My devil mistress

"It’s their wedding day, and he doesn’t love her, he hates her with all his heart. He married her for one reason: revenge. It was all a misunderstanding her uncle, not her father, had killed his family, but he believed her father was the one responsible, and now, with him dead, she’s the one who’ll pay. He married her to ruin her life, to make it a living hell....not knowing whats coming next."

Damien stormed to his room, leaving Ezal behind, making it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her,especially not in his space. He hated himself for doing this, but the torment he had endured gave him no choice. He collapsed onto the edge of the bed, yanking at his tie, the fury radiating from his face. Every inch of him seethed with anger, as if the very room itself was tainted by the presence of the woman he had married for revenge.

“Bullshit… was it really worth it?” he muttered under his breath, his mind racing with doubt. But no. He would make it worth it. Every single second. His eyes locked onto the wall in front of him, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. In a sudden burst of rage, he slammed the wine glass against the wall, shattering it into pieces, the sound echoing through the room like a cruel reminder of his torment. Damien stood motionless for a moment, staring at the shattered glass on the floor, his mind still swirling with anger and frustration. The weight of the day, the lies, the burning resentment, it all felt suffocating. With a sharp exhale, he stripped off his jacket and tie, tossing them carelessly aside, “He hated her already, though they hadn’t even exchanged their first words as husband and wife.”

next morning

The faint light of morning slanted through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. Damien’s eyes snapped open, the remnants of a restless night still clinging to him like a suffocating weight. He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the realization of where he was sink in. The wedding night. His mind briefly flashed to the events of the previous evening,the bitterness, the anger, the cold silence that had filled the room.

He pushed the thought aside. There was no room for emotions now.

With a groan, he swung his legs off the bed, the coldness of the floor biting at his bare feet as he stood. His body felt heavy, worn down by the chaos of his own mind.

The house was still too quiet as he made his way downstairs, the wooden floors creaking under his weight. The kitchen was at the end of the hall it was a joined kitchen facing the sofas ,

Damien entered the kitchen preparing morning coffee cleary blank he was standing infront of the counter, while the kettle was doing its work, he was lost when suddenly he felt some eyes on him he turned to look and it was ezal....looking with her pretty big green eyes no no emerald eyes no i was something else it was like black pupil painted with golden greenish oil paint, damien was too busy figuring out the color when suddenly his eyes fall on the smirk that evilish grin while those creepy yet pretty eyes staring at him... what the fuck you want? damien said while looked back at the kettle trying to avoid her gaze... good moring hun she said with most soothing voice giving him chills, he gritted his teeth "dont fucking call me that", okay hun.. She replied, clearly pissing him off.

“So, what are you doing, hun?”

“Don’t fucking call me that. And whatever I’m doing is none of your business.”

“Wow, hun, chill. You’re making coffee, not building a new country,” she said, still smirking. Tilting her head, she smiled at him sweetly and slid onto the kitchen counter seat like she owned the place.

“Shut up, and don’t get on my nerves,” Damien snapped, his voice low and sharp.

“Such a meanie…” clearly not taking him seriously.

“Listen, you little maniac,” Damien snapped, voice tight with irritation. “I am not your hun, pookiewookienookie, or whatever the hell you’re calling me—so fuck off.”

Ezal just stared at him with that evil smirk and those unnervingly round eyes, making Damien gulp despite himself.

“I’m not a maniac, hun,” she said sweetly. “I’m Ezal. Ezal Jasmine. I’m far too fabulous to be called a maniac, like—”

“WHATEVER! GET OUT!” he exploded, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile never faded. “Don’t you dare cut me off. When I speak, you listen, okay, hun?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” he shouted, stepping back. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, hun. Chill,” she said casually, swinging her legs up onto the counter like it was her throne. That same smirk tugged at her lips . Damien stood there, still processing everything, staring at her in disbelief. She noticed the look on his face, and with a smirk, she casually played with a lock of her loose curls.

“You like my shoes, hun?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock sweetness as she tilted her head, waiting for his reaction.

“Fuck off, I don’t even want to talk to you,” Damien spat, his voice sharp with anger as he turned back to the kettle.

Ezal, however, was still smirking, her eyes never leaving him.

Damien grabbed his coffee, frustrated, and moved to sit at the counter. He didn’t want to sit near her, but the chair was the only place available. Rolling his eyes, he took a sip from the cup.

“The coffee looks hot, hun. You should wait,” Ezal teased, her voice sweet but laced with amusement.

“You don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Damien snapped, but as soon as the hot liquid hit his tongue, he hissed, burning his mouth.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Ezal clicked her tongue, still smirking. “I told you.”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP! All this happened because of you fuck you,” Damien exploded, his voice a low growl. “And I’m not your hun! Don’t call me that! And stop looking at me with those fucking eyes!” He slammed the coffee cup down with a sharp clink, unable to contain the anger. “And your shoes are fucking ugly too!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk…” Ezal clicked her tongue, the smirk never leaving her face. “I warned you about the coffee, hun. You still drank it. Not my fault.” She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his outburst.

