Chapter 16 The Do Over
THE DO OVER
Ipushed away thoughts of him.
My mind’s stalker.
The bathroom light clicked on with a muted hum, too bright for my still rattled nerves.
I then squinted at my reflection like I wasn’t entirely convinced it was going to behave itself.
My hair was a mess of sleep-knotted strands, sticking stubbornly to my cheeks and neck.
My eyes looked darker than usual. Shadowed with the kind of exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep, and everything to do with being mentally manhandled by a demonic ruler in my subconscious.
I blew out a slow breath and turned the tap on, splashing cool water onto my face until the lingering heat faded and my pulse finally settled into something resembling normal.
The mirror didn’t lie, unfortunately, and the woman staring back at me looked put together enough at first glance.
But there was a tightness there I didn’t remember earning.
Like I’d been bracing for impact without realizing it.
I reached for the towel, then paused when my hand twinged.
Right.
The altar.
I lowered my gaze and gently peeled back the edge of the makeshift bandage I’d slapped on last night in a haze of adrenaline and denial.
It didn’t look as bad as it had felt in the moment, no swelling or fresh blood.
Just angry lines across my palm, pink and tender, like it was still deciding what it wanted to be when it grew up.
It ached dully when I flexed my fingers, a persistent reminder that none of this was imagined.
That I really had bled for entry into a place that should not exist.
“Fantastic,” I murmured to myself, rinsing it carefully and drying it again before digging out my first aid kit and covering it properly.
I wasn’t keen on explaining this to anyone at work, and the last thing I needed was someone asking why I looked like I’d lost a fight with a cursed cheese grater.
I turned back to the mirror once more, resolve tightening my spine as I told myself that I could do this. That I would figure it all out, just like I always did.
“Right, first things first,” I told myself as I got my ass in the shower.
After that, I continued to go through the motions, feeling comfort in the daily norm.
Hair dried and straightened until it fell sleek and obedient around my shoulders.
My makeup was kept minimal, just enough to make it look like I’d slept, with a healthy dose of concealer under my eyes.
Then I retrieved the day’s outfit, ignoring my little spectator and slipped back into the bathroom to change.
I then pulled on my wine-red pencil skirt, the fabric hugging my hips in a way that made me stand a little taller. This was followed by a fitted white blouse that wrapped neatly across my torso and tied at the back. The clean lines and quiet confidence stitched into every seam.
This was armor.
My reflection staring back in the mirror now looked more like I belonged in an office and not the demonic nightclub that had ensnared me last night.
Like I knew what I was doing, and like I hadn’t been dreaming about webs and thrones.
Dreaming of a voice that still echoed far too vividly in my head.
So, with this in mind, I smoothed my skirt once more, straightened my shoulders, and forced my thoughts back into their proper lane.
Work. Focus. Normality.
Oh yeah, and my new tagalong, who made me roll my eyes at the one crack in that fragile plan. A muffled thump sounded from the other side of the door, followed by Bo’s voice, annoyingly cheerful.
“You alive in there, Lily-pad, or did the mirror finally crack under the pressure?”
I closed my eyes for a brief, centering second.
“Goddess help me… Give me five minutes, will you?” I called back, my tone dry but steadier now.
“And if you so much as touch anything else in my room, I will personally find a spell to turn you into an actual frog.” My warning was met by an amused chuckle that was carried through the door.
“If it’s the excuse to kiss me you’re looking for, then I can tell you that this prince is ready without having a taste for bugs.”
I rolled my eyes for the millionth time and took one last glance at my reflection, confirming that, at least on the outside, I looked ready to face the day.
Inside was another story.
Because no matter how many times I told myself it was just a dream, my mind kept drifting back to glowing eyes. To arms closing around me and to a certainty that had felt far too real to dismiss. And that, more than any wound on my hand, was what had unsettled me the most.
Bo was waiting exactly where I’d left him when I stepped back into the bedroom, sprawled across the edge of the bed.
Lying there like a creature who had never once paid rent or respected a person’s personal space in his life.
He looked up when he heard me, his gaze flicking immediately to my outfit, then back to my face with exaggerated scrutiny.
“Well, don’t you look all office-y. Like someone who definitely didn’t almost get eaten by Hell last night,” he said with a wag of his wrinkled brows.
