The Prince of Greed's Seduction

Last Friday was a disaster. Sasha witnessing the presence of the Seven Devils—complete calamity. And today is Wednesday. Today is the day of my tragedy.

I slam my forehead against the table. The sound is dull, but the ache behind it is sharp. Disoriented. Distracted. Downright devastated.

Who wouldn't be?Who wouldn't feel crushed under the weight of six unforgiving homework assignments all due this Monday?!

Six. Six soul-draining tasks, each more incomprehensible than the last. And math—oh, sweet, cruel, chaotic calculus. Who designed this torment?

"This is insane," I mutter into the void.

I studied yesterday. I really did. Pushed through endless modules, tried to absorb every word—and yet here I am, still feeling like I've forgotten how to read. Did my brain short-circuit? Did someone press delete on my intelligence?

As if that wasn't enough, I spent the night tackling three separate projects already days overdue. Hours of work, energy I didn't have, and for what? A GPA that's already bleeding out?

I groan and throw my paperwork onto the desk. 

Demons in my house.I'm a sinner. A terrible one. Sasha knows.My homeworks are plotting my downfall.

"Ugh… Just let it end already,"

But before I can fully collapse into my arms, the door creaks open.

"Young sinner?"

I look up—startled.There stands Mammon, holding a tray of food like some twisted prince from a gothic fairy tale.

"Hi," I croak.

"You look tremendously exhausted." He observed the mess of papers in my desk. "Do you need my help?"

He leaned against me, looking closely at my worksheets with a keen gaze. I withdrew my back against the chair. He's too close!

"Ah—nothing. I can handle it."

He adjusts his spectacles, his gaze falling on the papers. "Assignments?"

"Yeah. But I'll finish them later."I shuffle awkwardly, opening textbooks at random, reaching for a pencil—when my hand brushes against his.

"Oh—sorry!" I say quickly, jerking away.

Mammon doesn't move. He simply stares, his pale blue eyes catching the faint glow of the lamp. His fingers, long and elegant, stay where they are. And when his skin touched mine… I felt something. Not fear. Not exactly. But something dangerously close to it.

He smirks.

"Mammon?" I try to break the silence, my voice thin. What the hell is that smirk even supposed to mean?!

His smile deepens, eyes narrowing with something almost… predatory.

"Mammon." This time, I'm firm. But my voice cracks, and it only excites him.

"You do realize you're with a man right now, am I right?"

"Stop joking." I try to laugh, but it dies in my throat as I step back. But I can't move. I can't.

"Mammon. Let me go."

He drops a pencil to the floor, deliberately slow. The light flickers again as he steps forward, fingers brushing my arm, he lifted my chin until I had no choice but to look at him.

"You do realize I am the Prince of Greed, don't you?"

I try to wiggle my fingers—anything to break free. But I'm petrified. Not by fear alone, but by something real. A spell. His doing. No, not just his. Satania's too. They both have this twisted habit—freezing humans, pulling answers out with no mercy.

Don't panic, I beg myself. He's Mammon. He won't… He wouldn't…

"Relieving yourself through false thoughts is pointless," he murmurs.

I completely forget they can read minds.

"Mammon, friends don't hurt each other. Right?"

"Friends?" he echoes, laughing bitterly. "Who said anything about being friends?"

I flinch.

"I—"

He cuts me off with a wicked chuckle. "Or maybe… maybe I've already found a way into your heart, sinner."

What?! My heart lurches. That's more offensive than my calculus exam!

"I—If you don't mind, I'd like to sit. We can talk… like normal people," I stammer.

"A normal position?" he repeats, amused.

"Yes. My legs are sore. Please…"

With a mocking sigh, he replies, "Very well. Since you insist…"

Before I can protest, his arms wrap around me. I gasp. In one swift motion, he lifts me and sets me on his lap. On the bed.

I freeze.

I'm sitting on him. My breath catches in my throat, heart pounding so loudly it might burst. He grabs my jaw, forcing my gaze up again.

"Is this what you wanted?" he whispers. "To sit?"

"I meant on the chair, Sir. Also, I would really appreciate if we could make this brief—I have a mountain of paperwork to finish."

Silence.

"Sir?" I try again, gently. I can't afford to provoke him. One wrong move and—

He loosens his grip, resting his head against mine. Time blurs.

"Mammon..."

"Let me stay like this for a moment."

"…Mhmm," I whisper.

"You're so close. I'm losing control."

"I understand. Please, let me move. I don't want to make this harder for you."

He pulls me closer. He's massive and overwhelming. His hands are secured in places I've only read in books.

And what's more is this unknown feeling he's inflicting onto me.

I can't do this. I can't fall for someone like him.

"I reall should go..."

"Did I allow you to?"

"No..."

"Then don't."

"You leaving will only make me want you more. And as incarnation of greed, I get what I want."

"Mammon."

Suddenly—I can move. I stumble from his arms, gasping, trembling. My lungs burn as I yank away from him.

A new voice. Cold. Commanding.

The door creaks open.

Satania.

His glare is like frostbite. "Lucifierre is calling you."

Mammon straightens, brushes himself off, and glances at me. A silent threat glimmers in his eyes: don't speak.

"I shall accompany him, then," he says with a smile, before turning to me. "I'll return later. I did promise to help, didn't I?"

I can't respond. My throat's locked.

He walks out. Satania follows—but not before casting one last, unreadable look my way.

When they're gone, the silence crashes down. I sit there, cold sweat clinging to my skin, heart still racing.

What the hell just happened?