Chapter Text
Tonight will be a night you will never forget. And not just because this is a party that only happens once every one thousand years, or because of the stunning decor of the castle, or even because of how radiant you know you look in this dress, hand-picked by Diavolo.
No.
It is a night you will never forget because tonight will be the night Diavolo proposes to you.
You smile softly, remembering how you'd slipped out of the prince's arms this morning to surprise him by dressing in his shirt—something you'd learned early on that Diavolo absolutely adores—only to find a gorgeous ring in his pocket. As soon as you opened the velvety box and caught a glimpse of the diamond jewel, you'd shut it, not wanting to ruin any more of your surprise.
But you haven't been able to keep a smile off your face all day.
"Are you enjoying the party, darling?" Diavolo asks when he comes up from behind you, running his fingers up and down the length of your arm, another habit you'd learned that he enjoys. "Why are you hidden away on the balcony like this?"
"The sky is too beautiful to miss," You remark. You lean into Diavolo's arms and look up. Back home, you'd thought that the most beautiful sky belonged to the night: when stars rise to decorate the carpet of black draped above like gemstones woven into silk. But after coming to the Devildom, you'd found that the true sight to behold was a Devildom sunset: a sky redder than blood but brighter all the same, orange and yellow stars flying across in a perpetual state of movement and change. And tonight, there's a spot of carmine in the center: a vermillion scar that peels back at the sky itself as a comet drags on by.
"Truly beautiful," Diavolo murmurs in agreement, though his eyes are latched onto you as he says the words.
You let out a light giggle, knowing the real meaning to his words.
"Is this what you do every morning when you escape my arms? Watch the sunrise like this?"
"What else?" You murmur. Though this morning, you'd done a little more than just that. You turn and face Diavolo, cupping his cheek as you give him a chaste kiss. The fabric of your dress is thin, and you try to drag your body close to his to see if you can feel the outline of a ring anywhere on his pockets...to no avail.
"My love, how would you like to see sunrises and sunsets like this forever?" Diavolo murmurs, lacing his fingers in yours. He pulls your gaze up to meet his own with a single finger under your chin. "For tonight and all nights to come?"
A smile blooms on your lips.
You already know what is happening.
Diavolo pulls away to kneel on one knee, never letting go of your hand. He gives it a sultry kiss and looks up at you, eyes locked onto yours.
"MC of the human world, mortal of our immortal love, would you honor me by being at my side?" Diavolo smiles. "From now, until the end of time?"
"Yes," You whisper, breathless. Unable to pull the demon lord up (goodness, with those muscles he's easily double your weight), you lean forward and thrust yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs around him tightly, basking in his laugh as he returns the embrace.
Is this heaven?
You're grounded in hell, but the happiness flooding your body seems to be lifting you into an entirely new state of being. Your stomach literally feels like it's on fire, burning bright with excitement for the future. It's as if your life has changed with these words, and as if you're no longer just MC, but MC of MC and Diavolo. As if, with that proposal, the demon has made himself a part of you.
And the sheer joy of getting to share your life with another is all you need to be happy forever and ever.
This feeling is so much better than you'd thought it would be.
You knew he would ask, but hearing the words leave Diavolo's lips gave them a different weight than simply seeing a ring in a box. Where is the ring, anyway? Oh, Diavolo probably wants to give it to me later. You push the thoughts from your mind and hold him tighter, and the prince smiles.
Still wrapped around his body, Diavolo rises and places you on the golden balustrade, admiring the sight before him.
"Thank you, my love. You truly are...perfect." Diavolo murmurs, giving you a kiss. From there, he trails to your neck, going lower and lower. Occasionally, he stops to give a spot of skin a tender suck, but as soon as a moan leaves your lips, he's reminded of his goal and continues downward until his head is directly between your thighs.
"D-Diavolo," You murmur as he presses kisses to the skin. "People will see."
"Let them," He mutter, leaning forward and ravishing you as if you're his last meal. It only then strikes you that Diavolo had planned this. All of this.
You smile as you lean your head back, letting your moans add to the noise of the chattering from within the castle. Such a perfect man, you realize. He'd known you would say yes, of course. It was probably at his instruction that Mammon had chased you to this balcony in the first place. Diavolo had probably even selected this dress because of how it gave him access to the warmth between your legs that he loved so.
