After the press briefing disaster, I did what any rational person would do when trapped in a supernatural marriage with a demon: I locked myself in the guest bedroom and refused to come out.
Mature? No. Effective? Also no. But it made me feel slightly less powerless, which was something.
The guest bedroom was, predictably, nicer than any bedroom I'd ever slept in. King-sized bed with sheets that probably cost more than my monthly rent, furniture that looked antique and expensive.
A window with a view of the city skyline that would've been breathtaking if I wasn't too busy having an existential crisis to appreciate it.
I'd been in there for maybe three hours, stress-eating the fancy chocolates I'd found in the nightstand drawer (even demon penthouses had emotional support chocolate, apparently), when someone knocked.
"Go away," I called out.
The door opened anyway, because of course it did.
Azryth stood in the doorway, still in his suit minus the jacket, looking annoyingly composed for someone whose fake husband was having a breakdown.
"I said go away."
"I heard you." He stepped inside without invitation. "I'm choosing to ignore it."
"That seems to be your approach to consent in general."
His jaw tightened. Point to me.
"I came to inform you that dinner is ready," he said with forced patience. "The kitchen staff prepared.."
"You have kitchen staff?"
"Of course I have kitchen staff, did you think I cooked?"
The mental image of Azryth Valek, demon CEO, wearing an apron and making pasta was so absurd I almost laughed. Almost.
"I'm not hungry," I lied, but my stomach betrayed me with an audible growl.
Azryth raised an eyebrow. "Clearly."
"Fine. I'm hungry, but I'm eating in here."
"No, you're not." He crossed his arms. "We're going to sit down, have a civilized meal, and discuss the living arrangements going forward."
"Living arrangements." I sat up straighter on the bed. "I'm living here, in this room, away from you. That's the arrangement."
"That's 'one' arrangement, not necessarily the one we're using."
Ice formed in my stomach. "You said I could have space, you said.."
"I said you could have space within reason." He moved further into the room, and I had the urge to back up even though I was already against the headboard. "But there are... complications with separate sleeping arrangements that you should be aware of."
"What kind of complications?"
He was quiet for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully. That should've been my first warning.
"The binding creates a connection between our minds as well as our bodies," he said finally. "During sleep, when our conscious defenses are lowered, that connection strengthens."
"Strengthens how?"
"Shared dream-space." He said it like a matter of fact. "Our subconscious minds will seek each other out, particularly during nightmares or intense dreams."
I stared at him. "You're telling me we're going to share dreams."
"Potentially, especially in the first few weeks while the binding settles." He leaned against the dresser. "Physical proximity during sleep helps stabilize the connection, reduces the likelihood of... unpleasant bleed-through."
"Bleed-through?"
"Memories, emotions, things neither of us particularly wants to share." His expression was unreadable. "But if you insist on separate rooms, you'll experience it regardless. Just more chaotically."
"So my options are: share a bed with you, or have you accidentally invade my dreams."
"Essentially."
"That's not a choice, that's a threat."
"It's a consequence." He pushed off the dresser. "I don't enjoy this any more than you do, but I thought you deserved fair warning before you wake up screaming from someone else's nightmares."
Someone else's nightmares. His nightmares.
What kind of nightmares did a centuries-old demon have?
Did I want to know?
"I'm staying here," I said firmly. "I'll deal with the dreams."
Something flickered across his face. Relief? Disappointment? Gone too quickly to tell.
"Your choice." He headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. "Dinner is in the dining room when you're ready. Try not to sulk too long, the food gets cold."
He left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
I sat there in the expensive guest room, surrounded by luxury I didn't want, bound to a man I barely knew, facing the prospect of literal dream invasion.
"This is fine," I muttered to the empty room. "Everything is fine."
***
I made it until nine PM before hunger drove me out of the guest room.
The penthouse was quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that made every footstep sound too loud, every breath too noticeable.
I found the dining room by following my nose, someone had made something that smelled incredible. Garlic, herbs, something rich and savory that made my traitorous stomach growl again.
Azryth was sitting at the head of a dining table that could've seated twelve, reading something on a tablet, he looked up when I entered.
