My Wives are Beautiful Demons

"This place is too quiet, don't you think?" Vergil commented, his voice echoing softly through the opulent corridors of Agares Manor. He walked alongside Ada, his hands in his pockets, his gaze lost between luxurious tapestries and eternally lit chandeliers—but with no one to admire them.

Ada let out a slight laugh through her nose, but did not respond immediately. She knew what he really meant.

The mansion, though monumental, seemed as empty as an ancient tomb. Not for lack of wealth, but of presence. Everyone had left for their own purposes, scattered across the realms like pieces on a mystical board.

Iridia and Zex were in the human world, on a mission alongside Kaguya — as far from the shadows of the Underworld as one could be.

Katharina had disappeared on some mysterious task in the mortal plane, as usual, without much explanation. She was like a whisper in motion, difficult to track, impossible to contain.

Sapphire, meanwhile, traveled with the Orb of the Platinum Dragon Empress. Her destination: Sepphiroth, who was meeting with none other than the Scarlet Dragon Empress — a meeting of forces so ancient that time itself hesitated to intervene.

Novah, Viola, Viviane, and all the other high-ranking maids were away, mobilized in a massive operation: preparing the rituals, artifacts, and alliances for the impending Walpurgis. It was more than an event—it was a harbinger.

And what about the rest?

Morgana had left for the Kingdom of Witches, taking Alice with her. Seris was with them, always on the lookout, always calculating. Roxanne remained at Stella's side for reasons that escaped even infernal logic — which in itself was suspicious.

Raphaeline remained locked in her own ritualistic isolation, in the Chambers of Jade and Ashes. There, time did not flow as it did in the rest of the Underworld. She trained alone, without masters, without witnesses. Only sweat, silence, and the contained fury of someone who knew the storm was coming.

"And then there was you," Vergil murmured, turning his eyes to Ada with a half-smile that carried more weariness than charm.

She shrugged, as if it were inevitable, inevitably good. Her hands were in her jacket pockets, her amber eyes dancing between the demonic stained glass windows of the main hall, where scenes of ancient battles were engraved in colored glass as if Hell itself admired its scars.

"Yeah... but admit it, I'm the most fun." She teased with that husky, provocative voice. And then she added, with a look that didn't ask, but decreed:

"And we need some time alone, right?"

Without warning, she pushed him firmly until he fell onto the wide purple velvet sofa—a temporary throne for weary kings. Ada lay down on top of him as if claiming territory, her eyes fixed on his, intense, demanding. Her legs intertwined with his familiarly, and his arms surrounded her as if she had been born in that space.

"We need our time," she repeated, this time with possessive softness. Her voice was low, drawn out, as if each syllable said 'mine.'

Vergil looked at her closely, his icy eyes cutting through the tension in the air.

"Ada..." he murmured, running one hand down her back until it rested on her firm waist. He squeezed her lightly, with a touch that was both tender and inquisitive.

"What kind of possession is this?" he asked, in a more serious tone, his eyes fixed on her. "You're holding me as if I were going to run away."

Ada didn't answer right away. Her gaze wavered for a moment, and then she lowered her eyes, as if it were difficult for her to say — especially for her.

"Because sometimes it seems like you don't care that much about me," she whispered, as if confessing a crime or a weakness.

The silence that followed was not empty—it was heavy, dense, vibrant.

Vergil reached up to her face, holding it gently, making her look him in the eyes again.

"You have no idea," he began, his voice firm and low. "How much I watch you."

Ada stared at him now, surprised by the sudden intensity.

"You act like no one notices, but I see it. I see how you clench your left fist when you're angry, even when you're smiling. I see how you analyze every new environment in less than ten seconds before deciding where to sit. The way you never turn your back completely on anyone, not even me."

He gave a small smile, sad and proud.

"I know you hate tea, but you drink it if someone you respect offers it to you. I know you're afraid of being alone, but you hate to admit that you need someone. I know you trust me more than anyone else, but you still test me. Constantly."

Ada remained motionless above him. Her breath was held. Her eyes were teary, but defiant.

Vergil then brought his face close to hers, their mouths almost touching.

"And it's not because I haven't seen you naked yet," he whispered with a hoarse smile, full of provocation and dangerous tenderness, "that I don't know everything about you... my wife."

The last word fell between them like an anchor. It wasn't just a title. It was a declaration. A seal. A silent promise.

My wife.

Ada stared at him, and for a moment time seemed to hesitate. The gleam in her eyes wasn't pure desire—it was denser than that. It was love, yes. But it was also unresolved pain, poorly healed scars, a longing that had perhaps never been named. It was vulnerability suffocated by years of pride, layers of hardness molded by the need to survive. And there he was, cutting through it all with a single sentence.

She leaned in and kissed him.

Without haste. Without hesitation.

A firm kiss, almost possessive.

Almost a bite. Almost a plea for forgiveness.

Almost a "never let me go again."

Vergil received her with his eyes closed and his senses open, as if that gesture were inevitable, written from the beginning. As if, for a moment, nothing else mattered—not the kingdoms on the brink of collapse, not the dragons awakening, not the forces aligning behind the scenes of the cosmos.

There, there was only Ada.

There was only him.

And time—