When the Devil Proposes..

Sebastian's gloved hands hovered over the antiseptic and cotton. Beneath the façade of a composed gentleman, his demon-king blood thrummed with impatience. He cleaned Neoma's toe with deliberate care, feeling each subtle shift in her body reverberate through the ancient bond that tethered their souls.

Once the wound was dressed and the band-aid placed, an electric silence filled the room. Sebastian rose gracefully, his dark heart pounding with purpose. He had waited centuries for this connection—and now, in the quiet aftermath of her pain, he spoke.

"I intend to marry you."

Even through mortal shock, he sensed the tremor in her soul. Her eyes widened. Her jaw slackened. The recognition of that phrase hit her like lightning—though she still didn't know the truth lurking beneath his polished words.

She recoiled, foot planted defensively. Her voice was sharp, her eyes flaring. "Excuse me?"

"Is this some kind of joke?" she added with a dry, disbelieving laugh.

Every fiber of her body tensed, ready to explode.

"It's not," he said, voice clipped. He paused, struggling to stay composed. He was used to giving orders, not being questioned. But in this case, he had to make an exception.

He exhaled slowly. "You want the gallery, don't you? And I doubt you'd want your father to find out about your little secret business." His voice was calm, laced with mockery.

Her voice cracked under pressure. "You're unbelievable," she snapped.

She couldn't believe he'd stoop so low—blackmailing her into marriage. What a pervert.

"I'm not marrying you, and that's final! "We met once. Once. And now you're talking about marriage?"

" Do you really think I'd just say yes?" she shouted.

He stood from the couch, stepped closer—slow, deliberate. The tension between them crackled. He inhaled her scent—warm, earthy, familiar. It stirred something ancient within him.

"I didn't plan this," he said, voice low.

She froze, breath catching. The air around them felt too still, too heavy.

"But I don't think you're left with much of a choice," he added, straightening.

"Marry me ,and the gallery is yours. That's the deal."

Stunned, she could only stare.

"My office is always open," he said. "When you're ready, come sign the contract."

With that, he turned and left—quiet, assured—leaving her standing there, a storm of emotions swirling behind her eye.

That night, the tension at the dinner table was thick. Neoma glared at her parents while they ate. Sebastian had left immediately after their heated conversation. Her mother had asked him to stay, but he declined, saying he had an urgent meeting.

She had asked what was wrong, seeing Neoma's sour mood, but Neoma had waved it off as nothing.

Then her father dropped the bomb.

He told her, over dinner, about her marriage to Sebastian.

"It's a good thing you both like each other," her father said with a warm smile. "It's just a matter of time before you fall in love."

He gave her mother an affectionate look. They were happy—it was a double blessing: their daughter getting married and their family becoming richer and more powerful.

They thought she'd never marry because she worked too much. No leisure time, aside from weekend family dinners. She was always painting or buried in paperwork at her office.

She couldn't believe her ears.

She had introduced Sebastian as a friend, and now he had twisted the truth—talking about marriage and strengthening the family business. Her parents were thrilled, smiling over their daughter's supposed happiness.

But they had no idea.

They didn't know she was being trapped by this strange, dangerous man.

*******

That night, sleep evaded Neoma.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind circling like a hawk over everything Sebastian had said. Her chest burned with anger, but under it—something else simmered. A low, thrumming awareness that shouldn't be there. A pull.

"I intend to marry you."

The memory echoed in her mind with haunting clarity. His voice had been too steady. Too certain. He didn't ask—he declared it. Like it was already decided.

"You want the gallery, don't you?"

She clenched her jaw, blinking back the sting behind her eyes. He was blackmailing her. Using the one thing she fought for, built with her own hands. She should hate him. And she did.

Mostly.

But then—there was the bond.

She didn't understand it, but she could feel it. A pulse that didn't belong to her. A strange warmth that flared every time he got close. It wasn't just attraction. It was something unnatural.

Why did it feel like he knew her before she even knew him?

And worse—why did some part of her recognize him?

She buried her face in her pillow, growling softly in frustration. Her parents were already planning wedding dates and talking about blessings and business growth, as if she didn't exist outside the arrangement. Her life wasn't hers anymore.

Sebastian had taken it over with one sentence.

Still... the gallery.

If she didn't accept his offer, he'd take it—renovate it, sell it, destroy everything she'd worked for. He had the power, the money, and her father's approval. He held every card.

Except her "yes."

And yet, when morning came, she found herself standing outside his office.

She didn't remember deciding to go. She just... ended up there. Dressed sharply. Composed on the outside. Chaos on the inside.

She raised her hand to knock. Froze.

This doesn't mean I'm agreeing. I just need to hear him again. One more time. To see what kind of man he really is.

Her heart thudded, loud and heavy. She knocked.

The door opened almost instantly. As if he had been waiting.