"Who are you?"
He tilted his head, studying me like a cat might study a mouse. "Someone who's been watching you for a while, Kassie."
"You know my name?"
"Oh, I know a lot about you." He stepped closer, rain beading on his coat without soaking in. "You spend your days writing words that make men look good, and your nights wondering why no one looks at you."
My mouth went dry. "Okay, that's… creepy."
"It's accurate."
"Still creepy."
That earned me a chuckle: low, rich, delighted. He was close enough now that I could smell him, something like smoke curling through sugar, reminiscent of incense.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Kassie." His tone softened. "I'm here to offer you a deal."
"Let me guess, I give you all my money and you let me keep my life?"
"I'm not a criminal," he grinned. "I prefer the term Prince."
"Prince of what? Theft? Stalking?"
"Close." His eyes glimmered. "Lust."
I stared. "You can't be serious."
He snapped his fingers.
And suddenly, something flickered before my eyes.
A floating window, translucent and glowing pink-violet like an afterimage from staring at a light too long.
[NEW CONTRACT AVAILABLE]
Title: The Succubus Strut
Reward: Beauty. Desirability. Power.
Cost: One (1) mortal soul.
The text shimmered in a stylized interface that looked exactly like something out of a fantasy game: ornate borders, animated sigils spinning slowly.
I stumbled back, heart hammering. "What the hell?!"
"You wanted people to see you," he said softly. "To want you. To never be invisible again. I can give you that."
-
Earlier That Day…
If invisibility were an Olympic sport, I'd still somehow come in second place. But the point remains that when it comes to men, me, and attention, there is absolutely zero correlation.
I sat in my cubicle at Kaleo Public Relations, the glow of my monitor bleaching my face with harsh white light. A cup of coffee sat under me, already icy cold. The cursor blinked at the top of my Word file, a draft titled "Warren Chen for Mayor + Phase 2 Messaging."
Yes, that Warren Chen. Local golden boy. Former high school hero. And future mayor of the city if the billboards had any say in it!
And what was my role in his climb to fame? Writing slogans mostly. All in the name of convincing people that Warren Chen could fix the city. And although I admired the man, I couldn't help but feel a bit uninspired as I typed away at my draft. Then immediately deleted it. Again.
Maybe it wasn't the slogan that was weak; maybe it was just me. My boss liked to call me quietly competent, which is corporate for forgettable.
With that begrudging thought in mind, I forced myself to rewrite another sentence. My cubicle walls were plastered with faded Post-its and half-dead plants (not including that one succulent refusing to give up). All memorials to the person I used to be before I stopped trying to stand out. What was it with corporations and draining people of their soul, anyways?
Just then, my computer buzzed to life with a ping. I opened up the notification and remembered that there was a reason to feel inspired today of all days. The team group chat was buzzing about the upcoming PR Gala, the one where Warren would make his big For the People speech. Not to toot my own horn, but I actually wrote part of that speech.
Trying not to twirl my feet like an excited kid, I leaned closer to the screen, thinking about just how different everything would be when Warren Chen finally noticed me. As if on cue, a low murmur rippled across the office. The air changed, brimming with chatter, and I peeked up over my cubicle wall.
There he was.
Warren Chen in the flesh! Tailored navy suit, easy grin, the kind of confidence you could bottle and sell and make a fortune with. He walked past the open office floor surrounded by aides, every step proving that he was the man in charge.
I pretended to fix my monitor's brightness, pushing my chair out a bit and angling myself toward him. I wanted so badly for him to just look my way. To notice me, so I would have an excuse to finally talk to him.
He didn't even glance my way as he walked past. But my heart did that embarrassing skip thing anyway.
"Seriously?" my cubicle neighbor and self-appointed voice of reason, Tina, spoke up. "Your staring is giving me second-hand embarrassment."
I sank back into my chair. "I wasn't staring… I was admiring the candidate."
Tina snorted. "You've been admiring the candidate since the day you joined this firm. It's not happening, Kass."
She wasn't wrong. But I had my reasons for keeping an eye on Warren.
"Did I ever tell you," I said, "that he once saved me?"
"Oh God, not this story again."
