It was close to midnight, and Asteria had still not returned.

  Phoenix had waited for nearly an hour at the place where her cousin had abandoned her. For a moment, she even considered returning to the Dark Land alone. But frustration soon turned into restlessness, and restlessness into wandering.

  She began walking without direction, too tired to stay angry.

  Then she heard it.

  A scream.

  Not laughter. Not drunken noise.

  A scream that tore through the night.

  Phoenix stopped. Her body reacted before her mind did. She followed the sound through narrow streets until she reached a dark alley lit only by a dying streetlamp.

  And there she saw it.

  A teenage girl pinned against the wall. A drunken man gripping her wrists, forcing her down. The girl struggled, her cries breaking into sharp, desperate breaths.

  Phoenix’s fingers twitched.

  Her instinct was simple — summon her sword, end him.

  But she was weak. Drained from earlier. Interfering once had already cost her. Interfering again would anger her father… and worse.

  The screams grew sharper.

  Phoenix hid behind a stack of wooden crates, her jaw tightening. The rage in her veins felt hotter than her magic.

  She whispered a prayer.

  Her Sword of Darkness answered.

  It shimmered into her palm like a living shadow.

  She lifted it slightly—

  A car engine cut through the night.

  Phoenix froze.

  A sleek black Ferrari rolled to a stop at the mouth of the alley. The headlights briefly illuminated the scene before switching off.

  A man stepped out.

  He wore a fitted suit. Calm. Unhurried.

  He closed the car door softly, as if he had arrived at a formal gathering rather than a crime scene.

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  “Hello,” he called out smoothly. “Do you speak English?”

  The drunk man turned. “Who the hell are you? Mind your business!”

  A pause.

  “So you do speak English,” the stranger replied pleasantly.

  He shifted slightly, catching sight of the girl.

  “Hello,” he said gently, voice dropping into something darker. “Easy now.”

  The girl’s cries faltered.

  The drunk man shoved him. “I asked who you are!”

  The suited man straightened slowly.

  “That question,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, “has followed me for centuries.”

  He stepped closer.

  “Some call me a lover.”

  He bent slightly, his shadow falling over the trembling girl.

  “Some call me temptation.”

  His voice softened to a whisper.

  “But tonight…”

  His gaze lifted, and Phoenix felt something shift in the air.

  “I am your death.”

  The drunk man laughed nervously.

  “What are you? The devil himself?”

  A low chuckle escaped the stranger.

  “Close.”

  He rolled up his sleeves. Under the faint light, his veins seemed darker than blood. An expensive watch gleamed at his wrist.

  “You may call me the Devil’s son.”

  Dark energy gathered in his palm — black, pulsing, alive.

  Phoenix felt it from across the alley.

  Power.

  Ancient. Controlled. Effortless.

  The man grabbed the attacker by the throat.

  A scream erupted — but this one was different. It was not fear.

  It was pain.

  “You will feel,” the Devil’s son said calmly, “what every woman feels.”

  The attacker collapsed to his knees, shaking violently.

  “The pain she endures every month.”

  He tightened his grip.

  “The agony she bears to give life to creatures like you.”

  The man writhed, sobbing, his strength dissolving.

  Phoenix did not move.

  She could end this.

  But she didn’t.

  The Devil’s son released him, letting him collapse on the ground.

  Then he picked up a dagger and placed it gently in the girl’s trembling hand.

  “No mercy,” he murmured, guiding her fingers around the handle, “for those who show none.”

  The girl’s eyes were empty now — mesmerized.

  She began stabbing.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Phoenix swallowed.

  Not disgust.

  Not fear.

  Something far more dangerous.

  Recognition.

  “Enough,” he whispered at last, wrapping an arm around the girl, steadying her shaking body.

  She stopped immediately.

  He took the dagger back, then cupped her face in his hands.

  “You will forget this night,” he told her softly. “It will be nothing but a nightmare. And I… will be nothing but a shadow.”

  He smiled — beautiful and terrible.

  “Live happily for me.”

  He pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

  The girl nodded dreamily and walked out of the alley without looking back.

  The Devil’s son turned to the body.

  With a flick of his lighter, flames swallowed it whole.

  Efficient. Clean.

  He picked up his coat and began walking toward his car.

  Phoenix’s grip tightened around her sword.

  Curiosity burned stronger than caution.

  He stopped beneath the streetlight.

  And slowly—

  He turned.

  Moonlight touched his face.

  That was when she saw him.

  Sharp jaw. Dark eyes. A smile that carried both sin and salvation.

  Phoenix forgot to breathe.

  Her sword slipped from her hand, clattering softly against the stone.

  He looked up toward the sky — unaware that in the shadows, the Princess of Darkness was staring at him as though the universe had shifted on its axis.

  Asteria had once warned her about temptations hidden in the human world.

  Phoenix had not believed her.

  Until now.

  She did not know his name.

  But she knew this:

  He was not merely danger.

  He was destiny.

  And for the first time in centuries—

  Phoenix felt something that was not power.

  It was desire.