"So this is your room?" Zyel asked, looking around like he half expected something to jump out at him.
Amelia blinked, then smiled way too brightly. "No, darling. This is our room." She clasped her hands together, practically vibrating. "I had the maids set everything up just for you. Well, for us, but mostly you. There's a top-tier PC stuffed with the most expensive components I could find, paired with a gorgeous 8K curved monitor. Every premium and pro app you could ever want is already installed and paid for. You don't have to worry about anything."
She gestured around like a proud artist showing off her masterpiece.
"Your wardrobe is filled with clothes in your size. Or your old size. Since you know, demon upgrade and all, things might have shifted a bit."
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "And I had the whole room painted in your favourite palette. Red, black, and gold. It suits you. It always has."
Zyel stared at her, processing, then squinted slightly.
"How do you even know all this?" he asked slowly.
"I mean, yeah, I know you were stalking me for five years like some dedicated shadow entity, but my favourite colour? My clothing size? That's… weirdly specific. I don't even know my exact measurements. I just buy whatever fits."
Amelia's smile didn't falter.
If anything, it deepened, like she was about to share a fond childhood memory instead of something deeply questionable.
"Oh, that was easy," she said casually.
"Sometimes watching you from afar wasn't enough, so I'd sneak into your room while you were asleep."
She said it like she was talking about borrowing sugar from a neighbour. "I'd go through your things, check labels, and take notes. Then I'd watch you sleep for a bit. Take a few pictures too, here and there."
She waved a hand lightly. "That's how I figured everything out."
She paused, then added, almost excitedly, "You have such a wide range of interests, darling. Gaming at cafés, collecting rocks and other odd little things, water painting, anime, novels, sci-fi, horror, those suspense movies where you keep guessing who the killer is. You're fascinating."
She sounded so normal.
So proud. Like, none of what she said was even remotely unhinged.
Zyel could feel it, her happiness, thick and warm, spilling into him through their soul connection like it had no intention of stopping.
It wrapped around him, seeped into him, settled in places he didn't even know existed.
And somehow, disturbingly, nothing she said bothered him.
Not the stalking.
Not the breaking into his home.
Not the casual mention of things that definitely crossed several moral and legal lines.
Not even the darker things she had admitted before, the kind that should have set off every alarm in his head.
Nothing changed.
If anything, it made things worse.
Or better.
He wasn't sure anymore.
Because instead of recoiling, he felt himself leaning in.
Amelia Astaroth, his wife, his beautifully deranged wife, only became more… appealing.
More addictive.
Like every confession pulled him deeper instead of pushing him away.
He could feel it happening in real time.
That pull. That shift.
Her obsession, her possessiveness, that sharp, glittering madness in her eyes, it was bleeding into him, staining his thoughts, reshaping something fundamental inside him.
Maybe it was the soul connection.
Maybe it was always there, waiting.
He didn't know what he was becoming.
He didn't know how far this would go.
But the thought of finding out made something inside him spark with anticipation.
"Oh, one more thing, I also hired a professional hacker to hack online IDs just to take a quick glance at your search history, social media, and stuff," Amelia added, as if she had forgotten to mention this among all the crazy stuff she revealed she did.
"Y-You WHAT… you saw my browser history?" Zyel's face dropped like his soul had just unplugged itself.
"I did." Amelia's expression suddenly became dark as she looked at her husband with a dissatisfied face. "I saw all those porn websites you visited every night and your specific interest in the Milf category...."
"Hey, hey, relax with the death stare," Zyel shot back, waving his hands like he was negotiating for his life.
"I'm a teenager. A walking bundle of bad decisions, hormones, and terrible timing. Of course, I looked at porn. Why do you think I juggle a hundred hobbies? It's either that or I spiral into thinking about sex all day, all week, all year."
He shrugged, fully committed to blaming existence itself. "Also, for the record, there is nothing wrong with the Milf category."
