And I would carry it well with so much pride abd dignity.

his shouts of pain echoed in the closed warehouse. Soon enough, the Devil emerges from the blackness in the corners of the warehouse, an omen that devours all his path. He walks, his pitch-black leather shoes stained with blood. His trench coat takes shape, and his eyes glow with a storm of blue. “No… no!” the man begged, scooting himself away only to be blocked by the corpses in the room. “No! I wasn’t a part of this! I was only hired—“ “Killing yourself is a better mercy,” the Devil tells him.

She moved like someone used to danger—and unbothered by it. “My name is Eveline. I’m here to assist you,” the woman said, voice smooth as glass. “I don’t need assistance,” Seraphina said flatly. Eveline smiled politely. “You will. I suggest you dress. Mr. Moretti is expecting you for breakfast.” Seraphina’s jaw tightened. “Not hungry.” “It wasn’t a request.” The woman left a sleek black dress on the bed before turning on her heel and exiting without another word. Seraphina stared at the dress. Satin. Sleeveless. Slit up one thigh. She knew the message it sent.

Devon explained. “You make a valid point, but I’m still upset about the whole thing,” Annabelle responded. An hour went by, and Annabelle and Devon were getting ready for the double date. Annabelle wore a black Gucci dress, complemented by a small black Gucci handbag, matching shoes, and a bracelet, along with a necklace featuring her name, which was a wedding gift. Devon wore a sleek black Armani suit that exuded sophistication, paired with a crisp white shirt and a luxurious gold Rolex watch, adding a touch of elegance to his overall look. The suit’s tailored fit and premium fabric accentuated his confident stride, making him look every bit the debonair gentleman.

, she said in awe and I was confused. "Lara Deven-who?" I was even more confused at this point. "Lara Devenson, she's one of the biggest fashion designers in Hollywood right now. This particular dress was in her summer collection that was released 2 weeks ago. You can only get access to these clothes if you have bastard money and you, my friend,are wearing this on a date tonight", she shrieked with happiness and I felt bad.

"Anyone who saw that would think the two of you were hopelessly in love with each other. But then, you've always been a great actress." I let out a tight smile at the statement and return the phone to her. "I didn't even know pictures were taken," I tell her, going back to the kitchen sink. "That's expected. After all, he's a billionaire. He's bound to have a set amount of paparazzi following him." She explains. Our conversation is cut short when Devon strolls into the room, drenched in sweat and his tracksuit plastered to his skin, outlining his muscles. Let's not forget the glasses that had been specially made for this exercise, giving him a sportslike look. Emma and I fall silent, just st