The velvet couch beneath her was the same.
The scent in the air—spiced smoke and something faintly citrus—was the same.
The grand piano in the corner, the broken record player, even the chipped coffee mug on the table with "World's Worst Influence" printed in bold red letters… the same.
But something was different.
The shadows moved like they were watching her. The fire in the hearth burned an unnatural crimson. And the man leaning against the doorframe?
He was nothing like the Lucien she remembered.
"I wasn't expecting you to bleed all over my couch," he said lazily, eyes dragging over her like she was both familiar and completely new.
Aria sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her side. The wound was gone. Not even a scar.
"You healed me," she murmured, dazed.
Lucien shrugged. "Perks of the job."
"The job?" she asked, glaring at him.
He strolled over and plopped onto the armchair across from her, legs spread like a lazy king. "You're looking at the new Devil, sweetheart."
Aria stared at him.
Then laughed.
Then stopped when he didn't.
"You're serious," she said flatly.
"Dead serious. Pun intended."
She ran a hand through her hair. "How?! You died in a car crash."
Lucien's expression darkened for a moment. "So they told you."
"What—are you saying it wasn't an accident?"
"Not now," he said. "You're here because you signed a contract. Six months, remember?"
Aria's eyes narrowed. "And what exactly does that include?"
Lucien grinned. "You work for me. We balance things between the human world and the underworld. And you do not fall in love with me again."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"If you do," he continued, voice low and serious now, "the contract becomes permanent. No going back. You stay with me. Forever."
Her breath caught. "You added that clause?"
"I had to." He looked away. "I know you. You forgive people too easily."
Aria stood. "I don't forgive people who stab me."
Lucien smiled. "Good. You're finally learning."
She turned to the window. The storm outside cracked lightning through the sky.
"This house... is it real?"
"It's tethered to your memories," Lucien said softly. "I built it for you. Because Hell is... overwhelming, even for you. Especially for you."
Her eyes met his. "Why me?"
Lucien stood now, taking a slow step toward her. For a second, the devilish charm slipped—and something raw, human, peeked through.
"Because I still care," he said quietly. "And because you deserve revenge."
His fingers touched her wrist—warm, grounding.
"Damien won't get away with what he did. But you won't be some helpless girl this time, Aria."
She looked down at their hands.
Then pulled hers away.
"Fine," she whispered. "Let's burn him together."
Lucien's smirk returned. "That's my girl."