"I was beginning to think you'd starve yourself out of spite."
"I considered it." I sat down at the opposite end of the table, maximum distance while still technically eating together.
He noticed, but he didn't comment, just gestured to the covered dishes in the center of the table.
I served myself, trying to ignore how good everything looked. Pasta in some kind of cream sauce, roasted vegetables, and bread that was still warm. This was not microwave dinner territory, this was actual food, made by actual professionals.
I took a bite and nearly moaned. Okay, so being trapped in a demonic marriage had 'some' perks.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. Not comfortable silence, the kind of silence where you're hyperaware of every clink of silverware, every breath, every movement.
"The press conference went well," Azryth said finally. "Early polling shows positive public reception."
"Early polling." I set down my fork. "You're polling public opinion on our fake marriage?"
"It's standard PR practice, we need to ensure the narrative is being received as intended."
"The narrative being that I'm madly in love with my kidnapper."
"The narrative being that we're a stable couple in a committed relationship." He took a sip of wine. "Whether you consider it kidnapping or not is irrelevant to public perception."
"It's pretty relevant to my perception."
"Yes, you've made your feelings abundantly clear." He set down his glass. "However, your feelings don't change the facts. We're bound, we're married, we're going to be in each other's lives for the foreseeable future, we can either make that tolerable, or we can make it miserable."
"You made it miserable when you forced a demonic contract on me!"
"I made it survivable." His voice went cold. "You were the one who triggered the amulet, you shattered the bindings. I only offered you a choice: bind with me and live, or refuse and watch the city burn. You chose life. That's not force, that's consequence."
"You didn't exactly give me time to think it through!"
"Because there was no time!" He stood abruptly, and I flinched despite myself. "My essence was deteriorating, the wards were failing, another ten minutes and the entire building would've been a crater. I gave you the only option available."
"The only option that benefited you!"
"The only option that kept us both alive!"
We glared at each other across the absurdly long table, the temperature in the room had dropped. Ice was forming on my water glass.
Azryth noticed, took a visible breath, and the temperature normalized.
"This isn't productive," he said, sitting back down. "Fighting about what's already done accomplishes nothing."
"It makes me feel better."
"Does it?" He looked at me, and for just a second, something other than cold calculation showed in his eyes. "Or does it just make you feel like you have control over a situation where you have none?"
That hit closer than I wanted to admit.
I picked up my fork again, pushing pasta around my plate. "What are the nightmares about?"
He went very still. "Excuse me?"
"You said we might share nightmares, what are yours about?"
"That's not your concern."
"It is if I'm going to be experiencing them."
"Then you'll find out when it happens." He returned his attention to his tablet, clearly done with the conversation. "Finish your dinner, you look like you haven't eaten properly in days."
He wasn't wrong, the stress of the past days had killed my appetite, now that I was actually eating, I was discovering I was starving.
I finished the meal in heavy silence. I helped myself to seconds, then thirds, while Azryth worked on whatever important CEO business occupied his attention.
When I finally pushed back from the table, uncomfortably full, he glanced up.
"There are sleeping clothes in your room, the staff put them in the closet."
"Staff that I've never seen."
"They're very good at being unobtrusive." He stood, gathering his tablet. "Try to get some sleep, tomorrow we have meetings with the legal team to formalize certain aspects of the binding."
"More meetings. Great. My favorite."
"Welcome to corporate life." He headed for the door, pausing like he had before. "If the dreams become too intense, my room is across the hall, the offer for shared sleeping arrangements remains open."
"Not happening."
"As you wish." He left without another word.
I sat alone in the dining room, surrounded by the remnants of an excellent meal, in a penthouse that probably cost more per month than I'd make in a lifetime, bound to a demon who alternated between cold pragmatism and weird moments of almost-concern.
My life had become a very weird nightmare.
Speaking of which, I should probably sleep.
I made my way back to the guest room, found the pajamas in the closet (silk, because apparently even sleepwear was fancy here), and crawled into the extremely comfortable bed.
Sleep, I told myself. Just sleep. Normal, dreamless sleep.
The sigil on my wrist pulsed once, like a warning.
I ignored it and closed my eyes.