His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and I knew I’d nailed everything. He was scared, and he was lying to get himself out of this.

“I was … not myself for most of the night. I haven’t enjoyed a female as … passionate as you for quite some time. It fogged my brain.” He snorted a chuckle through his nostrils. “Your monster fetish really got you going for me, didn’t it?”

I couldn’t think around the swell of conflicting emotions tightening my chest, swirling in my stomach. I was vaguely aware that tears dripped from my chin.

“Why are you being so unkind, SJ?” I whispered.

For a second, his face crumpled into what looked like agony, but it was gone before I could be sure.

“What am I, Jemma? Unkind, or a liar? You can’t have it both ways.”

“Oh yes I can!” I spat. “Because you’re feigning this unkindness! Why are you trying to hurt me?”

“Because that’s what I do! This is who I am!” He pushed off the wall and spun towards the window, staring out at the city. “I am torment, and I am misery, and I am pain! I don’t know what you expected from the Son of Satan. Have you conveniently forgotten all the awful things I’ve done to you? I admit I got a bit … caught up … in our little date-faking scheme⁠—”

“Fake dating,” I corrected in a watery mutter.

“Whatever you call it. I got carried away and said things that I now regret—in as much as a Prince of Hell can feel regret, that is.” He laughed, a cold, bitter sound that made my skin prickle. “The happy endings in your monster romance books are pure fantasy … and it seems that our attachment is not quite as necessary as I pretended last night. Just be thankful that I dredged up enough morality to not go through with reaping your soul.”

“So … you’re serious about this? You’re actually breaking up with me?” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s a bloody third-act breakup!” A hysterical giggle bubbled up my throat. “The Devil is third-act breaking up with me.”

His brows drew together, but he turned from the window to face me properly. “We were never really dating, Jemma.” His expression held so tightly it looked like it was about to crack into a bajillion pieces. “Does your little romance book thingy even count in that scenario?”

I scoffed, swiping angrily at the tears trickling down my face. “I don’t sleep with men I’m not dating, SJ! So you tell yourself whatever you want about us, but I know what we have is real … and it’s a trope, not a thingy!”

“Whatever you’ve convinced yourself was going on between us … unconvince yourself …” he muttered. I wanted to punch him. Instead, I rubbed the back of my hand under my streaming nose.