1. MEETING THE DEVIL

LAYLA

The sun drowned behind the towers, smearing the glass in orange light.

Dark clouds invaded the sky, swallowing what was left of the day.

Soon, everything would turn gray again.

Layla stood on the helipad, arms wrapped around herself as the wind whipped her hair.

The first drop of rain hit her cheek, at the same time as the first tear of the day.

What could she do now?

How much more could she take?

When would this pain finally let her breathe?

She came here every day since the morning Lilly collapsed on her school playground.

When Layla was a child, this was the kind of place she dreamed of standing, high above the world, where glass towers brushed the sky. Back then, she thought one day she’d rise above everything that hurt her.

The sky used to make her feel powerful.

Now, it only made her want to scream.

She hated this city.

She hated the people.

She hated this life that refused to give her mercy.

Lilly didn’t deserve this.

Layla wiped her tears, but more followed. Twenty-four years old and nowhere close to her dreams. Life had always been an uphill climb, but Lilly’s illness turned it into a mountain.

That morning replayed in her mind—Lilly laughing one second, limp the next.

"She won’t make it unless we find a donor," Her best friend, her daughter's doctor, Raya had said.

Why her? Why her little girl?

Layla looked at the darkening sky. “Why not me?” she whispered.

Thunder answered.

If she died, who would be there for Lilly? That thought alone made her shudder.

No. She wouldn’t let that happen. They would survive this. They would leave this city behind, find a place where it never rained, where the sea couldn’t reach them.

She took a breath, wiped her face, and hurried off the helipad. She’d already asked Raya to take Lilly home. The doctor, her one real friend in this cursed city, had smiled softly.

"Good luck," Raya had said. "I hope he agrees."

He won’t. Layla knew it.

Who would agree to donate bone marrow to a stranger?

They found only two matches for Lilly's bone marrow. A woman and a man. The woman had already left the city two weeks ago. That left him. The one man she swore she’d never face again.

Two hours later, soaked from drizzle and bus smoke, Layla stood before a towering building lit by a glowing Z.

Her palms were slick with sweat. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

The people called him many names—Zed. The Devil. Zaley.

Once, Ylumia was a city that glittered. Now it bowed to him.

No one knew where he came from, but they said he rose from the sea and ruled like a tide that swallowed everything. Nightclubs. Real estate. The port. The entire city.

And the whispers… fifty people dead. Bodies pulled from the ocean, mutilated.

Everyone knew it was him.

No one dared to say it out loud.

And here she was, at the devil’s doorstep, ready to beg him for her child’s life.

She walked into the club.

Music thundered through her bones. Lights pulsed in blue, pink, and violet. Bodies moved in rhythm—drunk, wild, lost.

But what she saw next made her freeze.

Not just dancing.

Not just drinking.

Every corner of sin laid bare—hands, mouths, skin.

She wanted to turn and run, but someone’s hand clamped around her waist.

“Oh… a woman,” he slurred, surprised, then grinned. “Relax. I’ll show you a good time.”

“No!” she snapped, pulling away, but he followed.

“Come on,” he said, voice turning sharp. “Let me see what that coat’s hiding.”

No one looked. No one cared.

She’d screamed once before in this city. No one listened then either.

When he pressed closer, she kneed him hard. He gasped and folded, but before he could reach for her again, a bouncer grabbed him and threw him back into the crowd.

Layla caught her breath. “Thank you,” she muttered.

The bouncer didn’t reply. He turned away.

“Wait,” she said quickly. “I need to see Zaley. Please.”

He stopped. Turned. His expression screamed Are you out of your mind?

“Zaley...as in ZALEY?”

She nodded desperately. “Yes. That one. I need to talk to him.”

“I’ve worked here five years,” he said, lowering his voice. “I have never seen him.”

Then, he froze.

“Until now.”

Layla followed his line of sight.

A man stood near the bar—cold blue eyes, hands in pockets, watching her. The crowd seemed to still around him, though the music kept pounding.

He looked like a storm dressed in calm.

Her breath caught. Fifteen days of searching, begging, walking miles for a chance to see him—and here he was.

Her throat burned with tears. “Hi,” she managed to call out. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and walked away.

Layla followed. “Please,” she said, voice shaking.

He led her into a quiet room—empty, dim, and suffocating.

“I don’t give interviews,” he said. His voice was deep, rough, and steady.

“I’m not a journalist,” she said quickly. “I need a favor.”

“What do I get in return?”

Her heart sank. Of course he’d ask that. What could she possibly offer?

He flicked open a lighter. The flame glowed against his face.

Layla took out her phone and showed him the wallpaper. “That’s my daughter.”

He looked. For a second, something unreadable crossed his face.

“She needs a bone marrow donor,” Layla said quietly. “Yours is the only one that matches. She’s five.”

Silence.

He stared at her like he couldn’t decide whether she was brave or foolish.

His eyes zeroed on the photo.

Oh, how she wants to snatch the phone back and run away from him.

She doesn't want him near her daughter if it's not for the compatibility of the bone marrow they both had.

Then he turned away. “Close the door on your way out.”

Her heart cracked again.

The second time that day.