Chapter 19
Daisy
Idon’t cry, I refuse to cry.
Tears are what he wants as one kind of proof that he still has power over me. That he can rip the floor out from beneath me, and I’ll jump to his commands, like I didn’t just spend the last month clawing my way out of the depressive pit he left me in.
Anger surges through me hotter than any sadness ever could.
How dare he come here, after a month of absolute silence, after leaving me to drown in my own mess?
He just vanished, and then has the absolute audacity to show up on Christmas Eve, carrying a perfectly wrapped present to offer a proposal like he was offering me a glass of mulled wine and not his freaking hand in eternal wedlock.
A marriage of convenience. Like I’m nothing more than a contract he needs signing. Not a woman he abandoned, bruised and broken, who he then spat venomous words at when I was finally strong enough to stand again.
I storm to the trash can in the kitchen and hurl the stupid, perfectly wrapped gift into it without a second glance.
It hits the bottom with a satisfying thud, the sound calming some of my unadulterated rage.
I hope it breaks. I hope whatever is in that godforsaken box is shattered beyond repair. Just like me.
I march back into my bedroom, yanking off the sheets, so not even where he had the audacity to sit has been defiled by him and his stupid scent. I scream as I throw the balled-up bedding into the laundry hamper.
No contact, no help, nothing from him for over a month.
Then boom, “Oh, become my bride.” What an absolute maniac.
I frantically pace up and down, ranting and muttering to myself like a mad woman.
What the FRICK was that? No, “how are you?” No apology, no softness, no affection, and certainly not even a flicker of guilt. Just “marry me.”
Like that’s a thing normal people do after emotionally eviscerating someone and then vanishing.
He acts like I’m something on his to-do list. Acquire her soul, check.
Destroy her mental well-being, check. Return her soul, check.
Crush her spirit, check. Leave, check. And ooh, one last final thing to do, propose marriage.
CHECK. Did he get confused and think this was the Hallmark channel?
Is this what we’re doing now? Is this my twisted, demon-fuelled Christmas special?
I climb into bed, still vibrating with rage.
My jaw aches from how tightly I’m clenching it.
I toss and turn, I punch my pillow, I scream into it.
But eventually, exhaustion wins, and sleep drags me under.
And of course, he’s there, in the haze of my dreams, his obsidian eyes following me like shadows made flesh.
His voice slithers through my subconscious, repeating over and over:
Merry Christmas, little flower.
The next day, I don’t bother pretending to be festive, despite my candy cane pyjamas.
I sleep until the afternoon, cocooned in my bed with my phone buzzing endlessly somewhere under the covers.
After what feels like the hundredth buzz, I finally drag myself up, finding my phone tucked into the depths of my bed, and lie my back against the pillows to read through it.
It’s all messages from Talia and Ezra, as expected.
I text back a half-hearted ‘Merry Christmas’ into the group chat, making them instantly flood the chat with emojis, selfies, and stupid jokes.
I smile at the screen, happy knowing my friends are having an amazing Christmas, despite the ache in my chest, gnawing away at me.
I scroll through social media for a few more hours, the sinking feeling in my chest deepening at each happy Christmas photo I scroll by.
Smiling selfies, family photos, present hauls.
They all fill my screen, a tear rolling down my cheek despite my best effort to hold myself together.
At around six p.m., I finally forced myself to crawl out of bed and open the gifts my friends and my boss had left for me.
Talia had gotten me a pair of fuzzy socks in my favourite colour—yellow—and a little jar filled with handwritten notes, the label on the outside saying ‘Reasons We Love You’.
Ezra, being Ezra, had gotten me a ridiculous oversized hoodie that said ‘Sunshine Incarnate’ across the front in glittery gold letters, and a box of my favourite candy.
I clutch the little notes in my hands for a long moment, heart throbbing painfully.
I open the gift from my boss next, a packet of coffee beans from the cafe that I won’t be able to use because I don’t own a coffee machine. Well, it’s the thought that counts.
I swipe up my phone, deciding to text my dad since it was Christmas after all:
Merry Christmas, Dad.
The little ‘read notification pops up, but when a few minutes pass without a response, I just close the thread. I’m not surprised, but it stings all the same.
I sit on the couch in my living room, the twinkle of my tiny Christmas tree throwing soft, colourful shadows across the walls.
Everything just feels hollow. And no matter how hard I try not to, my eyes keep dragging back to the trash can.
To that stupid present. I clench my jaw.
“Don’t you dare, Daisy. You’re better than this.
