Page 70 of The Devil's Canvas

Julian

IwakeupbeforeOphelia,but I can feel her in my arms. I don't sleep in Hell. I never need to, but when I'm away for too long, I start to have more human needs. Yeah, I'm still immortal, but weakness and exhaustion are the first mortal things that hit.

I look down at Ophelia. She's a goddess. And she is all mine. She shifts, and her eyes open—those beautiful crystal-blue eyes staring into my very soul. She’s bathed in the soft morning light, tangled in her sheets, looking at me like I am something worth staying for.

"Good morning," she says, smiling right at me.

A real smile. The kind she hasn’t been able to give since it was taken from her.

"Good morning, darling," I respond, my voice low, still rough with sleep.

I let my fingers drift over her back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against her bare skin. She sighs, content, shifting just enough to press herself closer, her warmth seeping into me.

"I could get used to this," she murmurs, voice drowsy, soft, honest.

I smirk. "Waking up next to me?"

"Mmm." She hums, her fingers trailing over my chest, absentminded, thoughtful. "The peace. The warmth. The way you look at me."

My smirk fades, replaced by something quieter, something deeper.

"How do I look at you?" I ask.

She hesitates. Not because she doesn’t know—but because she does.

"Like you see me," she finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "That’s because I do."

Her throat moves as she swallow. "I’ve never really had that before."

I tip her chin up, forcing her gaze to hold mine. "You have it now."

I'm used to the occasional fling. More like daily, but that's beside the point. A one-night stand. But this is more. I know it. Immediately. I'm in love with her.

She leans in first, kissing me slow, lingering. Like she’s learning me, choosing me.

I cup her cheek, deepening it just enough to let her know I’m choosing her too.

"Okay. I need to know," she says, her tone deadly serious.

"Know what?" I ask, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"What is it that you actually do?"

"I'm a demon. You know that," I say, already confused.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that," she waves a hand dismissively. "But like… do demons have jobs? Or are you just some kind of supernatural trust fund kid?"

I blink. "First of all, rude. Second, yes, I have a job. I torment souls, broker shady contracts, and generally make life—well, afterlife—more difficult. You know, customer service."

She squints at me. "So you're basically a demonic corporate middle manager?"

I nod solemnly. "With occasional smiting privileges."

She looks at me, genuinely distraught. "That's so depressing. You're literally immortal, and you still have a nine-to-five?"

"More like an always-on-call, morally questionable startup," I say, deadpan. "Our CEO is the Devil, and the employee benefits are… well, fire."

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