The crowd had gathered around the bridge, their voices echoing with desperation. A girl stood at the railing, her eyes vacant, her face streaked with tears. She wasn't listening to them—her expression was one of utter hopelessness. They shouted, "Hey, girl, stop! Don't do it! You'll hurt yourself." But her eyes were glazed over, as if she couldn't hear a single word. She was a mess—her hair a tangled mess in a loose ponytail, swollen eyes from crying for so long. She stood there, poised to jump, feeling as though nothing mattered anymore.
Her heart was hollow, as if the very idea of life had become unbearable. She just wanted to escape from everything—the pain, the memories, the torment. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, and then, without a second thought, she leapt.
The splash of water was deafening as she was swallowed whole by the river. The cold, dark water filled her lungs. It hurt. It suffocated her, but for the first time in so long, she felt at peace. It was the end—her end—and she welcomed it.
But she didn't die.
Pearl woke up with a start, gasping for air. Her body was cold, drenched, and her head throbbed. She was lying under a tree near the riverbank, disoriented and confused. Was she alive? How had she survived? She didn't know how long she had been unconscious, but all she could focus on was the question: Why? Why was she still here? Was there some hidden purpose she hadn't yet discovered?
Then a voice interrupted her thoughts—deep, husky, almost calming. "Are you okay?"
Startled, she turned, her heart racing. She couldn't see anyone at first, but then, emerging from the shadows, a figure stepped into view—a tall, imposing man. He was cloaked in darkness, and his face was partially hidden, but his strong, muscular frame was unmistakable. His presence was commanding, and Pearl couldn't help but stare.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw, tinged with both gratitude and sadness. A strange wave of emotion hit her all at once. She didn't want to be saved. But for the first time in her life, someone had cared.
"Are you sure you're not happy I saved you?" His voice was soft, yet there was an edge to it.
Pearl's resolve faltered. She couldn't hold the tears back any longer. They flowed freely, the dam inside her finally breaking. She tried to hide her sobs, but he heard them. Without warning, she found herself in his arms, her face buried in his chest as she cried. She wasn't sure why she sought comfort in this stranger, but for a moment, she felt safe. She didn't know how long she cried, but when she pulled away, the emptiness inside her still remained.
She stood to leave, but before she could take a step, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back into him. "You can't just leave after everything. Tell me what's wrong," he demanded, his voice low and firm.
The sudden dominance in his tone made her feel weak. No one had ever cared enough to ask before, let alone demand an answer. But she couldn't bring herself to confide in him—he was a stranger, after all, and there was a part of her that recoiled from his commanding presence. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.
"No one can ignore me," he stated, his voice unwavering.
Out of pure anger and frustration, Pearl grabbed his collar and yelled, "Who are you to ask me that?"
Before she could say anything else, the light from the streetlamp illuminated his face. In an instant, everything around her froze. His features were... ethereal. Perfect. It was as if the night itself had shaped him. His eyes—a captivating shade of hazel—locked with hers, and she was caught. Stunned.
He, too, was mesmerized by her. He took in every detail—her honey-brown eyes, still glossy with unshed tears, her pale but pink lips, her disheveled brown hair that seemed to draw him in, her delicate yet perfectly curved figure. There was something about her defiance that intrigued him. No one had ever dared to challenge him like this before. He was used to people cowering, but she stood her ground, her anger a raw fire he couldn't look away from.
The moment she yelled at him, he moved with blinding speed, pulling her close and capturing her lips with his. The kiss was fierce, overwhelming. Pearl resisted at first, pushing against his chest with all her strength, but his grip was ironclad. Her fight gradually faltered, and before she even realized it, she kissed him back, her anger giving way to something deeper.
When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, Pearl's mind was reeling. She stared at him, her heart racing as his eyes shifted from hazel to an impossible blue. She recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. "Who... who are you?" she demanded, her voice trembling.
He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "I am Ambrose. The Devil Prince."
Pearl froze, her body still trembling. It felt like the world around her had just shattered. "You're not from here, are you?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop herself. Fear, confusion, and curiosity filled her.
But before she could ask him anything else, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows like he had never been there. Pearl stood alone, her mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions.
Had it all been a dream? Was he real? And more importantly—who was he really?