You don’t care about some stupid gift from some stupid demon. ” I mutter to myself.
Five minutes later, I’m stomping across the room, cursing under my breath.
I open the lid to the trash can, staring down at the little box before yanking it out, glaring at it with as much hatred as I can conjure up.
I shuffle back to the sofa, tearing away the wrapping paper and throwing it on the floor.
Opening the box, I gasp, my eyes widening at the little present.
Inside is an orb, small and delicate, and glowing above a stand made of intricate golden branches that curl upward like reaching hands.
I pull it out of the box, watching as it levitates above its stand.
It freaking levitates, looking almost weightless as it pulses with a warm, gentle light.
I stare at it, mesmerised by the magical little globe.
I glance back down at the box, a small folded note tucked inside.
I hesitate before placing the orb on my coffee table and picking up the note with trembling fingers:
Since you are the sun,
I brought you your very own ray of sunshine. Taken from Solara—the home of light, where Earth’s sun comes from. Tap once for midday, tap again for sunset, tap again for sunrise.
- K
Solara, another place I had never heard of.
A realm, a whole realm dedicated to sunshine.
The light in the orb is soft, yet impossibly bright, like the sun distilled into something I could hold in my hands.
I pick it up, tapping it once. The orb shifts instantly, and I watch in awe as the colours melt into the brilliant orange-pinks of a sunset, the kind my mother used to love watching from the back porch.
Another tap, and it transforms into the delicate pastel golds and blues of a sunrise, soft and full of sleepy hope of a new day.
I sit there, staring, unable to move, unable to think.
My chest tightens painfully, my vision blurring. My mother would have loved this.
I pad into my bedroom, setting the orb carefully on my bedside table, watching the colours shifting peacefully.
I curl under my blankets, pulling my knees to my chest as I lie on my side, watching the sunset glow of the orb until my eyes grow heavy.
For the first time in weeks, I don’t cry myself to sleep.
Instead, I fall asleep wrapped in the light of Solara.
Still furious, still broken, but with a tiny little orb bringing a semblance of peace to my heart.
The next morning, the orb still sits on my nightstand, glowing softly, casting a warm halo across the room. I stare at it for a long time, hating how much it comforts me, hating it even more because it reminded me of a certain seven-foot demon who had flipped my entire world on its head.
I drag myself out of bed, the Christmas wrapping paper still littered across my floor.
The presents from Talia and Ezra sitting on my sofa, little pieces of them warming the cold edges of my heart.
I wrap myself up in Ezra’s ridiculous hoodie, tracing my fingers over the lettering that reads ‘Sunshine Incarnate’.
Because, honestly, I need the lie today.
The days between Christmas and New Year’s blur into one long, sluggish crawl.
I go through the motions. Smiling when Talia and Ezra text, frowning when my boss tells me that I have to work the first day back after Christmas break.
I even manage grocery shopping, acting like a fully functional human being for the first time in what feels like forever.
But inside, I remain stuck, floating somewhere between fury and heartbreak.
New Year’s Eve crept in like a ghost. Talia and Ezra begged me to go to a house party with them—offering everything from pizza bribes to promises of no gross frat boys hitting on me—but I declined.
I blamed it on still being tired, on needing to rest before I went back to work.
The truth was, I wasn’t ready to go to another party just yet.
Honestly, I didn’t know if I would ever be ready again.
Images of Ethan flash through my head, making my palms break out in a cold sweat.
Nope, I don’t think I will ever be ready to go to another party as long as I live.
By eleven thirty p.m., I was sitting on my old sagging sofa, wrapped in the fluffiest blanket I could find, staring out of the window.
The streets were alive outside, bursts of laughter filling the air, flashes of cheap fireworks already starting to explode in the distance.
I hug my knees to my chest, letting the cool glass of the window chill my face as I lean against it.
I’d brought the orb from Solara from my bedside to my coffee table, casting the soft hues of a sunset across the otherwise dark room.
I tap it once with my finger, watching it shift to a sleepy sunrise, ready for a new day, a new year.
It was supposed to make me feel hopeful, but I still just feel empty.
Like an echo chamber was in my chest, residing where my heart should be.
The first fireworks of the new year explode in the sky as the clock turns to midnight, painting brilliant purple and gold against the dark.
I press my face harder against the glass, watching the lights scatter across the city as I hold tightly to my empty bottle of wine.
“I wish you had never saved me,” I whisper into the empty room. “And I wish you had never left.”
I take a glance back at the orb on the table, wondering just how bad a marriage to the Prince of Hell could be.