“And my shoes?” she continued, glancing down at them with a playful tilt of her head. “They’re pretty and you’re just jealous.

”“I’m not fucking jealous of your nasty shoes,” Damien snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut through the tension. “And you’re fucking getting on my nerves. You are the most irritating—”

Ezal raised an eyebrow, her smile never wavering, her gaze piercing. “Oh? I’m irritating? You don’t say,” she teased, her voice oozing with sarcasm. “Maybe you should calm down, hun. You’re about to pop a vein.”

Damien’s grip on the counter tightened, his knuckles white with the effort of not completely losing it. Every word she spoke was like an electric shock to his system, fueling the fire that was already burning inside him.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous now, as if he were barely keeping it together.

Ezal only smirked, unfazed by his anger. “Stop? Why would I stop when you’re so much fun to watch?”

ezal got up from the chair, that evil smirk plastered on her face as she moved toward him with slow, measured steps. Damien watched her, still frowning in irritation, his patience thinning with each passing second. “Of course,” he muttered, his voice dripping with frustration. “Every tiny thing is irritating. Mosquitoes. Rats. Flies...” He gave her a side-eye, his gaze darkening. “And you.” He scoffed, his anger rising. “Never mind.” Ezal stopped right in front of him, the smirk still playing at the corners of her lips are you talking about my height hun.

Damien’s lips curved into a smirk, the hint of satisfaction creeping onto his face. “So... you agree that you’re tiny?” he shot back, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Ezal froze for a moment, her expression faltering just slightly before the smirk returned full force. “Oh, I’m tiny? You must be blind, hun,” she quipped, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

She stepped even closer, looking up at him with that wicked grin. “You’re just jealous of my petite charm,” she added, her eyes never leaving his

Damien’s smirk vanished, his jaw tightening as the anger flared again. “And why the fuck would I be jealous of you being petite?” he spat, voice low and simmering with frustration. “I don’t want to be petite.” Damien’s eyes narrowed to slits, his voice a low growl now. “And don’t. Call. Me. Hun. Or I swear, I’ll pick you up and throw you in the ocean.”

Ezal blinked, then burst into a giggle,because of course she did. “Aw,” she cooed, completely unfazed. “You wanna take me on a vacation, babe? That’s so sweet.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, give me strength.”

Damien couldn’t take it anymore. With a groan that sounded half murderous and half exhausted, he pushed off the counter and stormed out of the kitchen, mug still in hand.

Ezal, of course, didn’t miss a beat.

She hopped off the counter stool, casually stretching like she had all the time in the world. “Sooo... where we goin’ next, hun?” she called out sweetly, already following behind him with soft footsteps and a smug little smile.

Damien didn’t even turn around. “We,” he muttered, “are not going anywhere. I am leaving. You are staying. Away. From me.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, walking two steps behind him like a shadow. “But aren’t we married now? Isn’t there like... a bond or something?” she teased, barely holding back a laugh.

He stopped in his tracks.

Ezal almost bumped into him. He turned, slowly, eyes burning.

“I will file for a divorce. Today if you keep irritating me.”

She gasped dramatically. “But baby, what about the honeymoon?”Damien’s eye twitched. “What honeymoon?” he snapped, voice sharp like a blade. “There is. No. Honeymoon.”

He pointed at the couch like it had just personally offended him. “Shut up. And go sit over there.”

Ezal blinked... then tilted her head, grinning like the devil in silk. “Aww, are you mad? That’s cute.” But she walked over anyway, plopping onto the couch with way too much flair, legs crossed, arms stretched out like she owned the whole damn house.

“I’ll sit here, honey,” she said, emphasizing the word just to watch him flinch. “But only because I’m nice.”

Damien took a deep breath like he was praying for inner peace.

It did not work.

ezal kicked her feet up on the coffee table like a queen claiming her throne. Then, with a smirk, she snatched the remote and turned on the TV volume all the way up.

A dramatic, over-the-top soap opera blared through the speakers.

“JUANITO, YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER!!”

GASPING, CRYING, SLAPPING SOUNDS

Damien flinched so hard he nearly spilled his coffee.

He stared at the screen in horror. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s called culture, hun,” Ezal said, beaming at him. “Wanna watch with me?”

He didn’t respond. He just walked over to the coffee table, grabbed his keys, and deadass headed for the door.

Ezal turned her head lazily, “Where you goin’, hun?”

“Away. Far away. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere where there are no soap operas, no coffee commentary, and definitely no gremlins calling me ‘hun.’”