"P-people," You stutter out, voice broken by pleasure. "G-going...to stare..." You thread your hand in Diavolo's locks, weakly trying to pull his head away, but in truth you don't want him to stop. A demon who's lived for literal thousands of years, Diavolo knows his way around your body better than you do, and he's always been able to bring you to paradise. Especially with that tongue of his.
"Let them stare," Diavolo mumbles as climax washes over you. "You're mine. All mine. My paramour."
At the back of your mind, something twists at the word. Paramour? Perhaps it means something different in the Devildom. But before you can think more about how humans consider a paramour to be more a mistress than a lover, Diavolo's lips are on your own and all your thoughts drift back to him.
"Shall we return to the party, darling?" He asks. Diavolo smiles his usual teasing smile, instantly back to normal. He winks, acting as if he hadn't just done something horribly indecent where any passing demon could have seen.
"Yes," You mumble, taking his arm. As he guides you back to the ballroom and invites you to dance, you can't help but feel like things are different now. My lover. You recall his words. From now, until the end of time.
Another wave of glee washes through you.
"I love you," You murmur as the waltz slows. Diavolo gives you his usual Prince Charming grin, spinning you in time with the music.
"And I love you," He steals a kiss from your lips. "You're so perfect, MC. I never should have been worried. Everything about you is just so...perfect."
"Aw, were you worried that I wouldn't say yes?" You ask, swaying with him. You bring the hand resting on his shoulder to his cheek.
"Only a little," Diavolo confesses. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel about this whole situation...I know it's different from what humans are used to."
"Different?" You laugh. "Even dating you was different from what humans are used to, given that you're—you know—a demon and all."
"But you love me anyway~" Diavolo cooes.
"But I love you anyway," You agree.
You two must dance for hours, merely waltzing back and forth. All around you, the couples change, stepping on and off the dance floor, but you and Diavolo remain. Arms around his neck, head resting against the firmness of his chest, you two are swaying more than you are dancing. Holding each other, more than you are moving. Loving, more than expressing.
The moment is so delicate. Truly precious. Untouched even by time, as the grandfather clock indicates that another hour has passed.
But like all good things, it too comes to an end.
"Now that you're my paramour," Diavolo murmurs softly, causing your ears to perk up. There's that word again. "I only have one other thing to do. Excuse me, my love."
You give the man a kiss on the cheek as he guides you off the dance floor, leaving you with Lucifer. The two of you busy yourselves with a glass of wine—Diavolo had brought champagne to the party specifically for you.
"It's not bad," Lucifer remarks. "But I must say that I prefer our Devildom alcohols more."
You laugh, taking another sip of your wine, continuing to make small talk with Lucifer. It's been a while since you left the House of Lamentation to come live with Diavolo, but there are more than enough times when you miss the chaotic demon brothers.
Unbeknownst to you, those two minutes while you chat with Lucifer are perhaps the last minutes to true happiness you feel for a very long time. You'll later wish you'd savored the moment more as you spoke with the demon, a small smile on your face with your mind half-lost in thoughts about the future you and Diavolo would be embarking upon. It's a moment of contentment, a moment of peace.
But blissful as it is, it's also a prelude to what must be true misery.
Because all good things must come to an end.
And this day has been far too good.
Or—later, you might realize—perhaps the entire day had been bad, with yourself only being too foolish to understand it? Perhaps this whole thing was, in truth, nothing but the calm before the storm?
Whatever the truth may be, the fact is that the moment you lay your eyes upon Diavolo, you're shattered. And with each word that leaves his mouth, you find your heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.
"Honored guests and friends alike, I have an announcement to make." Your eyes widen. At the top of the staircase from where Diavolo had begun the party, he now stands in his demon form, arm-in-arm with another demon. A woman. An exquisitely beautiful one, at that.
"The time for my coronation as king of the Devildom nears, and a king is nothing without a queen beside him. So it is with utmost esteem that I ask this question to my lady."
You watch in a queer mix of pain, confusion, and anger, as Diavolo drops to one knee in front of the woman. You want to close your eyes, want to look away. You can feel Lucifer's gaze on you, watching to see your response, but you can't bring yourself to care. Your mind is a mess. What is going on? You wonder as tears threaten to leave your eyes. Why is he proposing to another woman?