He rubbed the back of his head, grinning in that nervous, please-don't-kill-me way. "Anyway, not like I'll need that anymore. I've got a beautiful, gorgeous, slightly terrifying, extremely possessive wife now."
"Yeah, you better not," Amelia replied softly.
Too softly.
The kind of soft that felt like a threat wrapped in silk.
Her eyes, though, were absolutely not soft. "Because if you do, I will personally burn down the entire porn industry. Cleanse the world of horniness."
Her voice was gentle. Her eyes absolutely were not.
Yeah.
She meant it.
Every word.
Zyel felt it in his bones.
If he even opened a shady tab or turned on the VPN again, the internet itself might catch fire.
"I'm a changed man, woman. Don't question my evolution," Zyel huffed, crossing his arms like he had just achieved enlightenment.
"I know you've changed…" Amelia muttered, then suddenly snapped, "BUT WHY THAT CATEGORY? WHY? I NEED TO UNDERSTAND. THIS IS IMPORTANT."
"It's not even that deep," he sighed, already regretting existing.
"But you're clearly not letting this go, so fine. Milfs are… well… older women. And, uh… they tend to have bigger breasts. I like both. There. Truth revealed. World saved."
No embarrassment.
Just a quiet acceptance that this confession, without a doubt, would come back to haunt him in the future.
Amelia stared at him.
Then slowly, very seriously, she looked down at her own chest, tugging her shirt slightly as if conducting a scientific inspection.
"…Mine are big too. And I'm five years older than you…" she murmured, processing like a machine recalibrating.
"There you go. You literally check all my boxes," Zyel said immediately, pointing at her like he had just solved a puzzle.
"I guess… yeah…" she mumbled, then perked up, flipping back to her usual brightness like a switch had been hit. "Obviously, I'm better than my annoying sister Aria."
"Anyway, let's go freshen up… and yeah, you're coming with me outside. I need to see this whole 'underworld slash my new home' situation with my own eyes," Zyel said, dragging himself off the bed like he had already decided and reality just had to catch up.
Amelia tilted her head, smiling in a way that felt a little too still, a little too perfect.
"But darling… why would you ever need to leave?" she said softly, like she was explaining something obvious to a child. "Everything you could ever want, I can bring it to you. Food, clothes, entertainment… me. All of it. Delivered. Right here. Always."
Her fingers curled slightly into the sheets, knuckles paling.
"You can stay in this room forever. With me. Just me. Isn't that… better?"
She laughed under her breath, quiet, breathy, like the idea itself was intoxicating. Like the thought of him stepping outside physically hurt her.
Zyel blinked at her, then sighed, already tired.
"Amelia, dear… I know you're possessive. I know that look. The 'if I blink you'll vanish into thin air' paranoia. But listen carefully," he said, folding his arms, eyes narrowing like he was setting a boundary with something unpredictable.
"You cannot just… seal me in here like some decorative husband figurine. That's not how marriage works. At least, not the normal kind. And I'm trying very hard to keep this in the 'somewhat normal' category."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping, firm.
"If you try to lock me up, I'm going to be very, very dissatisfied."
A pause.
Then, sharper, deliberate.
"You don't want your beloved husband to hate you now, do you?"
The words hit like a blade.
Amelia froze.
Her smile cracked. Not slowly. Instantly.
Her eyes widened, pupils trembling, breath hitching like something inside her chest had just been yanked loose.
For a second, she looked like she might shatter right there, like glass under pressure.
"N-No…" she whispered, voice barely there, shaking her head in tiny, frantic motions. "No, no, no, no… You can't… You can't hate me… you're not allowed to hate me…"
Her hands twitched, like she didn't know whether to grab him or beg or collapse.
Zyel grabbed her shoulders, steadying her, grounding her before she spiraled any further.
"Then you have to let me have free will," he said, slower now, more controlled. "Let me do what I want. I'm not running away. I'm not disappearing on you."
He squeezed lightly, forcing her to focus on him.