"No, listen, he did!" I leaned in conspiratorially. "Back in high school, some guys were hassling me after class. He just… stepped in. Told them to back off. Like a knight in shining armor. But you know, in real life."
"You know knights in shining armor are real life."
"That's not the point. We should be focusing on the fact that he swooped in and saved me form bullies."
Tina gave me a flat look. "And then what? He asked for your number? Took you to Prom?"
I sighed. She didn't get it. But it didn't matter. I turned back to my screen. Things would be different after the gala. He would notice me there, he would remember who I was, and we'd finally be able to have that conversation we were supposed to have eight years ago. The one where I thanked him for stepping in, the one that ended with me treating him to a cup of coffee and getting on a first-name basis.
Tina was still staring at me, her brows seeming to furrow. I knew that look. She wanted to say it out loud. The same phrase they used to say out loud back in high school. The phrase they stopped saying in college but never stopped thinking.
She wanted to tell me I was ugly. Wanted to remind me I had no chance with someone like Warren.
But she didn't say it out loud; instead, she turned back to her screen and let the silence settle between us.
By the time I left the office, the city had traded daylight for pink clouds and neon reflections. The streets glistened from a recent drizzle, and the air smelled like hot pavement cooling off. I clutched my umbrella and wove through the crowd, my mind replaying imaginary conversations with Warren like bad rehearsal lines.
Hi, Warren. I work on your campaign. No, not the social media intern. The copywriter. Yeah, the slogans. I wanted to say thank you. How about a coffee sometime?
I smirked at the thought, earning a weird look from a passing stranger.
~
The event was hosted in one of those refurbished office lofts downtown: floor-to-ceiling windows, polished concrete, and an open bar. Everywhere I looked, there were sleek people in sleeker clothes, consultants, donors, influencers who probably didn't even live in our city but loved the exposure. The kind of crowd that could say "networking" with a straight face. The lights were dim, but not moody, the deliberate kind of dim that made everyone's skin look airbrushed. Neon signage lined the walls with Warren's campaign slogans, "Change Starts with Chen."
And because this was a marketing event, there were branded cocktail napkins and campaign-themed cocktails. I stood at the edge of it all, holding an aptly named Civic Duty Mule.
I had saved up to get my makeup done at a salon tonight: smoky eyes, a little shimmer, the red dress I'd bought two years ago and never worn. It was clingy in all the wrong places, but I didn't care. I felt… okay.
"Don't look now," Tina said, sidling up beside me with a glass of the Chen Spritz, "but you're scowling at the donors again."
"I'm not scowling," I said, forcing my face into what I hoped was a polite neutral expression. "I'm… concentrating."
"Uh-huh." She gave me a sideways glance over her rimless glasses. "You always 'concentrate' when you're about to implode. Did you eat?"
"I skipped lunch, unless we're counting coffee."
"That's not healthy, babe. You're gonna end up fainting in front of the guy, and that's not the kind of attention you want."
I smirked. "I don't know, any attention is good attention."
"Don't even joke. Seriously, get something from the catering table."
I considered it, but it was at that moment that Warren entered the room.
He was in a tailored charcoal suit with a faint navy sheen, no tie, crisp white shirt open at the collar. His campaign pin, a golden "C" logo I'd spent two days designing copy for, was nailed onto his lapel. He shook hands as he went, donors, local business owners, the city councilwoman with the perfect bob, smiling that impossible smile. His hair had that controlled messiness that definitely took effort, and when he laughed, people leaned in.
"He looks good," Tina said. "And surrounded. Don't even think about it, Kass."
The polite expression I was practicing faded. "Why not?"
"Because, babe," she said softly, eyes flicking toward the knot of people around him, "he's in politician mode. That's the version of him that doesn't see anyone who can't get him votes or headlines. You'll just end up feeling-
"Invisible?" I said, before she could finish.
Tina's expression softened, guilty. "I was gonna say awkward. But, yeah. Maybe that too."
"Too late. That ship sank long ago."
"Just wait until later," she said. "When things calm down. When he's not surrounded by donors and execs."
But she didn't understand; this was my chance. If I waited, the moment would vanish, like it always did.
