Chapter Ten
Amelia
I can’t believe this man. This monster.
He’s awakened something inside me; something I never even realized existed. And now… now I want something twenty-four/seven, and I don’t even know what it is.
I just know that it aches. That it hurts. That I’m so frustrated I could scream.
It’s been two days since he littered this place with peonies and gave me the phone I wanted, but he hasn’t visited the restaurant since. He still sleeps in the same room as me. I feel him there, lingering in the walls, in my sheets, in the spaces I leave behind. But he hasn’t revealed himself. No more conversation. No more heated words that leave me burning from the inside out.
Something must be wrong with me.
Because I miss him.
And I want him to fix whatever mess he caused between my thighs.
I press my lips together, my fingers toying with the diamond pendant around my neck. Is what he said true? That the village, the people, the way we were raised, it’s all a lie? The elders always held lectures, hammering into our heads that pleasure was indulgence, indulgence was weakness, and weakness led straight into the devil’s hands. Even in marriage, there were rules, modesty, restraint, duty above desire.
And yet, he speaks of it like it’s something else entirely. Something I was meant to crave.
I put on my best smile as I turn to greet the customer who just walked in, only for it to falter slightly. She doesn’t look like she belongs here. Tall, elegant, draped in diamonds, she’s probably the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
My fingers brush over my necklace again. His gift. How am I supposed to make sense of my feelings when the man who stalks me, taunts me, and invades every part of my life is also the one who spoils me?
I shake the thought away. “Welcome. Would you like a table?”
She completely ignores me, giving the place a once-over. Something close to disgust twists her beautiful features into ugliness before she makes her way to an empty table like she’s gracing us with her presence.
I ignore her rudeness. “What can I get you?”
She looks at me like I’ve personally offended her, which isn’t possible as I’ve literally just met the woman. “Just a coffee. Black. No sugar.”
No sugar? Yeah, that tracks. She probably diets hard to maintain her figure. If she wanted just coffee, the café next door would’ve been the more logical choice, but of course, I keep that to myself.
I nod, jotting it down. Before I can leave, she lifts a manicured hand. “You work here full-time?”
I glance down at my stained apron, then back at her. “That’s right.”
“That’s… nice.”
The pause is just long enough to make it clear it isn’t.
“I expected you to be more,” she says nonchalantly, flipping her perfect blonde hair back.
What does that even mean? I don’t even know her. “I’m sorry?”
She waves a delicate hand. “Oh, nothing. Forget it.”
She gives me a smile that’s all teeth. “I admire people like you. So content with what they have. Simple things. Simple lives.”
Ouch. Clearly, that was a dig.
“I suppose it’s a gift. Some people spend their whole lives wanting things they can’t have.”
It just felt like the right thing to say at the moment, because even though this woman looks perfect, there’s something about her that drips with desperation. She’s desperate. For what? I don’t know. I have no idea why she’s projecting that desperation onto me, but it doesn’t make me insecure, it just makes me sad for her.
I leave her stewing and return with her coffee. She doesn’t touch it right away, just sits there, stirring slowly, watching me.
I don’t let it get to me.
Eventually, she lifts the cup and takes a sip. She sets it down, dabbing at her red-tinted lips with a napkin. “It’s bitter.”
I shrug. “It’s what you ordered.”
Her eyes narrow. But she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she grabs her purse, throws a couple of bills on the table, and leaves.
Weird woman.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of customers and the occasional strange interaction, though nothing quite as bizarre as that blonde woman. By the time the restaurant closes, my feet ache and my brain is mush.
I grab a rag, wipe down the last table, and head to the back. I kick off my shoes, plop down on the mattress, and let out a deep sigh. The mattress Damien got me feels like sleeping on a cloud.
Like an idiot with zero survival instincts, I pop my head under the bed, checking if he’s there. He’s not.
What if he’s the devil?
I mean… it sounds stupid. I know it sounds stupid. But the elders always warned us that temptation came dressed in wicked beauty, and he’s definitely that.
And just to be safe…
I grab the bundle of sage I keep in the drawer, light the end, and hold it out in front of me as I walk around the room, waving it through the air like some kind of exorcist.
