Page 9 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

“He never posts.” Charlotte glances at me from beneath her long lashes like she means to defend me. “I’ve tried.” She smiles like the expression is meant to tease me.

But I don’t need her to come to my defense.

Not when I’m still struggling with what she said to me the other evening.

I know more than a thing or two about words said in anger, about giving voice to things one does not mean. Hell is full of the pleading cries of those who will say and do anything for an ounce of mercy, who, even in their pain, feel no true remorse.

Not until I get a hold of them, you see.

But the idea that all I have given her, all I have done might not be enough ...

It guts me.

In a way not even my Father’s rejection ever could.

I frown and bring my glass to my lips as I give a subtle push against our connection.

Charlotte’s eyes widen like she feels me, but then she shuts me out just as quickly.

Though if she’s aware of the exchange, she doesn’t appear to be.

“Well, whatever you’re doing to engage your followers, Charlotte, keep doing it. It reflects well on the company. You’re making my job easy.”

Charlotte beams, though there’s a reluctance in her expression that wasn’t there previously.

The pleasure she takes at her efforts being recognized is no surprise to me. Praise is a tool I use frequently when she submits to me, but what does surprise me is the pride I find there. A subtle offering to me. A white flag of surrender, if you will.

Though she’s still uncertain after our fight. I can feel it.

As I am with her, of course.

More than ever before.

“With the CFDA Awards only a few weeks away and you two hosting, we need to start planning. The Council of Fashion Designers won’t be happy if we throw another Met Gala–size wrench into their fashion calendar,” Imani says, glancing hesitantly between Charlotte and me again.

Like she can sense the silent volley of communication but doesn’t dare mention it.

“Though both your respective teams seem to have it well in hand.”

Charlotte nods but then lifts a brow toward me. “Are we really going to go through with all that, considering ...?”

I give her a meaningful look, and she nods, understanding instantly.

Even in the face of my Father’s apocalypse, the show must go on.

The less humanity knows, the better.

“Right.” Charlotte nods. “I’m supposed to meet Xzander for another fitting in the morning. His schedule’s just been so busy with Impact ’s Black Advisory Board, but Olivia’s headed there tonight.”

The undiscovered human actress we hired as Charlotte’s decoy.

A body double meant to deter the paparazzi.

A more than necessary expense, considering theirs and the Righteous’s ever-increasing threats to her safety.

My Father’s impending apocalypse isn’t the only peril that’s been leveled at us recently.

“Good. You could use a break,” Imani says. “The press has been circling like sharks.”

“And?” I prompt, urging Imani to get to the next part of the dossier that made me ask her to join us this evening.

“ And Lucifer had two other points he wanted to discuss,” she says, swiftly closing her portfolio. “Didn’t you, Lucifer?” She gives me an incisive look, one that seems to imply tread lightly , though I can’t begin to fathom why.

I get what I want. Always.

In this, and all things.

“The PR firm,” I say tersely.

The little idea Charlotte had to expand her role recently. Make a name for herself. Independent from my company.

“What about it?” she asks.

I abandon my glass on the table, leaning back in my chair as I steeple my fingers. “Imani and I believe it may not be the best path for you.”

“You and Imani?” Her eyes dart between us.

As if we’ve been privately conspiring against her, rather than planning an alternative future. One of which she’s far more deserving.

And one that better insulates her from my family.

Charlotte needs to become equally as powerful and influential in her own right.

Imani sighs, shaking her head at me as she gently places her hand over Charlotte’s. “Considering the increasing safety concerns, it may not be the best idea for you to start taking on a list of outside clients right now. Clients that are unknown to us, and Lucifer seems to think that—”

“You can do better.”

Charlotte blinks. “I’m sorry?”

Quiet fury barrels down our connection, though Charlotte’s voice remains soft, breathy.

Hesitating, Imani glances between us before, finally, she sighs again. “Lucifer seems to think it’d be better if we focus on building your individual brand. Clothing lines, skin care, fragrances. You name it. You’ll be a style icon.”

I nod in approval. “Why bother opening a PR firm when you’re destined for something so much greater?”

Charlotte’s eyes go wide. “Destined?”

And even I recognize that I have chosen the wrong wording.

I spear her with a reprimanding look. “Charlotte, be reasonable. You’re better than this. You could do so much more with my funding.”

