Sandro sank deeper into the plush couch, relishing in the feeling of contentment that washed over him. He couldn't help but feel a sense of mirth, his shoulders shaking with dark laughter that threatened to spill from his lips. The condo was a work of art, a masterpiece that blended luxury and simplicity seamlessly. She had redecorated the place herself, years ago, worked so hard to make the perfect backdrop for the worst breakup of his life, and although he usually avoided this condo like the plague, he couldn't help but admire the beauty of it all.
"It could be cute, our secret hideaway... somewhere just for us." She'd growled throwing a book of paint swatches at him
He used to despise how impatient she was, her constant need for urgency, how everything was immediate and an emergency to her. He felt something much stronger than hate towards her. As he sat in the shadows of the condo, Sandro reflected on the memories that once tormented him, he was now strong enough to resist the ghostly presence of her memories. His skin was too thick for the claws of the days when every corner of the condo was filled with her presence. He could ignore her breathy moans or heart-fluttering laughter echoing through the walls. He could withstand his brain bleeding softly from the sharp-edged memories of the soft glow of the morning sun illuminating her features as she woke up in the lake-facing bedroom, surrounded by all the things that strived to be as beautiful as she was, smiling softly up at him as if heaven wasn't high enough a cliff to fall off. There was a time when the world seemed to shrink into her every breath, and Sandro would have done anything to keep her by his side. But now, he refused to let her memory control him any longer.
Instead, he turned his attention to the stunning painting that hung on the wall, admiring the way it seemed to come to life under the moon's gentle glow. As he waited for his guest to arrive, Sandro ran his fingers along the velvety couch, relishing in its soft texture. He couldn't help but laugh to himself as he thought about her planned art heist. He had anticipated her every move and was ready for her, including this unsolicited trip into his home. That impatience that drove him wild just a few years ago, Sandro now found darkly amusing. He'd always appreciated her tenacity and admired her for going after what she wanted, now he waited patiently, listening intently for the sound of the door. He knew that she was coming, that she had fallen right into his trap, that this time he would send her right back to hell where she belonged.
Sandro hears the door, listening intently to the mumbling sounds as she says something to someone over an earpiece; a getaway driver. Probably the same improbably handsome devil from the gala, a problem Sandro was destined to deal with later. He reached for the dark duffel bag on the floor, watching her saunter into his room in the pitch dark as if she'd never left, never forgotten a single detail of its layout and fully trusted that he hadn't changed a single thing in the years since she'd been here. He watched her move closer and closer to the center of the seal of Solomon, knowing that he had her right where he wanted her. He couldn't help but gloat, knowing that he had won the battle and she was about to pay the price for her past mistakes.
As Sandro prepared to strike, a sense of satisfaction washed over him. He flipped the button and watched as white powder fell from the skylight above Awuor. She let out a small gasp as the lights flickered on, disoriented for a moment before hearing Sandro's voice hissing a Latin chant at her.
"Dilecte Deus, divina virtute sigilli Salomonis, hunc daemonium mitte ad inferni foveas, ubi ipsa est!" The gruff voice hissed
In the reading nook where they had once cuddled together, Sandro stood over her, his dark voice sending shivers down her spine. She tried to speak, but her voice was muffled by the dark turtleneck that covered half of her face.
"I thought you never came here," she sighed, her cameras having spotted him in London just half an hour ago.
Sandro eyed her outfit as if calculating why she was there; dark cargo pants, sneakers, turtleneck pulled up to cover half her face, dark beanie-she wasn't here for a coffee. He moved closer, his mouth twisting into a dark smile as he surveyed her. As expected she made a gorgeous burglar.
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A Game For Your Love (BWLM) (REWRITE)
रोमांसSandro Heliodor had come to a startling realization - he was in dire need of an exorcism. The only logical explanation for his behavior was that he was possessed by a demon, an exorcism was his only hope. Sandro was notorious for his womanizing ways...
