The Devil's Favourite Obsession

The overhead lights returned, causing Cixi’s lashes to flutter as she adjusted to the sudden brightness of her apartment.

”I thought we had made progress, and here the Reaper left without even a proper goodbye.”

Something felt cold in her palm. When she uncurled her fist, she found the heavy coin resting against her skin instead of spinning in the empty air.

Lifting the coin between her fingers, Cixi studied it once more, turning it slowly as she traced the hidden script engraved into the metal.

This single piece of iron had travelled with her through that in-between world of life and death and had somehow wedged itself permanently into her living reality.

”I should never have accepted you,” she told the metal.

Pushing herself up from the floor, she walked towards the kitchen counter where her purse lay waiting. She slipped the coin inside and snapped the fake leather clasp shut.

Just then, the sharp buzz of a notification made her jolt.

It came from inside her purse.

Pulling out her phone, she unlocked the screen and found three new texts waiting for her. One was from Marion, and another was from Lily.

Both women had reached home safely and had sent quick photos of themselves standing in front of their apartment doors as proof that they were safe.

Letting out her first genuine breath of relief, Cixi snapped a quick photo of herself in her white bathrobe, her hair still damp, and sent it to their group chat.

Then she tapped the third message, only for her finger to freeze exactly where it hovered, and just like that, time seemed to stop.

The message read:

Scammer = My Fake Fiancée

Save my number.

Cixi stood frozen, reading the two arrogant lines over and over again without moving a single muscle. It was as though any movement on her part might somehow bring the dreadful words to life.

Within seconds, her bewildered mind had reread the text a hundred times.

Once her thoughts finally began working again, she let out a sharp breath.

How the hell had he got her number?

Then again, Cassian Crown was a criminal. She should have expected him to obtain her number through some illegal background check rather than ask for it like a decent human being.

Thinking back to their first kiss on the rain-slicked bridge, she cursed herself, and then she cursed Cassian even more viciously.

He had asked for a dying kiss, and she had foolishly given in out of pure pity. Now she was shackled to him by yet another immortal curse, burdened with the impossible task of ensuring he never kissed another woman.

But how was she ever supposed to do that?

She had not even been able to save the lives of the people inside the nightclub. And now she was expected to make the Devil fall in love with her?

How did anyone even accomplish that?

Perhaps she needed to watch a podcast about how to make a man fall in love...

But she shook her head almost immediately in frustration. She did not think there were any documentaries called ’How to Make the Devil Fall in Love’.

That absurd thought alone made her want to scream until her throat bled.

She should have asked the Reaper whether there was a curse that could turn a mafia boss into a loyal, quiet, and preferably silent dog.

Glancing up at the digital clock on her phone, she saw that it was four in the morning.

Holy shit.

Dragging her exhausted limbs across the kitchen tiles, Cixi decided she would sleep first and think properly about this supernatural disaster when she woke up.

Yet before finally crawling into her cold bed, she glared at the glowing screen and quickly typed out a reply to the man who held the only key to breaking her curse.

*

*

*

High above the city line, situated on the sky lounge crowning the tallest building, Cassian Crown occupied the white leather couch as though it had been placed there solely for him.

He was engaged in the quiet ritual he preferred most — smoking.

An expensive cigar burned between his fingers as he stared out into the empty night sky. Before him, a crystal glass of whisky rested upon the table, which he had not yet touched.

The high-altitude wind slipped through his dark hair and disturbed it slightly, yet nothing else about him yielded to movement. Stillness seemed to belong to him.

The entire terrace carried an uncertain tension of a ticking device simply because of the absence of women at Cassian’s table.

He rarely drank without beautiful company, but tonight it was different.

Then, the air shifted, and she entered the terrace.

She moved as if she owned the very oxygen everyone else in the restaurant required to breathe. She wore a spaghetti-strap dress that clung flawlessly to her curves, paired with towering red heels. Her shoulder-length black hair gave her a sharper look as she walked onto the terrace floor, her hips swaying like a runway model.

She wasn’t alone but accompanied by six men who could rival Adonis.

Two men positioned themselves at each end of the couch opposite Cassian. Another two men stood firmly behind the empty sofa, while the final two swept the bar and the kitchen areas.

Cassian didn’t acknowledge her, yet he was letting her invade his space.

Finally, when the woman, known exclusively in the underworld as Madam Wasabi, took her seat on the opposite couch, he dragged his dark gaze from the city skyline and settled it on her.

They said nothing at first.

The wind moved between them as if testing which of them it should obey. Seconds stretched, then stretched further. Neither of them blinked. Neither of them broke the silence.

Around them, conversations softened. Even strangers found themselves watching without understanding why, drawn by the silent collision of two dangerously composed personalities.

One of her handsome guards appeared at her side and lowered himself smoothly to one knee, presenting a cocktail upon a silver tray with the grace of a court attendant.

”A drink for the lady,” he stated.

Only then did Lady Wasabi break her intense eye contact with Cassian. She looked down at the man kneeling for her and offered a devastating smile. ”Thank you, Jonathan.”

She lifted the slender glass. Jonathan stood tall and retreated into the shadows near the bar.

After taking a slow sip of the pink liquid, she finally spoke to the Devil. ”You took my table.”

Cassian did not apologise. ”Then claim it back.”