The Sinner's Angel

Alessio's POV

I stared at her innocent face, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept in my lap. The dim streetlights outside flickered across her skin, making her look even more fragile.

I told the driver to drive slower. I needed her to rest. She needed this.

She had been outside after so long, and I knew the day had drained her. I could feel it in the way her tiny hands clutched onto me even in sleep, as if holding on for dear life.

And then—

"Ahh…"

A broken whimper. So small. So pained.

My heart clenched.

She fisted my shirt, her delicate fingers trembling, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

"My precious, wake up," I whispered, my voice aching, as I cradled her closer. I ran my fingers through her hair, trying to soothe the storm brewing inside her.

She stirred, eyelashes fluttering, and when her emerald eyes finally met mine, they were drenched in tears.

"Ba-bad dream…" she hiccuped, her voice so weak, so small, as if the nightmare had stolen all the strength from her.

Without a second thought, I pulled her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her, sheltering her from the invisible ghosts haunting her mind.

She sobbed into my chest. Shaking. Breaking.

I tightened my hold, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, wishing—desperately wishing—that I could take away her pain.

"My strong Angel…" I murmured, but my voice cracked.

Because she wasn't strong right now.

She was shattered. And I was helpless.

She clung to me, her tiny hands gripping my shirt as if letting go would make her fall back into the nightmare.

"Shh, my precious," I whispered, my lips brushing against her temple, "It hurts to see you cry like this, baby…"

That was a lie.

It didn't just hurt.

It was hell.

Every tear she shed felt like a blade slicing through my soul. A slow, torturous death.

I hated it. I hated myself.

Because deep down, I knew—I was the reason for her nightmares.

And I couldn't even blame Lucas anymore.

He was already drowning in his own guilt.

I had seen the way he avoided looking at me, the way he threw himself into work, skipping meals, barely breathing—anything to escape his own demons.

For the first time since our parents' deaths… I felt bad for him.

But I didn't pity him.

He deserved this.

Because while he could distract himself with endless work, I couldn't escape this:

The sound of her broken sobs.

The feel of her trembling body in my arms.

The sight of those tear-streaked emerald eyes, looking at me like I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

And maybe I was.

But the worst part?

I wasn't sure if I was enough to save her.

Angel's POV

I looked up at him, my vision blurred with tears.

How could he call me strong when I was falling apart right in front of him?

He wiped my tears gently, his fingers featherlight against my skin. His thumb caressed my cheek, a soft, comforting touch that made my chest ache even more.

A monster.

That's what they called him. They said he was ruthless, cold, heartless. That he always carried anger in his eyes, that his words were like blades, sharp and merciless.

But I had never seen that side of him.

He was always gentle with me.

Always.

A knock on the car window made me flinch.

"Sir, someone is blocking our car," the driver said, his voice laced with fear.

Lucifer's hold on me tightened slightly.

"Who is it?" he asked, his voice turning ice-cold.

I flinched, but before the panic could creep in, he was already soothing me, his hand running through my hair in slow, comforting strokes.

"L-Lucas, sir," the driver hesitated.

And just like that—

A wave of memories crashed over me.

My hands turned cold. My breath hitched.

The car suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. My heart pounded, faster, harder—each beat a painful knock against my ribs.

"Angel, breathe," Lucifer murmured, his tone no longer cold but gentle, reassuring.

"He won't do anything to you. I am here, sí?"

But I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

The world blurred around me, twisting into a suffocating whirl of noise and flashes of the past.

My body felt light, as if it wasn't mine anymore, as if I was being pulled into a dark, endless pit.

"But…" I tried to speak, my voice barely a whisper.

"Shh, my Angel," he soothed.

I clung to his shirt, my fingers gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

"Stay here, sí?" he said softly. "I'll go see what happened."

No.

No. No. No.

The fear spiked, clawing at my chest like something alive.

I shook my head violently, my body trembling as I felt my heart beating too fast, too loud.

"No," I gasped. My voice broke. "Please… don't leave me."

His hands froze for a second, then—

"Angel… I'll be back soon," he murmured.

But I was already spiraling.

Something inside me was unraveling.

I felt a sob rise, burning my throat, but I couldn't let it out. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak—I couldn't breathe.

A sharp, crushing weight pressed against my chest. My hands felt numb. My body felt wrong.

It wasn't fear—it was something worse.

Something I couldn't understand.

I was drowning—but there was no water.

Lucifer's voice cut through the haze.

"I'm not leaving, sí?"

His voice was softer now. Warmer.

The way he spoke, it wasn't a promise.

It was a vow.

I gasped sharply, my breath coming in short, ragged pulls. My body shook, but… but something shifted.

His voice anchored me.

His presence held me together.

I clutched at his shirt tighter, burying my face into him, inhaling his scent, letting it pull me away from the darkness threatening to swallow me whole.

The ringing in my ears faded just a little.

And then, through the quiet that followed, I realized—

I had been crying.

Not soft tears.

I had been sobbing.

My entire body was trembling from the force of it.

And for the first time, I realized—

This wasn't just fear.

This wasn't normal.

Something had happened to me.

And I didn't even know what it was.

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