And then you see a shine in his hands as he opens a black velvet box, the very same box you'd opened this morning; and in this light, with this decor, the ring seems to glisten even more beautifully than the stars in the sky that you love so. "Would you, my fair lady, honor me by being my wife? From now, until the end of time?"
And at this moment, when you're positively certain that your heart cannot break any more, you feel the final blow come: with the soft but clear "yes" that echoes through the hall.
Then, chaos.
That's the only word for what happens next.
Chaos everywhere.
All around you, demons cheer and begin whooping in celebration for what they just witnessed. But at the same time, their haphazard chanting can't begin to compare to the distressed frenzy that your mind is in as you tear your way out of the hall, ignoring Lucifer's desperate cries of your name.
Only once you've found shelter behind closed doors do you allow yourself to give in to your emotions. You drop to the ground, clutching it for support when it feels as if the very foundation of your spirit has been ripped out. All you can think about is the image of what just happened: Diavolo, on one knee in front of another woman, holding the ring that you had thought was meant for you.
The only thing that drowns out your broken sobs is the sound of demons as they cheer and laugh, congratulating their lord for his new engagement.
***
Diavolo should have known better.
That's what Lucifer says, at least.
"Did you not account for the fact that she has no understanding of our customs, Diavolo?" The demon practically shouts, causing the prince to flinch. Diavolo is beyond used to Lucifer's wrath, but he's accustomed to seeing it directed at others. Never himself. And on any other occasion, Diavolo would have sharply reminded Lucifer of his place. But as the younger demon continues to rant angrily, even Barbatos stands silently, knowing full-well that Diavolo deserves every bit of it.
"And you! You're the prince! You've been a demon for thousands of years, you know what human customs are like! Their obsession with commitment and having a single spouse is one of the very reasons why they've always believed our polygamic traditions to be evil! No self-respecting human would ever agree to be a paramour—does MC even know what a paramour is?"
Diavolo looks away, shame flooding him. He's never felt this way. He's the future king, for crying out loud. "I had assumed that it was a part of RAD's curriculum. I thought it was all covered in Demon Studies."
"Diavolo," Lucifer begins, pinching the spot between his eyebrows. "The curriculum is designed for demons, not humans. Demon Studies isn't about demon culture, it's about demon history. Important wars. Famous battles. Reputed commanders. Major e-"
"Yes. I get it, Lucifer." Diavolo puts a hand up, silencing the man in front of him. "What's done is done. I know you are upset with me, but we have to figure out what to do about MC."
"My lord?" Barbatos interrupts. "She still hasn't left her room. She isn't responding to my knocks, either."
"Has she escaped?" Lucifer asks, startled.
"No," Barbatos pauses for a moment. "But unless my lord does something, she plans to."
"Thanks," Diavolo mumbles sarcastically, resting his forehead on his palm. Twelve hours ago, things had been going so well. MC had actually agreed to be his paramour—or well, now he knows that she thought he was asking her to be his wife, goodness—and he was finally free to propose to the powerful she-demon that he'd always intended on marrying. And of course, the demon had said yes, and Diavolo's life couldn't be more perfect: he had his wife, his future kingdom to inherit, and his paramour.
And now he's lost the single most important thing from that list.
You.
"I'm going to speak to her," Diavolo blurts, rising. "I need her to understand what I was proposing...and what her new role is. The moment she said yes, she was bound to me by contract. She has to at least try to understand-"
"Diavolo, you can't possibly expect that the contract properly formed under those circumstances."
Diavolo quiets Lucifer in an instant, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the tattoos that covered his lower body. To anyone else, little change would be noticeable. A prince, Diavolo had been blessed hundreds of times over, and thus had a plethora of protective spells materialized on his skin. But to his right-hand man, who knows Diavolo better than the prince perhaps knows himself, the new tattoo stands out: a small design, just above the V that dips beneath Diavolo's pants.
"The contract...actually formed?" Lucifer mutters in disbelief. "Diavolo, these aren't the standard characters of paramour contract. The markings read 'true lover.' Surely you understand that it is a warning of—"
"It means that MC is my true lover," Diavolo interrupts before Lucifer can dirty the meaning with any other notion. "And that I am hers. If I have the mark, she has it as well. The gods of hell have recognized our union."
"My lord, what if she does not wish to be yours?" Barbatos ventures. "She is a human, after all. They are known to be fickle. And paramour is not a word they consider positive, by any means."
