Holly’s Twisted Devotion

Prologue

He didn’t recognize her at first.

Not in the way that mattered.

The girl he remembered—the one with hollow cheeks and watercolor eyes—was gone.

In her place stood something far more dangerous.

A woman with blood-red lips, posture carved from defiance, and eyes that didn’t blink when they looked at him.

Eyes that saw him.

Stripped him.

Judged him—and still stepped closer.

David Hunt’s hand tightened around the doorframe, his voice gravel and regret.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Her smile was a blade. No warmth. No softness. Just quiet, feral resolve.

“I’m exactly where I need to be.”

He exhaled through his nose and turned his back on her like it would undo what was already unraveling.

“I’m not your hero, Holly. I never was.”

“No,” she said, voice low, stepping inside anyway. “You’re my monster.”

She said it like it was a vow. Like she’d picked the devil in a lineup and still said, yes, that one.

The air between them thickened, suffocating in its silence. The weight of old memories, of secrets buried and burned.

David didn’t move when she came closer, until her fingers trailed down his chest—slow, deliberate—like striking a match across his ribs.

“I should throw you out,” he said, jaw tight.

“But you won’t.”

Her lips hovered near his ear now. “You’re the one who opened the door.”

“I’ll ruin you,” he warned, barely above a whisper.

She smiled again—this time softer, more tragic than cruel.

“Then ruin me,” she said. “But don’t send me away.”

He should have.

He should’ve slammed the door, drowned the heat pooling in his gut, buried the pulse roaring in his ears.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not when the darkness in her eyes looked too much like the one he carried inside himself.

And that night—David Hunt made the worst mistake of his life.

He let her stay.

He let the shadows in.

And they wore Holly’s face.