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For those who can’t help falling for the villain and love a sinfully wicked fairy tale, this one is for you.
Gentlemen of virtue are not nearly as nice As the wickedly sinful men of vice.
When the time came, Envy would play the game. He’d reclaim what was his, restore his court, and he’d never endanger his circle by becoming intrigued by a mortal again.
“It means the game has finally begun.”
Camilla’s art was deeply personal to her, drawn from her mother’s warnings, her father’s stories, and her own loneliness, which helped her see the world as it truly was. Her art was often her soul laid bare, a part of her she hesitated to share with just anyone.
Nothing in Waverly Green was ever as entertaining as watching someone’s fall from grace.
Camilla innately sensed that she was in the presence of a jaguar—a sleek apex predator one couldn’t help but be fascinated by even as it drew close enough to bite.
He wasn’t simply handsome, he was striking, his face a study of fine contradictions that made her fingers twitch with the urge to paint the hard, chiseled angles of his face, the soft curves of his lips, and those jewel-toned eyes that stood out against his bronze skin, forever capturing that devilish glint on canvas.
he was one of the seven ruling Princes of Hell.
“You just need to find yourself a virile man with questionable morals and bed him whenever the mood strikes you.”
he would spend only one night, ever, with a lover. Never more. His one-night rule had become legendary, along with the hunger of his lovers.
“Do you always lay claim to things that don’t belong to you, Vexley?” Camilla’s lips parted in shock. Did Synton sound… jealous?
jealous, or filled with envy? *smirk emoji*
It never ceased to amaze her that even the most level-headed man could become so simpleminded with the promise of sin.
Men were clapped on their backs, deemed rakes and rascals, if they were discovered. Yet the women were tossed aside as harlots, condemned for acting on what was natural to both parties.
“Death isn’t in my plan, pet.” A beat of silence passed. “Do not call me pet.” “Noted, kitten.”
If Camilla was sunshine, he was the darkest of nights. And if she wasn’t careful, his shadows would snuff out her light, if only for the fleeting chance to possess her warmth before destroying it.
Camilla often wondered if paint ran through her veins instead of blood. When she created, it was as if she made new realms, fantastical and beautiful and exactly where she wished she could escape to. With her art, somehow she was connected to the universe far beyond her small gallery. She could live a thousand and one lives, each more magical than the last.
“Touch her”—his voice was laced with malice, even as it faded to a mere whisper—“and I’ll annihilate you all.”
I will be your God, your Creator, your Destroyer, and every depraved dark thing in between.
Camilla felt as if she were falling, plummeting from the heavens to the earth, and he was the star she clung to, their desire lighting the whole damn sky.
“I have one request. I want you to say my true name when you come.”
Like a star shooting across the night sky, there was nothing left but the memory of how beautifully bright it had once shined.
Sometimes two people weren’t meant to be more than one moment. Wondrous and unforgettable though it might be, not all good things were meant to last.
