Beauty and the Devil

chapter 17

Samantha’s POV

The car pulled off the main road and followed a narrow, gravel path lined with olive trees. The sky had already begun to fade into soft pink and gold, and I couldn’t stop checking the text on my phone: Your brother is already there.

My palms were sweating. My chest was tight. I kept repeating that sentence in my head like a prayer.

Your brother is already there.

The driver didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. The silence was thick with everything I couldn’t let myself feel yet.

We arrived at the house just before dusk. Small, modern, quiet. Windows facing a humming ocean. A rental, but nothing temporary about it. There were flowers planted outside. A welcome mat. Two bicycles leaning against the porch railing.

The front door was open.

I stepped inside and smelled lemons, like someone had cleaned just before we got there. The floors were warm under my shoes. The kitchen lights were on. I moved through the house like I didn’t trust it yet — like it might vanish if I blinked.

Then I heard a voice from the back room.

I froze.

“Hello?”

And then—“Sam?”

I turned.

Michael was standing in the hallway. His hair was longer. He looked tired. Paler. But still him.

For a second, neither of us moved. Like our bodies didn’t believe it.

Then he dropped whatever he was holding and ran.

I caught him mid-step. Arms around his shoulders, mine wrapped so tight around his neck it hurt. His hands gripped my back like he was afraid I might disappear again. I didn’t realize I was crying until my vision blurred and I felt him shaking too.

“You’re okay,” I whispered. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t answer at first. He just held me tighter.

“I thought you were dead,” he said into my neck.

“I’m not,” I choked. “I’m here. I’ve got you now.”

We stood there for a long time, in the middle of the hallway, wrapped around each other like we were trying to make up for all the time lost. The space smelled like soap, fresh laundry, and something baking in the oven. But all I could feel was his breath against my skin, and the way my chest finally, finally stopped aching.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I got us into this—”

“No,” I cut him off. “We survived it. That’s all that matters.”

He stepped back to look at me. “Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “Not in the way you think.”

He swallowed. “You look different.”

“I feel different.”

He tried to smile, but it cracked. I wiped his face with my sleeve.

“Don’t cry,” I said, even though I still was. “You’re safe now. That’s all I ever wanted.”

And it was true. Every single thing I’d done — the dancing, the silence, the pretending, the heartbreak — had been for this. To get him here. To this moment. To safety.

Michael was my reason.

He always had been.

***

Inside, everything was set. Clean sheets. Towels folded with military precision. A stocked fridge. Coffee pods. Even a little card on the counter that said Welcome, Michael & Samantha in gold script.

Clyde really let us go.

I stood at the window for a long time, arms crossed, watching the waves break just beyond the fence. The ocean was too still. It looked like peace, but it didn’t feel like it.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I stared at the ceiling from a bed that smelled like detergent and new furniture, trying to make sense of how quickly it all fell apart. I’d given him everything — my time, my body, my trust — and he’d let me walk away like it meant nothing.

For two days, I moved through the world in a kind of haze. I walked barefoot on the beach. Slept past ten. Made pancakes with Michael. He found a stack of old comic books in a cabinet and read for hours on the couch with his feet up.

Everything was... normal.

Too normal.

The silence felt like static. My body was rested, but my thoughts weren’t. My chest felt like it was waiting for something that wasn’t going to come.

Michael noticed before I even admitted it to myself.

He looked up from his plate at breakfast. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer right away. I just kept my eyes on my coffee cup.

“I think I still do,” I said.

Michael’s fork clattered against his plate. “You still do?”

I kept my tone level. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But yeah. I miss him.”

Michael blinked, like I’d just admitted to something violent. “You miss him? The guy who owns a strip club, who nearly got me killed, who had you dancing in front of criminals like—like you were—”

“A body,” I said, finishing it for him. “Yeah. I know.”

He stared at me. “And you still want him?”

I looked up. I made myself meet his eyes.

“I think I saw something different in him. I think... maybe he saw something in me too.”

Michael pushed back from the table, mouth open in disbelief.

“No. Sam, no. That’s how guys like him work. They break you down until you think the cage is home.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed his keys and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

The silence afterward was worse than the argument.

I sat on the porch with a blanket over my legs and stared at the water. The wind picked up and tugged at my hair. I tied it back, tried to focus. Tried to journal.

Nothing came out. Not a single word. Just a blank page and a pen that felt too heavy.

I shut the notebook.

I went inside and started cleaning, even though the kitchen was spotless. I scrubbed the counter like it had insulted me, trying to chase the restlessness out of my system.

It didn’t work.

Everywhere I looked, I saw him.

The sound of his voice in the kitchen. The smell of his skin. His hand at my waist. The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The kiss on my shoulder. The way his grip changed when he stopped pretending.

I pressed the sponge harder into the countertop, jaw clenched.

Then the doorbell rang.

I froze.

No one should know where we were. Clyde had promised that the house was secure. Private. Michael had been here for a month before I even arrived, and no one had shown up once.

My hands went cold.

I walked to the door, heartbeat in my ears. I looked through the peephole.

A man. Alone. Suit. Shoulders broad. Head bowed. No movement.

I opened the door just a crack.

“Hello—?”

He looked up.

It was Aaron. And he was smiling. “Hope I’m not too early.”