The Devil's Favorite
Chapter One: The Debt
The storm outside had been raging for hours. Rain hammered the café windows like it was trying to break through, but inside, everything was quiet. Too quiet.
I wiped down the counter again, pretending not to notice the clock ticking past midnight. No customers, no noise—just me, the smell of stale coffee, and the ache in my legs from standing all day.
Then the door opened.
A man stepped in, and the air shifted instantly. He wasn't like the soaked students or tired workers who sometimes drifted in at this hour. No, this man carried danger with him, like a shadow clinging to his skin.
Tall. Sharp suit. Dark eyes that locked on me the second he entered.
I froze, cloth still in my hand, heart thudding so hard I was afraid he could hear it.
"Good evening," I said, forcing my voice not to shake. "What can I get you?"
He didn't answer at first. He just stared at me, gaze heavy, almost curious. Then finally—"Black coffee." His voice was deep, smooth, the kind of sound that makes your body react before your mind can stop it.
I turned quickly, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact, and started the machine. My hands shouldn't have been trembling, but they were.
When I placed the cup on the counter, I cleared my throat. "Five hundred."
He didn't reach for his wallet. Instead, he leaned forward, resting one large hand on the counter. It was such a simple movement, but it felt like a threat.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"…Nancy."
He repeated it slowly, like testing how it tasted on his tongue. "Nancy. Pretty."
I swallowed, forcing out a stiff smile. "Enjoy your coffee."
But he didn't touch it. He just kept watching me, as if I was the only thing in the room. The silence stretched, and every second under his gaze made my skin burn hotter.
Then, just as suddenly, he stood and left.
Relief washed over me—until I saw what he left behind.
On the counter, beneath the untouched coffee, lay a black card. Heavy, expensive, embossed with a name I recognized immediately.
Aiden Cross.
The man people whispered about. The one who controlled debts, lives, entire families.
And on the back, in neat, cruel handwriting, it said:
Your brother's debt belongs to me now.