Baal pov
Humans had always worshipped extravagance. I merely gave them what they craved.
The car that pulled up to Zaria's building was a custom Maybach, obsidian black with smoked-out windows and a scent of leather, spice, and power lingering in the interior. It swallowed the road as we cruised through the city, the world bending in reverence to my presence—and hers, now. She sat beside me, dressed in a red slip dress that clung to her like a secret. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. The kind that was going to get her hurt.
"You didn't have to bring a car like this," she murmured, running her fingers across the embroidered crest stitched into the leather.
I gave her a slow glance. "Why not? You deserve nothing average."
She laughed, soft but slightly uneasy. She still couldn't wrap her mortal mind around my version of affection. I didn't do roses. I did diamonds buried under glaciers. Silence that screamed. Power that unsettled.
Our destination was a luxury mall nestled in the heart of the city, a place where wealth dripped from the walls and everyone pretended they weren't bleeding to keep up appearances. I knew the owner. I owned the owner.
We entered through the private concierge entrance. Zaria's heels clicked beside mine, echoing like a heartbeat across the marble floors. Heads turned. Her beauty drew attention, but the way she clung to my arm—barely holding, yet entirely tethered—was what made people stare longer. She didn't know it yet, but she glowed differently now. She had been touched by me.
Spoiled by a demon lord.
"I still feel like I'm dreaming," she whispered as we walked past a glass sculpture that twisted like frozen fire.
"Dreams are too kind," I murmured. "This is more like being devoured slowly."
She didn't respond, but her fingers tightened slightly on my wrist. Her scent—warm vanilla and adrenaline—spiked.
We passed store after store. She tried to feign indifference at first, but I caught her eyes darting toward the display windows. A sleek pair of crimson heels. A satin dress cut like molten gold. A minimalist diamond choker.
"Want them?" I asked, voice smooth.
"No—well, maybe just the shoes," she admitted shyly.
I stopped and tilted her chin toward me. "Don't ask for one thing when you can have everything."
She flushed, a color that made my blood stir.
We bought the shoes. And the dress. And the choker. And a bottle of perfume so rare the clerk stammered while handing it over. Zaria giggled as we moved on, bags piling up in the hands of two silent attendants trailing behind us like shadows.
It should've been a perfect afternoon.
But shadows don't always stay quiet.
We stepped into an art gallery tucked inside the upper floor of the mall. It was curated, moody—walls painted black, the lighting sharp and dramatic. Perfect for those who liked to pretend they understood torment in brushstrokes.
That's where he found us.
"Baal."
The voice came like a whisper under the skin, low and crackling.
I turned slowly.
Lateef.
He was wearing human skin, but barely holding it together. Tall, clean-shaven, with bone structure sharp enough to wound, and eyes too empty to be mortal. Dressed in a dark turtleneck and trench coat, as if he were a melancholic poet—but there was nothing soft about Lateef. He was a demon from the same flame as I. A fellow predator.
Zaria looked up. Her grip on my arm stiffened. Something in her body understood what her mind couldn't.
"Lateef," I said, keeping my voice even.
He smiled, just a twitch of lips. "Didn't expect to see you… shopping."
Zaria offered a polite nod. "Hi, I'm Zaria."
Lateef's eyes flicked to her. "So you're the reason he's been distracted."
I didn't respond.
Zaria chuckled awkwardly, the tension obvious now. "You're a friend of Baal's?"
"Friend," Lateef echoed, then tilted his head. "Or something older. Something deeper. Depends on what version of him you think you're dating."
"Lateef," I said, a warning buried in my voice.
He held up his hands. "My bad. I forget how delicate humans can be. Pretty thing, though. You sure you're not cracking under the pressure, Baal? Taming yourself for someone… soft?"
Zaria's expression faltered. Her hand dropped from my arm.
"I think we should go," she muttered.
Lateef smiled again. "Wise."
I guided her out of the gallery, my hand firm on her lower back. I didn't speak until we were several floors down, out of the glass and art and shadows.
"That man," she said quietly, "was strange."
"He's part of my past," I replied. "Not one you need to worry about." What past? i was still a bloodthirsty demon I thought
She looked up at me. "But I do worry."
I paused. Her eyes were searching mine again. Always digging, always peeling. She wanted answers I couldn't give. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"Zaria…"
"Don't shut me out," she whispered. "You bring me into your world but keep the doors locked. Who is he, really? And why did he look at me like that?"
I couldn't lie. Not convincingly.
"He's from a time when I was… different." I lied again
"Violent?" she asked softly.
"Worse."
She nodded slowly but didn't push further. We drove home in silence, the weight of Lateef's presence still lingering between us.
By the time I dropped her off at her apartment, she was quiet but unreadable. I kissed her forehead and told her to rest. She said nothing as the door closed behind her.
I thought that would be the end of it.
But I underestimated her.
That night, she called.
Then texted.
You left too early.
I can't stop thinking about what he said.
Baal… I want to understand you. I want to see where you live. I want to see the truth.
I ignored the first few.
But then came a string of voice notes. Her voice low, urgent, emotional.
"Baal, I know you're pushing me away. But I'm not afraid. Not really. I just… want to be near you."
"Even if it's dark. Even if it's messy."
"I can handle it. I'm not soft, Baal. You said I wasn't average."
"Please… let me come to your place. I want to see you. The real you."
She didn't know what she was asking.
She didn't even know where I lived.
But she kept asking. Again. And again.
Until I leaned back in the dark of my study, staring into the quiet, and gave her what she wanted.
"Fine," I said into the phone.
This decision, I don't know if was a good one or bad one, letting a mortal into the abode of immortality