Her shoulders tighten. Her gaze drops to the floor, lips pressing together like she’s trying to keep the truth locked behind them.
“I wasn’t going to keep it,” she whispers. “I just... I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Tell me.”
She takes a shaky breath. “My brother. Jack. He’s in trouble. He lost five grand to a guy named Viktor, and they want ittomorrow. If he doesn’t pay...”
She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish. I already know. I can see it in her eyes, the sheer panic, the helplessness, the self-blame. She’s carrying the weight of the world on shoulders that shouldn’t have to bear it.
Lost.That implies gambling. Her brother is a fucking gambler, and something tells me he's using her money to feed his addiction.
But right now, that doesn't matter.
“You stole the wallet to save your brother.”
She nods again, this time more firmly. “He’s all I have. I couldn’t let him get hurt.”
My little angel. So kind. So pure. Even when she sins, it’s for someone else. Even when she falls, it’s with grace.
She doesn’t deserve this world. She doesn’t deserve the dirt, the danger, the Clive Bernardis of the world. She should be cherished. Guarded.
She should besafe.
Without a second thought, I pull out my wallet and count out the full amount. Five grand in crisp hundreds. I press them into her hands, along with Clive's tip.
“Here,” I say. “For your brother’s debt.”
She stares at the money like it’s poison. Her lips part in disbelief. “You, you can’t just…”
“I can,” I interrupt. “I did.”
Her hands tremble as she tries to give it back. “I can’t take this. I can’t owe you. I don’t want any more debts.”
My jaw tightens. Something about the way she says that, like she's terrified of one more debt on her shoulders.
If her loser brother were here, I'd do him way worse than Clive.
“You don’t owe me,” I say, quiet but firm. “I don’t want anything in return.”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean it. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t repay you.”
I study her. The stubborn set of her chin. The tremble in her breath. The tears she refuses to let fall. There’s a strength in her, hidden beneath all that gentleness. A fire buried under frost.
God, she’s so good.
I know I’mnot.
I turn to leave, not trusting myself to stay. But then something tugs at my sleeve, light and trembling, like a little bird.
Her hand.
“Please,” she whispers. “Let me pay you back. I can cook, I can clean. I’ll do whatever you need.”
I turn back. My chest aches.
She’s trying so hard to be useful. To make herself worthy of kindness. And she doesn’t even realize she already is.
But I'm not. I'm the devil himself.
