They say your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

  For her, it was pure dread.

  Not that the reason was hard to pinpoint.

  Her dress looked like it had been soaked in blood—because it probably had.

  The ceremonial wine in the chalice? Definitely blood.

  And sure, the solar eclipse hanging overhead gave the ceremony a nice apocalyptic flair.

  But if she had to pick one reason she was filled with absolute, bone-deep terror, it would be this:

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  Her groom was the Devil.

  No, not metaphorically.

  She really, really wished it was metaphorically.

  See, her parents were occultists—devoted worshippers of Lucifer himself. And like all good cultists drunk on delusion and ambition, they believed offering their only daughter (well, only child) to the Lord of the Underworld in holy matrimony would grant them unimaginable power.

  And for sixteen long years, they prepared her for it.

  Raised her.

  Brainwashed her.

  Made her believe it was the greatest honor any soul could receive.

  Only… there was a slight hiccup.

  She died.

  On the day of the wedding, no less.

  Naturally, her loving parents couldn’t have that. So, with all the dark magic at their disposal, they summoned another soul into her now-vacant body—someone else to take her place.

  To finish the ceremony.

  To be the blushing bride.

  That poor girl woke up mid-ritual, covered in blood, staring at a man with horns and eyes like burning coal.

  Honestly, you’d be horrified too if your wedding started with a soul transplant and ended in a demonic vow exchange.

  But really, you’d think her parents would’ve known better—

  trying to deceive the very being who gave them their power?

  Talk about overestimating your own dark magic.

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