Epilogue
LUCIEN
Power tastes better when you’ve earned it.
Two years since I took control of The Sinners, and I still get that same fucking high every time I walk out of a council session. Vincent’s ghost haunts the halls of Black Crown, but his legacy is mine now. I’ve rebuilt it in my image, made it stronger, better.
The soft glow of the living room lamp guides me to her.
Seraphina sits curled on our couch, a stack of papers spread across her lap and a red pen tucked behind her ear.
Her hair’s pulled up in one of those messy buns she thinks looks professional but just makes me want to yank it free and fuck her against the nearest wall.
She’s wearing my worn freshman St. Augustine sweatshirt—the one I caught her stealing last week—and those ridiculous fuzzy socks with the little cat paw prints on them.
“Jesus, how many essays can one person grade?” I ask, dropping my keys on the entry table.
She looks up, those hazel eyes lighting up when they land on me. Even after all this time, that look still does something to my chest. “Don’t get me started. These freshmen think a comma splice is a new online dance.”
I cross the room and bend down, capturing her mouth with mine. She tastes like coffee and that lip balm. I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding into her hair, and she makes that little sound in the back of her throat that tells me she wants more.
“Don’t work too long,” I murmur against her lips. “I’m going to change, then we’re eating dinner. I’m fucking starving.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile she tries to hide. “Yes, Your Highness.”
I tap her hip as I walk past. “Keep that up and I’ll make you call me that later.”
Her laugh follows me down the hall to our bedroom.
I strip off my suit, tossing the pieces carelessly across the chair. The meeting ran longer than it truly needed to.
After pulling on a pair of dark loggers and a black henley, I run my hands through my hair to tame it.
When I walk back into the living room, Seraphina’s still hunched over her papers, but she’s made progress. The stack on her right is considerably larger than the one on her left.
“Food’s in the kitchen,” she says without looking up. “I ordered from that Italian place you like.”
I grab two plates and bring them to the coffee table, not bothering with the dining room.
We’ve fallen into this pattern—comfortable, domestic, nothing like the performance we used to put on.
No more fancy dinners where we sit across from each other like strangers.
Now it’s takeout on the couch, her feet in my lap, me stealing bites from her plate when she’s not looking.
She finally abandons her grading and joins me, tucking her legs under her as she reaches for her plate of pasta. “How was the meeting?”
“It was long and pointless, truly,” I say, twirling my fork in the carbonara.
She hums, taking a sip of her wine.
I watch her over my glass, the way the light catches on her face. She’s different now—still my Little Sinner, still that fire behind her eyes, but softer somehow. More settled. “How was your day? Anyone give you shit?”
She laughs, and the sound still does things to me. “Just the usual. Professor Harmon still thinks I’m too harsh with my grading, but I told him if he wants to read thirty papers on the same topic, he’s welcome to take over.”
I set my plate down, suddenly not hungry for food. I’ve been waiting for the right moment, but fuck it. There’s never going to be a perfect time.
I reach across the couch and grab her left hand.
“What are you—“ She stops as I slide the ring onto her finger, her eyes widening as she stares at the blood-red diamond in black gold. I had it custom-made. Nothing about this is traditional.
Her eyebrow quirks up in that way I fucking love, and I mimic the expression, waiting.
“So you’re not even going to ask?” she says, her voice deceptively casual, but I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat.
I shrug, running my thumb over the back of her hand. “Why would I do that? It’s not like you have much of a choice, Little Sinner.”
She tries to pull her hand back, but I hold it firm. Her eyes narrow as she examines the ring more closely, her fingers tracing the inner band. I watch as she realizes what I’ve done—the tiny spikes that will pierce her skin if she tries to remove it.
“You absolute psycho,” she breathes, but there’s no anger in her voice. Only that dark, possessive gleam that matches my own. “You’re serious about this.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” I lean forward, my voice dropping. “You’re mine, Seraphina. You’ve always been mine. This just makes it official.”
She looks at the ring again, turning her hand to catch the light. The diamond flashes crimson, like a warning. Like a promise.
“And if I say no?” she asks, but we both know it’s not a real question.
I smile, slow and dangerous. “Try me.”
She laughs, the sound rich and full, and launches herself across the couch into my lap. Her hands tangle in my hair as she kisses me, hard and desperate.
“Fine,” she says against my mouth. “But you have to have the same on your ring.”
I flip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. The ring catches the light as I lower my mouth to her neck.
“Whatever you want, baby,” I growl, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips. “As long as you’re mine.”
She arches against me, her eyes dark with that familiar hunger. “Always have been, Satan. Always will be.”
And as I claim her mouth again, I know she’s right.
It’s not a fairy tale. It’s messy and complicated and sometimes downright fucked up.
But it’s ours. This isn’t a beginning or an end—it’s just another chapter in a story that was always going to end with us together.
Two fucked-up souls who found their match in each other.
Mine.
Forever.