Across the room, Warren turned slightly, his profile catching the light. He was like a dream come true, with his strong features, sleek laugh lines, dark hair, and deep brown eyes.
And for a heartbeat, it was like being sixteen again. I remembered it all so perfectly that day in high school. I could still feel the weight of my backpack cutting into my shoulder, my arms full of books.
And then the laughter of those terrible high school boys.
It wasn't even clever, just cruel in the lazy way teenagers specialize in.
"Greasy hair."
"Flat chest."
"You look like you live in a library."
The kind of insults that stuck because they were mostly true. I remember staring at the scuffed floor tiles and thinking that if I didn't move, maybe I could disappear. I remember gripping the strap of my bag so tightly, it was imprinting into the skin of my palm.
"Hey. Knock it off."
Then there he was: Warren Chen, junior class president, debate team star, local hero in a clean white button-up rolled to his forearms. He didn't even glare at them. Just… looked. And the bullies melted away.
I remember standing there, heart hammering, wanting to say thank you, or hi, or literally anything.
He gave me a quick glance and a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then he was gone. It wasn't even a moment for him. Just an act of reflexive decency. But for me? It was the first time anyone had stepped between me and cruelty. The first time I'd been seen.
The memory faded, and the noise of the party came rushing back in. Laughter. Clinking glasses. The scent of perfume and catered food.
And there he was again, ten years older, more polished, still untouchable. And here I was, a woman in a red dress who spent too long trying to matter.
I walked past Tina, ignoring whatever was coming out of her mouth as I seized the moment. It really felt like now or never. This was as good as I would ever look. This was as close as I would ever get to someone of his level.
So, I moved past the crowd, cupping my drink tight like my life depended on it. I made my way to the edge of his circle, my shoulder brushing past the crowd of top donors surrounding him.
"Hi," I said, projecting my voice over those around us. "Warren, I just wanted to say I work on your campaign team. The copy side."
He blinked. "Oh! Sure. Good to meet you."
The other donors stopped their chatting, giving me this moment. Giving me my moment.
"It's Kassie," I said quickly. "We actually went to high school together. You probably don't remember, but you once-
"Right, right," he interrupted with a distracted nod, already glancing past me at someone else. "Great work on the campaign, Kelly."
Kelly? He didn't even get my name right.
I laughed awkwardly and tried to recover the conversation. "Actually, I was just saying to my boss that your platform's community focus really resonates. I think it could-
But he'd already turned away. Someone more important, richer, prettier, had stepped up to shake his hand.
My words died mid-sentence.
I stood there another heartbeat, pretending to sip my drink before slipping out of the circle entirely. The sound of laughter followed me like static.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard Tina saying don't take it personally. But how else was I supposed to take it?
He didn't even see me.
~
The night air hit me like a slap.
I pushed through the side door of the venue and found myself in a narrow alley behind the building. The music thudded through the brick walls like a heartbeat.
Rain had started again, and I let it soak into my hair, my makeup, my carefully planned attempt at being someone worth noticing. My red dress was getting drenched, clinging to my body in an even more unflattering way if that was possible.
Smooth move, Kass. Real graceful.
Maybe I was stupid for believing any of it. That a man like Warren would remember a nobody like me. That beauty and confidence and being seen were things you could earn just by trying harder.
The alley stretched long and narrow. The brick was slick with rain, the dumpsters overflowing with glittering plastic cups and campaign flyers. Warren Chen for Mayor staring up at me from the puddles, smiling that practiced, perfect smile.
A flickering neon sign from the bar next door painted everything in alternating pink and blue. The air smelled like wet asphalt, cheap beer, and old smoke. Somewhere above, a fire escape groaned.
I sank down onto an overturned crate, heels clicking against the concrete, and let my head fall into my hands. My mascara was probably halfway down my face by now. At least the rain would even it out: nature's version of a makeup wipe.
I stayed like that for a while, breathing through the sting in my chest, until a prickle ran down my spine. The kind that makes you straighten up before you even understand why.
Someone was watching me.
I glanced toward the mouth of the alley. Nothing but the dim smear of headlights passing on the street. But I felt it: eyes, close, just out of sight.