Diavolo doesn't respond. Like his events, his plans are reckless and more driven by emotion than logic and reason.
MC will understand, won't she? Diavolo tries to console himself with the thought. Your understanding and compassionate nature was part of the reason why Diavolo fell in love with you in the first place. You'll understand. You have to.
Diavolo doesn't know what he'll do if you don't.
***
Since coming to the Devildom, you've felt a lot of things. Excitement, at the prospect of new classmates. Frustration, at the antics of your roommates in the House of Lamentation. Worry, when you grew intimate with Diavolo and had to keep it a secret. Happiness, when the two of you decided to finally announce your relationship. And sadness—lots of it—after the events that transpired yesterday.
But this is the first time you've felt such fury.
"You're telling me," You mutter, too livid to even look at the man you'd once been proud to call your lover. "That when you proposed to me yesterday you were asking me to be your paramour? And that by accepting, I gave you permission to take another wife?!"
"Not another wife..." DIavolo trails off, not meeting your gaze. But when he sees you clench your fists and grow even angrier, he's quick to continue. "She's the only one! I won't take any other wives!"
"Does it make a difference? It doesn't matter if there's one other woman or one million in your life. How do you expect me to be okay with this? Why would any woman be okay with this? Who in their right mind would consent to being a paramour?! A paramour is just a glorified concubine—you keep her in your castle because you love her, but she's not good enough to be by your side and be called your 'wife.'"
"No, no, no." Diavolo stands up and forces you to meet his eyes, forces you to see how sincere he is. But somehow, the fact that he genuinely believes that the concept of a paramour is even okay only further enrages you. "Wives and paramours are different, you can't compare them. I know it's different from the human world, but in the Devildom, all the little girls grow up wanting to be paramours. A paramour is special. A person takes a paramour only out of love, not for her last name or her rank or her title. It's the better one. A wife is just someone who bears children. Nothing more. As soon as I have an heir, I won't even need to think about my wife! It'll just be you, my sweet, sweet paramour, and—"
"How can you truly love me if you have children with another woman? Don't act like a wife is nothing special. There's a reason why we in the human world say that the most sacred bond a man and woman can have is that of a husband and wife. You've chosen this woman. You want her. For her looks, for her nobility, her title, her—"
"Her fertility," Diavolo interrupts. "That is all. She bears our relationship no harm."
"You're asking me to be a glorified concubine." You repeat, scowling. "A mistress. The other woman."
"These are human concepts you're bringing in, dear," Diavolo murmurs. "You are my only love. And...MC, you physically cannot be my wife. You..."
You narrow your eyes, daring Diavolo to finish that sentence.
And foolishly, he does.
"You can bear me no children."
You raise your hand, poising it to slap Diavolo across the cheek, when you hesitate. Why? Why should you waste a single second more on this man who would never be fully committed to you? He's already made it clear that he won't be canceling the engagement he has with his future wife.
And you refuse to be any man's side piece.
"Get out." You scowl.
"MC, please, you know that I—"
"If you won't get out, I will."
Before you can leave the room, though, Diavolo has pulled you into his lap. "Let go," You hiss, thrashing in his arms. But the man is a demon, future lord of the Devildom, and is truly the strongest man in the entire kingdom. And you're just a human. Faced with his strength, you're nothing.
"Darling, please. Please. Just let me speak. Give me one minute. That's all I need. One minute." Slowly, you cease your movement. It's a silent indication that, yes, you'll give Diavolo a minute to speak. But no more.
"Darling, I love you. You are everything. I love you so much, and when I asked you to be mine...I truly thought you knew that I was asking you to be my paramour. I am sorry for the distress I have caused you these past hours." Diavolo places a soft kiss to your neck, letting his lips lay on what is normally your weak spot. But when you don't respond, he opts to continue.
"But there's something you need to see. A...a proposal to a paramour in the Devildom is sacred. I know you don't see it that way, but it is even more sacred than a proposal to a wife. And...it's viewed as a contract." Diavolo slowly lifts the edge of your shirt up. Your hands instantly go down to cover yourself, not wanting to give the demon a chance to give you any pleasure that might distract you from your current anger, but then you see what the man must have been trying to show you.
"How...?" You ask, and for the first time today, your words aren't coated with rage as you speak.