“Careful,” I replied, grabbing my black suit jacket and slipping it on as I moved past him.
“That mouth of yours is the reason I’m going to have to set ground rules.”
“Uh oh. I hate ground rules.” His ears twitched as he grimaced.
“Tough shit, matey,” I said, turning to face him properly, my tone sharpening just enough that he paused.
“Listen to me, Bo. Today matters. I need this job. I like being able to pay rent and eat food and occasionally buy pizza without having an existential crisis.”
“Pizza is sacred,” he agreed solemnly.
“Yes,” I nodded, seizing the opportunity.
“And pizza disappears when people become homeless. So, here’s the deal. You don’t interfere. You don’t comment. And you most definitely don’t do… whatever the hell it was you were doing yesterday.”
“I was being helpful.” He frowned.
“And just how is pretending to piss on people helpful?” I shot back, making him grin.
“Laughter is a remarkable stress reliever,” he informed me, making me point out,
“Yes, but being homeless isn’t, so here’s the deal.
For now, you can stay, at least until I can figure this shit out, but if you jeopardize my work, my income, or my ability to pretend my life is even remotely normal, I will fix this problem,” I said, waving my hand between us, making him cross his arms, unimpressed.
“Threatening me now, Lily-pad?”
“Absofuckinglutely, I’m threatening you,” I confirmed calmly.
“And if you push me, I will go straight back to that club, so help me, by the Goddess, I don’t care what he does to me or what bargain he makes me sign, do you understand?” Now that got his attention.
His posture shifted, the humor draining just enough that I knew I’d hit something real.
“You wouldn’t,” he tested, making me raise a brow at him.
“Try me, buddy Bo boy,” I said evenly, holding his gaze.
“I don’t care how scary he is. I don’t care if he’s some high-ranking, soul-judging, Hellish nightmare in very expensive clothes.
If you mess this up for me, I will march right back in there and make him get rid of you.
” The image flashed through my mind uninvited.
White eyes, unyielding arms, a voice that promised ownership, and my stomach flipped unpleasantly. I shoved it down and kept going.
“I mean it,” I added and when he didn’t reply, I continued on.
“This is temporary. I will figure out how to send you home. But until then, you behave.”
For a long second, he just studied me, sharp eyes searching my face as if weighing whether I was bluffing. Then, slowly, he lifted his hands in surrender.
“Okay,” he said, surprisingly subdued and enough that I gave him a skeptical look in return.
“I get it. No sabotage. No haunting your workplace. Cross my heart and hope not to get shafted by Lucifer.”
I made an ‘eww’ face, ignoring the shafted part, and said,
“Good, because if you think I won’t choose my livelihood over you, you are wildly mistaken.”
He snorted, some of the edge returning.
“Wow. Cold.”
“Practical,” I corrected, grabbing my bag and stuffing my heels and my cell inside, not making the same mistake as I had yesterday. Then I slipped on my sneakers and headed for the door.
“There’s a difference.”
He fell into step behind me, muttering under his breath about ungrateful mortals and hostile work environments, but he didn’t argue again. And while I told myself that was a win, a small, uneasy part of me wondered how long that fragile balance was going to hold.
Especially when I already knew exactly where I’d have to go if it didn’t. And that thought lingered far longer than I wanted it to.
The morning air hit my face the second I stepped outside, cool and brisk enough to make me draw my jacket closer around myself as the door shut behind us with a solid, reassuring click.
The street looked exactly the way it always did at this hour.
Early commuters moving with purpose, traffic already thickening, and the city humming along.
As if nothing in my life had been irrevocably altered overnight.
Right now, I clung to that normality like it was a life raft, even as my thoughts kept threatening to drift back to dark clubs and darker owners. We made it half a block before Bo broke the silence.
“So,” he said, already breathless and deeply offended.
“Why are we walking… don’t you have one of those things?” he asked, motioning to a car as it sped by.
I glanced down at him, unimpressed.
“No, I don’t.”
“Why the hell’s bells not?” he cried in outrage.
“Because cars are expensive and walking is good for you.”
“I am not built for this,” he complained, gesturing to his shorter legs as if they’d personally betrayed him.
“We could be riding something or, at the very least, being chauffeured. Not walking like some peasants.” Oh great, trust me to get the snobby goblin.