Carlos arrived home earlier than usual, the heavy sound of the front door closing echoing through the grand halls. As always, the maids and butlers hurried to greet him, bowing respectfully as he strode in. His sharp gaze swept over them briefly before he nodded, his presence as imposing as ever.
Upstairs, Evelyn stood by the window of her room, watching from a distance. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him. She noticed the man walking beside Carlos—the same man who met her that night when she signed the contract that changed her life forever. He exchanged a few words with Carlos before disappearing into one of the adjoining rooms.
Evelyn felt a pang of longing. Memories of her father filled her mind. She missed him desperately, wondering if he had woken up by now.
Night fell, and after pacing her room for hours, she finally mustered the courage to go to the master's bedroom. Her steps were hesitant, the polished floors amplifying the sound of her approach.
As she entered, her breath hitched. Carlos was there, standing near the tall windows, half-hidden in the shadows. He was as still as a statue, holding a glass filled with ice and dark wine. The dim light from the moon framed his silhouette, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and the unsettling calm in his posture.
Evelyn lingered in the doorway, unsure if she should speak or retreat. The air was heavy with tension, and the faint clink of the ice in his glass was the only sound breaking the silence.
Carlos stood like a shadow brought to life, his presence unnerving as the moonlight reflected faintly off the ice in his glass. An already cold demon, drinking ice—it was ironic, almost cruel. Evelyn gulped, her throat dry, as she forced her legs to move toward the bed.
Before she could sit, he turned abruptly, his piercing gaze locking onto her. She froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat. His eyes flickered down to her outfit, a hint of disapproval darkening his expression. His brows furrowed before his gaze returned to her face, sharp and unyielding. Their eyes met, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
Quickly, she looked away, heat rising to her cheeks.
"Why aren't you in your pyjamas?" His deep voice echoed through the expansive room, reverberating like a command that left no room for hesitation.
Evelyn clenched the hem of her dress tightly, her mind racing. What was she supposed to say? Admit that she despised the color he loved so much? The black nightwear he wanted her to wear always felt suffocating as if it was pulling her into his shadowy world.
"Do you not hear me?" he asked again, his tone sharper now.
The sudden edge in his voice made her jump. She stammered, her words tangling together, "I—I—I, actually, I… I don't like black things."
As soon as the words escaped her, she bit down on her lip, regretting it instantly.
Evelyn bit down on her lip, her heart pounding. Lying to him would undoubtedly make things worse, but now that she had told the truth, it felt as if she had just dug her own grave. Carlos said nothing, his expression unreadable as he continued to sip his cold wine, the ice clinking softly in the silence.
The minutes stretched painfully long before he finally set his glass down and picked up his phone. It didn't even ring before the person on the other end answered.
"What color do you prefer, then?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with an edge that made her stomach churn.
Evelyn blinked twice, her mind spinning. Wait, what? Was he seriously asking about her preference? Why? Was he going to change the black pajamas just because she disliked them?
A flurry of thoughts overwhelmed her, but she quickly snapped out of it when she felt his cold gaze settle on her again. Her mouth moved before her mind could catch up. "Pink. Pink. Pink," she blurted out, her voice shaky.
Carlos leaned back into his chair, crossing his legs with an unnerving calmness. The phone remained pressed to his ear. "Get the pink pajamas ready," he instructed curtly, then ended the call without waiting for a reply.
Immediately, there was a knock at the door, and Evelyn turned to look at him in disbelief.
"Go change into your comfortable pajamas," he said, his tone carrying no room for argument.
She blinked, stunned, before nodding and leaving the room. She wanted to say thank you, to show some form of gratitude, but the words caught in her throat and stepped into the hallway.
Evelyn entered her room and was greeted by a beautifully tailored pink pajama set laid neatly on the bed. Her lips curled into a small, uncontainable smile as she picked it up. She couldn't believe it—he had arranged for something else, just for her. The fabric was soft to the touch, and as she slipped into the pajamas, she found herself smiling again, feeling an unexpected lightness in her chest.
After a moment of hesitation, she made her way back to the master's bedroom. When she stepped inside, her breath caught at the sight before her. The once dark and imposing bed was now draped in pink—pink bedsheets, and pink duvets, all perfectly matched and beautifully arranged.
She froze in place, her thoughts racing. Why? Why would he do this? She glanced toward Carlos, who sat in his black, throne-like chair, his legs crossed, a glass still in hand. His posture exuded power, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. He looked every bit like the king demon.
And yet… this.
Her mind scrambled for an explanation as she stared at the contradiction in front of her. What should she even call him now? A cold warm demon? No, that didn't make sense. A two-faced demon? Yes, that seemed more fitting—one for coldness, and the other for the warmth she couldn't understand, one that clashed entirely with his dark aura.
But why had he gone so far as to strip his favorite color from the room just to accommodate her? What was this? A test? A trick? Or… something else entirely?
Carlos's deep voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "Do you plan to stand there all night, or are you going to sleep?"
His tone was as flat as ever, but she caught a faint flicker of something in his expression. Was it amusement? No, it couldn't be. Shaking her head, she stepped further into the room and, for the first time, felt a faint sense of comfort in his presence—even if she couldn't understand it.