Devil Wears Nada

He fell out of the sky naked, smug, and gorgeous enough to stop time—or at least traffic.

Naturally, I assumed he was some half-feral fashion influencer having a breakdown. LA’s full of them.
Turns out he’s not just vain—he’s literally Vanity. A demon prince, banished to Earth without his powers, his wardrobe, or any sense of personal boundaries.
He refuses to wear polyester.
He flirts like it’s a competitive sport.
And every time he gets turned on, my studio mirrors shatter like they’ve seen too much.
Now I’ve got a narcissistic hellspawn draped in my finest silks, strutting around my workroom like it’s his throne room, and whispering things that make me want to sin all over the cutting table.
I should throw him out.
Instead, I’m dressing him up just to see how fast I can peel him back down again.