The Devil And His Rose

It's been hours and Rose was finally done packing her suitcase.

After packing her suitcase, Rose headed into the bathroom, and decided to freshen up.

When she emerged, she was dressed the part of someone leaving for college—casual but polished, just enough to make the lie believable.

She studied herself in the mirror, forcing a confident expression she didn't feel. She had to look the part after all.

But there was one more thing she needed to do before her sudden departure.

Rose cracked her bedroom door open, peering down the hall.

She moved quietly, her bare feet making no sound against the floorboards.

Her father's voice carried from downstairs, sharp and commanding. "...But you can't disturb her now. She's busy packing..."

The words sent a pang through her chest, but she shoved it aside. There was no time for guilt.

She continued tiptoeing down the hallway, her movements careful and deliberate, until she reached the back staircase.

Descending quickly, she avoided the creaky steps, her breath shallow as her heart pounded against her ribcage.

When she finally reached the back door, she slipped out, the cold night air hitting her like a slap.

Rose paused for just a moment, taking in the stillness of the world outside, her hand clutching her suitcase tightly.

Then she ran.

She bolted down the driveway, her legs moving faster than she thought possible, the ground blurring beneath her.

She ran like her life depended on it, like the air would suffocate her if she stopped.

The sprawling estate disappeared behind her, swallowed by the darkness as she pushed herself further.

Every step felt like freedom and fear, a tangled mess of emotions she didn't have time to untangle.

She didn't know if she was running away or toward something, but for the first time that night, she felt like she had control.

Lucifer was seated in his private office, sitting motionlessly as he sipped tea and stared at his pet mindlessly, who was busy cleaning her paws.

His fiery red hair fell loosely over his forehead, framing sharp, striking features that seemed almost too perfect for this world.

"Come here, Madeline," he said, his deep voice calm yet commanding as he motioned for the black panther to walk closer so he could pet her.

And she did, her sleek black body moving with a deadly grace as she approached him. Lucifer's long fingers absently stroked her fur, his red eyes glowing faintly as he stared ahead.

While petting her, Lucifer suddenly stilled, his fingers freezing mid-motion. Something was wrong.

His gaze sharpened, the realization hitting him like a flame igniting in his chest. He immediately thought of Rose.

"I'll be away for a while, love," he murmured softly to the panther before vanishing from the room, leaving nothing behind but the faintest trace of his power lingering in the air.

Lucifer now stood cloaked in darkness, his tall frame hidden in the shadows as his glowing red eyes watched Rose from a distance.

She was standing in front of the open mansion gate, unmoving.

Her gaze swept across her surroundings slowly, like she was memorizing every detail, before she finally took a step forward.

Her every movement seemed deliberate, like she was saying goodbye.

From the distance, Lucifer's sharp eyes caught another figure, one kneeling by a bed of lilies.

The young-looking man was busy tending to the flowers, his movements careful and precise.

Suddenly, as if sensing something, the man froze. His head lifted slightly, and after a pause, he turned around.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed. The man's aura gave him away immediately—vampire.

His youthful face, deceptively soft and serene, looked no older than his twenties.

But Lucifer could feel the weight of his age, his centuries of existence hidden beneath that calm exterior.

Lucifer's fingers twitched by his side, his red eyes burning brighter as he watched silently.

His eyes flared as he watched her—his woman—run straight into another man's arms.

The way her body folded into the vampire's embrace twisted something primal in him, igniting a slow burn of rage in his chest.

The set of his sharp jaw tightened, the veins in his hands flexing as he resisted the urge to tear through the distance between them.

She didn't just hug him; she clung to him. Her small frame pressed against the vampire's, her tear-streaked face burying itself in his chest.

Lucifer's sharp eyes caught every trembling motion of her lips as she cried.

He couldn't hear her words, but he didn't need to. He knew her pain was because of him.

And yet, the vampire didn't push her away. He didn't comfort her as a friend should.

No, his hand rested firmly on her waist, his fingers splayed against her hip in a way that made Lucifer's blood boil.

Their faces were too close, their breaths mingling as the man tilted his head down toward her. The scene was raw, intimate, and it burned into Lucifer's mind like a brand.

He felt his chest tighten. What's mine does not belong to another.

The vampire was bold—too bold. His body language screamed possessiveness, his brows furrowing as he stared into Rose's tearful face.

He dares to want what belongs to me? Lucifer's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms.

The air around him crackled with suppressed energy, though Rose and the vampire remained oblivious to the danger lingering just beyond their sight.

And yet, what enraged him more was the vampire's expression—displeasure, frustration. As if he was the one being wronged.

Lucifer let out a low, mirthless chuckle. The audacity. She was his. She would return to him, yet this man dared to act as if he held some claim over her.

Lucifer's thoughts darkened further as he watched the vampire invite Rose into his home.

She hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the gate. Lucifer's gaze bore into her, his lips curling into a smirk. Not tonight.

He wasn't supposed to intervene—not yet—but patience was never his strong suit.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flaring as he reached into her mind, brushing against her emotions with a force both subtle and undeniable.

He didn't need to control her outright; he merely amplified what was already there. Doubt. Guilt. Loyalty.

The connection between them, forged by fate and his relentless will, did the rest.

Rose, who had been about to step inside, froze. She turned abruptly, her face conflicted as she apologized profusely to the vampire.

Her words tumbled out in a rush, her voice trembling with sincerity. The vampire frowned, his frustration clear, but he nodded in understanding.

But he wasn't done. The man leaned forward, his intent clear. His lips were a breath away from hers when Rose reacted.

She pushed him away, her hands firm against his chest, stumbling back with a string of hurried apologies.

Lucifer's smirk deepened, satisfaction washing over him like a wave. Good girl.

The vampire's face tightened, but he didn't press further. Instead, he offered to drive her back, his tone softer now, almost pleading.

Rose shook her head quickly, her voice steady for the first time. She declined his offer, claiming she needed to clear her head and could get home on her own.

Lucifer watched as she turned away, her steps quick but hesitant, her mind clearly racing.

His pride in her swelled, mingling with a fierce possessiveness. She was coming back to him, whether she realized it or not.

The vampire may have had her attention for a fleeting moment, but in the end, she would always belong to him.

And the next time he saw her, he would ensure she understood that truth completely.