"You already married me. I'm yours, remember?"
A small pause.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Amelia stared at him like he had just handed her oxygen after drowning.
Then she laughed. A soft, shaky, completely unhinged laugh.
"Mine…" she whispered, clutching onto his sleeves now, too tight, like if she loosened her grip even a little, he might dissolve into nothing. "You said it again… you're mine…"
Her eyes gleamed, relief and obsession tangling into something dangerous.
"O-Okay… you can go outside," she murmured quickly, almost tripping over the words. "I'll allow it. I'll allow anything, as long as you don't hate me… as long as you stay mine…"
Her smile came back.
Wider this time.
A little wrong looking smile.
"But I'm coming with you," she added immediately, grip tightening just a bit more. "Obviously. I have to. I need to see everything that sees you. I need to make sure nothing looks at you the wrong way."
A pause.
"And if something does…" she giggled softly, eyes flickering with something sharp and ugly beneath the sweetness.
"I'll fix it."
Zyel spent the next few minutes getting himself together, brushing, showering, and stuff.
Now, it would be criminal not to mention that Amelia had very openly, very shamelessly tried to sneak into the shower with him.
Not even subtle about it.
But Zyel stopped her, muttering something about taking things slow, like a sane person clinging to sanity by a thread.
Amelia did not take that well.
She puffed her cheeks.
Not the cute kind.
The kind that looked like she was one wrong word away from committing several felonies, clearly offended by the concept of "patience," but still agreed, staying planted on the bed like a sulking cat waiting for its owner to return, her eyes locked on the bathroom door the entire time like a predator waiting for prey to reappear.
When Zyel finally stepped out, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, she sat up just a little straighter, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey from hiding.
He didn't linger, ignoring the fact that he was being watched like the last piece of food in a famine, and walked straight into the dressing room.
The dressing room itself was massive, borderline ridiculous, and right there against the wall stood a life-sized mirror that practically demanded attention.
Zyel stopped in front of it.
And then he stared.
And kept staring.
"…holy fuck… I look amazing…"
That wasn't even ego talking. That was genuine shock. Existential-level shock.
His eyes?
Deep sapphire blue, but not normal blue.
There was this faint pink glow in them, subtle but definitely there, like something powerful was lurking just beneath the surface, waiting, watching, judging.
His hair had grown out, uncut and wild, falling to his shoulders in thick, messy strands.
Dark as night, but streaked with crimson that caught the light just right, making it look like his hair itself was quietly burning.
His skin was pale.
Not sickly pale, but that flawless, untouched kind of pale that made it look like imperfections simply did not exist in his reality.
And his body…
Yeah, that one hit different.
Gone was the thin, borderline malnourished look.
In its place was something lean, firm, and dangerously well-built.
Muscles defined but not excessive.
Abs visible like they had something to prove.
His face tied it all together.
Sharp jawline, clean cheekbones, balanced features like someone had carefully sculpted him with obsessive precision.
His eyes carried emotion and intelligence so clearly it almost felt unfair.
But it wasn't just genetics doing all this heavy lifting.
No, his [Divine Blessing Of Beauty] was actively working overtime, wrapping him in this invisible, almost suffocating aura of perfection.
Anyone who looked at him wouldn't just think he was attractive.
They'd feel it, like being pulled in by something they couldn't explain or resist.
Man, woman, didn't matter.
Orientation, preferences, all irrelevant.
Zyel was the kind of beauty people would argue about, write poems about, probably ruin their lives over.
And the worst part?
It wasn't even finished.
The [Divine Blessing Of Beauty] was still assimilating.
Still growing.
Which meant this… this wasn't even his final form.
"Damn… no wonder Amelia is so obsessed with me…"
He paused.
Was that narcissistic?
…yeah, probably.
Did he care?
Not really.
Because let's be honest, he wasn't wrong.
Anyone with eyes and a functioning brain would have a hard time not getting a little obsessed.