"Thank you," Debbie's voice was unexpectedly soft, lingering in Lucifer's mind as he reflected on the events of the day. He never expected to see her at his doorstep, holding out an invitation, especially not with a trace of vulnerability.
Lucifer invited her in, "Believe me if I known it was your son I would have hit him with a car myself" he said in sarcastic tone which made Debbie let out a little laugh
Earlier that afternoon, he had discovered that the boy he saved in the street was none other than her son. The realization struck like lightning, the memory of Amenadiel's intervention merging with the new revelation. She'd thanked him, deeply moved, and invited him over to her home for dinner. It was as if her usual hard exterior had momentarily cracked, and she'd let him see a glimpse of the woman beneath it.
That evening, Lucifer found himself in a small but neatly-kept house on the quiet outskirts of Los Angeles. Debbie's sternness seemed to melt as they talked, her laughter coming freely, especially when her son told wild stories about his school adventures.
"I know I come off strong," she admitted, swirling the remnants of her wine. "But being a single mom… it makes you harder. You can't show weakness. Not in front of men, or you get… well, you get overlooked." She glanced down, a hint of vulnerability in her gaze.
Lucifer nodded, understanding her in a way he hadn't before. "It's not weakness, Debbie," he replied. "You've been holding up more than most ever will. That's strength." She looked at him with a small, appreciative smile that held more gratitude than she could say.
The evening ended on a warm note, with her son giving him an enthusiastic goodbye. But Lucifer's sense of peace was short-lived.
---
The next morning, chaos engulfed the office. As Lucifer stepped out of the elevator, he was met with uneasy glances and whispered murmurs. He hadn't made it to his office before a familiar face—a company security guard—approached him, his expression grim.
"Mr. Morningstar… I need you to come with me," he said, glancing nervously toward the corridor. The unease in his voice made Lucifer's instincts bristle.
"Did something happen?" Lucifer asked, a foreboding sensation tightening in his chest.
The guard hesitated, then nodded. "It's… better if you see for yourself."
As they neared his office, a sharp, metallic scent filled the air. Lucifer's heart pounded as he pushed open the door. The sight before him made him freeze. An admin—he recognized her from the finance department—lay lifeless on the floor, her figure crumpled by his desk. Blood stained the floor, the dark red contrasting starkly with the polished white tiles. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the knife embedded in her side.
His pocket knife.
Lucifer's mind whirled, each detail freezing in time. He'd lost the knife a few days ago, assumed he'd left it at home, misplaced. But here it was, marked with his own fingerprints. A strange emptiness settled over him as he absorbed the sight, his heart a steady, heavy drum in his chest.
The room seemed to close in around him, his thoughts drowned by the weight of what this meant. Evidence… all evidence pointed to him.
His trance was broken by the sound of footsteps. Two LAPD officers strode into the office, their faces professional but firm.
"Lucifer Morningstar?" one of them asked, his voice as cold as the grave.
Lucifer raised his hands instinctively. "Gentlemen, I can assure you, I had no part in this."
"Then why's your pocket knife the murder weapon?" the officer retorted, his gaze hard. Lucifer felt a chill creep down his spine, but he kept his expression composed.
"I lost that knife days ago," Lucifer replied, his voice steady. "Anyone could have found it and used it."
The officer's gaze didn't waver. "Convenient, but you'll need more than that to prove you're innocent."
---
As the investigation unfolded, Debbie arrived in the office, her eyes widening as she took in the chaotic scene. She pushed past the officers to reach Lucifer, her face tense. "Lucifer… what happened here?"
Lucifer met her gaze, trying to steady himself. "They think… they think I did it. But Debbie, I swear, I didn't." There was a rawness to his voice, a vulnerability he hadn't shown her before.
Debbie's eyes softened, her mind flashing back to the previous night. She knew he wasn't perfect—far from it. But deep down, she trusted him. She nodded slowly, glancing back at the officers. "I'll help however I can."
An officer approached them, his voice firm. "We'll need a full statement from you, ma'am. And from you, Mr. Morningstar."
Lucifer nodded, his jaw set. He was confident he'd done nothing wrong, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone, somewhere, was pulling strings he couldn't see.
---
Hours passed, and the office fell into a tense silence as the LAPD meticulously gathered evidence. Lucifer watched, his expression darkening as they collected fingerprints, examined the knife, and scrutinized every detail. His mind raced, piecing together fragments, searching for any clue that could prove his innocence.
The officers came to him once more, their questions sharp, relentless.
"Can anyone verify your whereabouts yesterday evening?" one of them asked, his pen poised over his notebook.
Lucifer hesitated, glancing at Debbie. "I was at Debbie's place, actually. She invited me over for dinner with her son."
The officer's brow raised. "Can she confirm that?"
Debbie stepped forward. "Yes, I can confirm it," she said firmly. "He was with me the entire evening. We were… just talking."
The officer studied her for a moment, then nodded. "We'll keep that in mind. But the knife was still found in your office, Mr. Morningstar."
Another officer interjected, his voice measured but carrying an air of finality. "Every piece of evidence we've collected points to you, Mr. Morningstar. The weapon has only your prints, there are no signs of forced entry, and several employees stated that you were the last one to leave the office last night."
Lucifer's temper flared, but he suppressed it, meeting the officer's gaze. "If you believe I'd leave such obvious evidence of my supposed 'guilt' lying around," he said with a quiet, simmering anger, "then you're underestimating my intelligence."
The officer narrowed his eyes. "Are you admitting you could do it, then? If you wanted to?"
"Not what I'm saying," Lucifer shot back, keeping his voice calm. "I'm saying I didn't do it. And someone wants to make it look like I did."
Debbie placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her voice a low whisper. "Lucifer, there has to be something, some small detail, that could clear your name. Think carefully."
Lucifer closed his eyes, focusing, replaying the events of the past few days. He'd left the knife in his drawer, forgotten about it. But who had access to his office? Who would have the knowledge—and motive—to frame him?
A thought struck him. The admin—she had once helped him reorganize some files, had been the only person besides himself and Debbie with access to his office.
He turned to the officers, his expression fierce. "Check the security footage from last night. If anyone entered my office without my knowledge, it should be recorded."
The officers exchanged a glance, then nodded. "We'll pull up the footage and see if anything stands out."
Lucifer felt a faint flicker of hope. If the cameras had caught anything—any shadow, any clue—it could be the key to unraveling the setup.
---
Hours later, he and Debbie watched as the security team brought up the footage. Frame by frame, they scanned through the recordings, tension thick in the air. Finally, a flicker of movement appeared on the screen. A hooded figure, moving swiftly, slipped into his office late at night, carefully positioning the body and the knife.
"Freeze it there," Lucifer said, his voice tight.
The officer nodded, zooming in on the figure. The gloved hands, the care with which they handled the knife—everything pointed to a professional setup.
The officer met Lucifer's gaze, his expression grim but slightly softened. "You've got a strong case, Mr. Morningstar. We'll pursue this lead and find out who's behind this."
Lucifer exhaled, a weight lifting from his shoulders. But as he exchanged a glance with Debbie, he knew this was far from over. Whoever had framed him hadn't just made an attempt on his reputation—they'd made a declaration of war.
As he left the office, Debbie by his side, Lucifer felt a familiar darkness stirring within him. The question now was simple: who would be brazen enough to provoke the devil himself?