You pull yourself out of Diavolo's lap and go to the full-length mirror, raising your shirt higher on your stomach. You remember last night, when you'd felt a burning sensation over your stomach after accepting Diavolo's proposal. You'd thought the feeling to be a part of your happiness at being (you thought) Diavolo's wife, but now it becomes painfully obvious that it had been something else entirely.
There, on your lower abdomen, just above your underwear line but below your belly button, lies a delicate symbol. You squint at it, running your fingers over the mark—but the ebony black characters feel like they're a part of your skin, as if they've always been there.
"I have one to match," Diavolo says with a smile. He unbuttons his shirt and approaches the mirror, standing next to you. "Mine says 'true lover,'" He murmurs into your ear. The proximity makes you shudder, and you have to remind yourself that you're angry with the man. But as he lifts your shirt above your shoulders, shedding his own top in turn, you find that whatever emotions you were feeling before have been replaced with a new sense of longing.
"I'm still angry." The words are more for you than they are for him. It's as if saying them excuses how responsive you're being to Diavolo's touch as he strokes your sides.
"I know you are," He mumbles, kissing you.
"I'm not okay with being your paramour," You continue, only to be met with another 'I know' as Diavolo's lips ghost over your neck.
And as he gives the sensitive skin a tender suck, you can't help but lean into his arms for support, even as he continues to trail lower down to your stomach.
"I love you," he mumbles into your skin, licking the spot where your body is branded with the mark of the paramour. He leans back to admire the character.
And that's when things go downhill.
"Diavolo?" You ask, cupping his cheek. "What's wrong?"
You flinch as the man's grip around your waist tightens, watching in confusion as he stares daggers into the spot on your stomach that he had been gazing at so tenderly before. You see his eye twitch before he abruptly stands up and begins dressing himself.
You watch in disbelief. Diavolo's expression has changed completely, unwilling to meet your eyes and practically ignoring you.
"Diavolo, why—"
"MC, please be quiet. You wanted to be left alone? Very well, you will be left alone." Diavolo is now scowling as he buttons up his shirt, not even bothering to wear his cape as he makes for the door.
"Wh-what happened?" You ask, pulling on his sleeve. It's a futile attempt. The man is double your weight and over ten times as strong, but he humors you and stops before the door. "Diavolo, please. What did I do? Are you angry?"
"MC," Diavolo speaks, not facing you. His tone is dark. "It's best for the both of us if you are not with me right now."
He yanks his sleeve from your grasp, slamming the door shut in your face as he storms out, leaving you an even bigger mess of emotions than when he walked in.
You slowly make your way to the mirror, staring at the character on your stomach. You can't read what it says, but something about it seemed to anger Diavolo. After nearly half an hour of being more furious than you've ever been in your entire life, you know that the dark emotion Diavolo was trying to hide was rage itself.
But what could have made him so angry?
You stare at the spot on your stomach, before frustration begins to amalgamate once more. What right does Diavolo have to be angry with you, right now? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?
Right, you remember. When he kissed you, it was so easy to forget that he was asking you to be his paramour, his trophy-wife-that's-not-even-good-enough-to-be-a-wife lover. But now?
You scowl into the mirror, crossing your arms.
Diavolo can be angry all he wants.
His fury won't change yours. And I'm justified in my anger, you think, before a knock breaks you from your thoughts.
Not even bothering to wear your shirt, you march over to the door. This had better be Diavolo, ready to apologize, you think, before swinging it open.
But the face that greets you is smaller. Shorter. Olive eyes and mismatched hair, it's Barbatos who greets you.
"My lady," He murmurs stiffly. For a millisecond, his eyes dart down to your body, and his eyes widen in surprise. You're not sure why the demon butler looks so startled to see your exposed stomach. Demons in the Devildom have little sense of shame when it comes to nudity, as you'd learned from Lucifer's and Barbatos's utter indifference to constantly walking in on your nude form during nights with Diavolo. If anything, you're more covered than usual.
"No need to call me that, Barbatos. I'm Diavolo's secret lover. The only 'lady' you'll be needing to bow to is that wife of his," You sigh and leave the door open, a subtle invitation inside.
Speaking with Diavolo did quell most of your anger. Talking to Barbatos can't hurt, right?"