“Alright, you demon. If you’re in here, get out.”
I waft the smoke extra hard into the corners.
My prayers are getting rusty, the longer I’m away from the village, the more hollow they feel on my tongue.
Nothing happens. Which is exactly what I expected but also vaguely disappointing.
I turn, pointing the smoldering sage at the door. “If there is an evil entity here, leave through this door and never return.”
And that’s when it swings open. I yelp, nearly launching the sage straight at him.
He catches my wrist before I can commit arson. “The hell are you doing?”
I stare up at Damien, heartbeat pounding. He’s close. Too close. His fingers are warm where they curl around my skin, and his eyes flick between me and the still-smoking bundle in my hand.
I swallow. “…Cleansing the room?”
His lips twitch. “You think I’m some kind of ghost?”
No, but—
Maybe.
I wrench my arm back and step away. “Demon, actually. Possibly the Hellkeeper himself.”
A beat of silence. Then, he laughs.
I glare. “This is serious.”
He’s still grinning. “And you thought sage would keep me away?”
“Maybe? Besides, if you were here from the start, why not pop out sooner?”
“Maybe I just like watching you act like a little lunatic.”
I bristle, puffing up. “I am not a lunatic. I was just raised with certain values and beliefs.”
“Speaking of values and beliefs, tell me, little flower. Have you been thinking about what I said?”
My breath catches. Because the answer is yes. Constantly. And judging by the way his lips curl, he already knows it.
I busy myself stuffing the sage back into the drawer. “No.”
“It eats at you, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do.”
He steps behind me, not quite touching, but there. “You’re curious.”
I hate how easily he sees through me. This has got to be the dumbest moment of my life. I should be screaming. I should be running. I should be doing something other than sitting on my bed talking to the man who stalked me like we’re old friends catching up.
But instead, I hear myself turn the conversation to something I’m more comfortable with. Because again, like the idiot I am, I want to talk to him. “What do people in the city do for fun?”
Damien stares at me like I just asked him to recite the scriptures.
I sigh. “What? I’m serious. Back home, there wasn’t much to do except read, sew, and pray. If you didn’t do those, you were ‘straying from the light.’”
“You strayed, didn’t you?”
“Clearly.”
“To answer your question… People drink. They go to clubs. They fight. They waste time.”
I frown. “That sounds awful.”
“Depends on the person.”
“What do you do?”
“I watch you.”
My stomach twists, but I force myself to roll my eyes. “That’s not a real answer.”
“It is to me.”
I groan. “Okay, let me try again. If you had to do something normal, something that didn’t involve tracking my every move, what would it be?”
“I go shooting sometimes.”
“Like… with a gun?”
“Yes, little flower. With a gun.”
“Of course Mr. Mysterious Stalker Man can’t have a normal hobby.”
“Mr. Mysterious Stalker Husband .”
Huh?
“What?”
He sits on the bed next to me. “Not only a stalker, Amelia. Your future husband, too.”
I chew on my lip, choosing to ignore his nonsense. “We weren’t allowed to have those back home. They said weapons only belong in the hands of demons.”
Damien chuckles, dark and low. “Then you’d hate my collection.”
I stare at him. He stares back, completely unfazed. This is my life now.
I rub my temples. “God, I need therapy.” I’d heard that word used by many teenage girls in the restaurant, and when Margaret explained it to me, I decided that yes—teenage girls, me too.
“I can be your therapy.”
I point a finger at him. “Stop trying to be flirty.”
He shrugs like he’s physically incapable of not flirting with me.
“Alright, your turn. Ask me something,” I say. I need to admit that I don’t want the conversation to end with him. I wish we could have something normal, but it’s clear that neither he nor I are that. Why not pretend for now?
He thinks for a moment. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
I should lie and say something harmless, like sneaking extra food from the communal pantry. But instead, I find myself telling the truth. “I ran away.”
“Do you regret it?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, softly—“I’ve run away too.”
“From what?” I blurt out, wanting someone to relate to me desperately.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches me, dark eyes burning into mine. And I realize that this is the longest we’ve talked without me trying to escape.