Probably some drunk partygoer. Or one of Warren's interns on a smoke break. I wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
I straightened and wiped my eyes. "Is someone there?"
Then the shadows shifted. And he stepped out of them.
He wasn't like anyone I'd ever seen, like he'd been drawn by someone who understood human anatomy but decided to make small improvements. Perfect olive skin, dark hair that was wild and wolfish as it framed his face, and a purple coat that looked expensive enough to pay my rent for six months. His eyes… were wrong. Beautiful, but wrong. An intense and intoxicating violet.
"Rough night?" His voice was velvet smooth, but with something dangerous humming underneath. "You look like you could use a wish."
I sat up straighter, clutching my bag instinctively. "Are you, uh… part of the campaign?"
"Not exactly."
His smile deepened, showing a hint of sharpness, Not fangs exactly, but something that made me think of fangs.
"Who are you?"
He tilted his head, studying me like a cat might study a mouse. "Someone who's been watching you for a while, Kassie."
"You know my name?"
"Oh, I know a lot about you." He stepped closer, rain beading on his coat without soaking in. "You spend your days writing words that make men look good, and your nights wondering why no one looks at you."
My mouth went dry. "Okay, that's… creepy."
"It's accurate."
"Still creepy."
That earned me a chuckle: low, rich, delighted. He was close enough now that I could smell him, something like smoke curling through sugar, reminiscent of incense.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Kassie." His tone softened. "I'm here to offer you a deal."
"Let me guess, I give you all my money and you let me keep my life?"
"I'm not a criminal," he grinned. "I prefer the term Prince."
"Prince of what? Theft? Stalking?"
"Close." His eyes glimmered. "Lust."
I stared. "You can't be serious."
"Deadly serious." He gestured to himself with a mock bow. "Prince of Lust. One of the Seven. Patron of desire, temptation, pleasure… you get the idea."
I blinked at him. "You're kidding."
"Hardly." His smile widened. "But you play games, don't you? RPGs, strategy sims. You understand quests. Rewards. Power-ups."
He snapped his fingers. And suddenly, something flickered before my eyes.
A floating window, translucent and glowing pink-violet like an afterimage from staring at a light too long.
[NEW CONTRACT AVAILABLE]
Title: The Succubus Strut
Reward: Beauty. Desirability. Power.
Cost: One (1) mortal soul.
The text shimmered in a stylized interface that looked exactly like something out of a fantasy game: ornate borders, animated sigils spinning slowly.
I stumbled back, heart hammering. "What the hell?!"
"You wanted people to see you," he said softly. "To want you. To never be invisible again. I can give you that."
"This is insane," I whispered. But my gaze lingered on the window anyway. It hovered, waiting, like it knew I was tempted.
He stepped closer. "You've spent your life being overlooked, Kassie. I'm offering you a chance to rewrite that story. To become something more."
My chest hurt. Because as ridiculous as it sounded, as dangerous as it felt… a part of me wanted it.
"What if you're lying?" I asked.
"Oh, I'm absolutely lying about something," he said with a wink. "But not this."
I gave a shaky laugh. "You really think I'd sell my soul for a makeover?"
"Not just beauty," he murmured, brushing a raindrop from my cheek with his thumb. "Power. Presence. A life where no one ever looks past you again. You could make men kneel with a glance."
My heart jumped. His touch burned, not painfully, but like my skin was remembering something ancient.
The contract still floated between us, pulsing faintly with every heartbeat. Every now and then, the English words would glitch out, replaced by some strange runic carvings before swapping back. I stared at the two options at the bottom of the interface.
[ACCEPT] | [DECLINE]
I thought of Warren. Of his polite smile as he called me the wrong name. Of every moment I'd felt small, unremarkable, unseen.
And I thought of this man, this impossible creature, offering me everything I'd ever wanted.
My laugh came out strangled. "This is so stupid."
"Then be stupid," he said gently. "Be selfish. Be seen."
The rain intensified, hissing against the pavement.
I lifted my hand, hovering it over ACCEPT.
Then I pressed it.
"Welcome to the game, little succubus."