“With your funding?” She unfolds her napkin, tossing it onto her lap as if it’s personally offended her. “What if I don’t want your funding, Lucifer?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t you?” I reach across the table for her hand, but she quickly snatches it away from me. I frown. “I have more money than God. I’m happy to give it to you. The amount means little to me.”

“Oh, the amount means little to you?” Her voice rises in pitch. “Just like the fact that this was my idea? My choice? The one thing in my life that was still in my control?”

“Charlotte,” Imani says, glancing at the nearby waitstaff, who are now casting concerned glances in our direction.

But my fiancée simply lifts her hand, silencing Imani as if she’s her employer rather than her mentee.

I smirk. Finally, she’s beginning to see.

Even if she hasn’t fully recognized her true power yet.

“Why dismiss me so quickly?” she asks. “My ideas have been worthwhile before.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, little dove. You’re too valuable to be running some paltry PR firm like—”

“Like Imani?”

Imani’s expression goes cold. “Whatever this is, don’t you dare drag me into it.”

Charlotte blushes, looking temporarily embarrassed before she mumbles a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Imani gives a curt nod, but I’m ... taken aback to find I wish the apology was directed to me. And it’s that thought alone that makes my next words even more vicious, even more brutal.

“You want my blessing? Then earn it,” I challenge. “We both know you’ve always been desperate for my approval.”

“Lucifer,” Imani gasps, prepared to come to my fiancée’s defense.

But Charlotte merely shakes her head, her lower lip trembling as the whole restaurant seems to still.

For a moment, I question if perhaps I’ve made a mistake challenging her to be the immortal I know she can be. The immortal I know she soon will be.

Like her heart was forged in hellfire and wrapped in steel.

“Fine,” she whispers, her eyes suddenly misty.

The waitstaff soon return to their duties.

“Fine. You want me to earn your approval, I’ll do it.

Imani and I will put a proposal together.

” With a shaking hand, she lifts her water glass off the table, a distraction, so she doesn’t have to look at me.

“What was the second thing?” she asks meekly.

Imani purses her lips. “I don’t think it’s wise if we—”

“The wedding,” I say, cutting her off.

Charlotte freezes mid-movement. “I’m sorry?”

“I think I better leave you two to discuss this alone .”

Imani retrieves her purse, casting me a scathing look, but Charlotte quickly stays her with little more than a hand.

“Will you wait for me downstairs please?” she mutters. “I’d like to speak with you alone.”

Imani nods before leaving.

The moment she’s gone, Charlotte turns her attention to me, and the glare she levels at me is so reflective of my own, it cuts whatever words I might have deigned to say short.

“What do you mean ‘the wedding’?”

I lift my whisky glass, swirling its amber contents. “Our impending nuptials, of course. It’ll be the event of this millennium, naturally. A good distraction for humanity.”

She blinks at me, gaping. “We’re ... not even engaged. Not for real.”

I frown, taking another sip. “Last time I checked, that’s my ring you’re wearing, is it not? My cock you’re begging for each evening?”

She flushes, placing her ring finger out of view beneath the table.

“You know better than anyone that sleeping together doesn’t mean we have to get married.

Not unless we’re suddenly taking your Father’s words to heart.

” Reluctantly she glances down at her hands, then back to me, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“He ... doesn’t actually care about that, does He? ”

My Father couldn’t care less about sex out of wedlock, but the bastardized lessons of His “blessed” human Bible still haunt her regularly.

I press my lips into a hard line, tracing the rim of my glass with my finger. I nod to where her ring hand rests in her lap. “I forged that diamond myself in the fires of Hell, you know.”

The admission seems to catch her off guard.

She sighs, fiddling with her crucifix necklace, one of the few personal items she retrieved after her father’s funeral. For a moment, she gazes out the window past me, eyes unfocused, the whole of the city beneath her feet. Finally she reaches across the table for my hand, her voice softening.

“Lucifer, it’s not that I ...” Her other hand toys absently with her necklace as she swallows. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you,” she whispers, hesitating in a way that would make me doubt the truth in her words if her lies didn’t have such a distinct taste.

If I couldn’t feel exactly what she’s feeling.

“I do want to marry you,” she admits, looking up from our joined hands as she meets my gaze in earnest. “Desperately. But you ... you haven’t even asked me. Not for real, I mean.”

An unamused smile pulls at my lips. “Ah, you want a proper proposal, I see.”

She nods vehemently.