"If my lady wishes for me to call her MC, I shall," Barbatos says, shutting the door behind him. "But don't delude yourself into thinking that you're Diavolo's secret lover. A paramour is respected more than a wife, here. The whole realm will know you: face, name, history. It will be an honor."
"It will be a humiliation," You interrupt. You throw your shirt on, beginning to rant. "The whole realm will mock me: the prince's concubine. His whore. The idea that I'm not good enough to be his only lover is an insult. A paramour is disgusting and—"
"Then perhaps someone else is better suited for the role?"
You stop, pondering the words.
Barbatos looks at you with one eyebrow raised, gaze unwavering as he sees into your soul. You want to look away, want to ignore him, want to act as if that one question isn't the very conflict you've been torn over.
But you can't.
Diavolo has made it clear that the only way he'll have you be his lover is as his paramour. And every fiber of your being refuses to be paramour to a man who has a separate wife. So that truly only leaves one option, doesn't it?
"I don't have any other choices, do I?" You say dryly, realizing the nature of the situation you're in.
"If you cannot be his paramour," Barbatos agrees. "You cannot be his lover."
You sigh, leaning back against the bed.
It's been dwelling at the back of your mind for hours, but now as the truth begins to unshroud itself, you find the decision at the forefront of your mind.
Perhaps someone else is suited for the role, you think. Against your will, a memory of Diavolo's soft reddish locks flashes through your mind. You've always loved to play with them, and the demon lord always let you. He'd let out a gentle hum as you'd massage his scalp, a smile tugging at his lips as your fingers would lose themselves in his hair.
Perhaps someone else is meant to be Diavolo's paramour.
Another memory jumps into your thoughts, an image of the two of you dancing in the ballroom. Despite the situation, you smile at the thought. Diavolo adores dancing with you. It's his favorite thing to do: a respite from the daily struggles of the Devildom. There hasn't been a single week where he hasn't invited you down to the ballroom at least once. Even if there's no party, he would lead you into the hall, casting a cassette to play for you as the two of you danced the night away.
Perhaps I can never be the woman he needs me to be. The paramour he seeks.
A new image comes to mind, more recent. Diavolo's sleeping face. Normally, you would take to admiring his body in the morning, running your hands over his muscles and abs and sometimes the sensitive organ between his legs - but that morning, you'd been drawn to his face. The face of the man you loved. The face of a prince.
And slowly, you realize the truth.
The face of the man I cannot have.
"You're right," You say to Barbatos. Your voice is barely a whisper, but the butler seems to have heard you all the same.
You cannot carry the weight of being Diavolo's paramour. You're too human. It conflicts with your nature too much. And just as the relation Diavolo sought from you is too horrid for you to bear, the relationship you seek from Diavolo is one that's too far from the demon lord's customs.
He'd told you this when you first kissed him: that a human and a demon have no place together. Much less, a human and the ruler of the Devildom.
At the time, you'd only smiled into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck for more.
But now those words have hauntingly returned, more true than ever before.
A human and a demon have no place together.
And you and Diavolo are no exception.
"I'll help you move your things into Purgatory Hall. For the remainder of the exchange program, you'll want to be there." Barbatos turns, walking to the door. "I'll leave you to inform lord Diavolo of your decision."
"Wait!" You blurt before you can stop yourself, grabbing the demon's wrist.
He turns to you, expression nonchalant. His gaze is normally intimidating, but as you stand before him all you can think about is the pure apathy in his eyes: now that you've decided to no longer be his lord's lover, he truly does not care about you.
But you won't let that stop you from asking.
"I...Diavolo said that the symbols on my stomach are characters. For words. What..." You trail off, trying to find your courage. "What does it say?"
Barbatos steps toward you, lifting your shirt with his left hand. A gloved finger traces the dark markings, and he begins speaking.
"This is the mark of the paramour. On most, it'll just be the character for 'lover,' but sometimes...in truly special instances, there'll be a description character as well. Diavolo's mark reads: true lover."
"What does mine say?" You whisper.
Barbatos brushes the mark with his thumb, his touch oddly gentle as he strokes the branded skin. His eyes never leave yours, and you think that it's a gesture of kindness until you catch the glint of morbid cruelty as he watches your reaction to his next words.
His gaze bores into you, staring past your eyes and into your heart as he shatters it with the truth.
"False lover."