Dance with the Devil

AYA

^CAIRO, 1923^

His blue eyes held my gaze, sparking my curiosity. I was determined to impress him, to outsmart him. I moved my first chess piece.

He responded with a smirk and moved his own piece. The game was over in two minutes. I exhaled a single word in English.

“Checkmate.”

His jaw clenched, then slowly, he broke into a grin.

“Let’s play again.”

I returned his smile. Beating a man at a game was always a thrill. The chessboard was reset. He ordered another round of beers.

This time, the game lasted five minutes. When his king toppled, his frustration was palpable. A low growl echoed in his throat, his jaw tightening. I couldn’t help but giggle, my confidence growing.

His gaze swept over me, studying my face, reading every nuance of my expression. The intensity of his attention sent a warm flush through me. Men had never bothered to play with me before, never thought me intelligent enough to understand the rules.

They only wanted to watch me dance or find an excuse to touch me. But Alexander—he saw me. And when our eyes met, his frustration melted into something else.

His lips curled into a slow, charming smile. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“You didn’t tell me you were a master,” he said, his voice filled with admiration.

“I’m not,” I denied, already resetting the board.

“I usually don’t lose,” he confessed.

“You hadn’t met your match.” I let my voice turn playful, peering at him over my veil. He couldn’t see my smirk, but I knew he felt it.

“Obviously.” The word was barely a whisper. The smile still lingered on his lips.

“How about we make this more interesting?”

“I was rather enjoying beating you,” I replied innocently. “Sir.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head.

“Don’t tease me, little bird. You have no idea what I can do.”

“Well, you can’t beat me in chess.” I shrugged, the movement making the coins on my outfit jingle softly. His gaze flickered over me, the sound holding his attention for a heartbeat longer than it should have.

“Perhaps.” His voice was thoughtful. “All the same, if I win this next game, then you spend the rest of the whole night with me,” he proposed. His voice dipped lower, deliberate.

“And if you win, what do you want?”

I considered him, the game, the stakes.

“A story about where you’re from,” I answered.

His blue eyes held mine, unreadable, weighing. Then he nodded.

“Deal.”

We leaned over the board.

“Good luck,” he murmured.

The game lasted six minutes. When it ended, I stared at the pieces, trying to unravel what had just happened. Alexander leaned back in his chair, watching me, a slow, victorious grin stretching across his face.

The bastard. He’d been playing me. I met his gaze, narrowing my eyes, and he smirked.

“The first thing you should know about me, Aya, is that I never lose a bet,” he said smoothly, winking. “Though I will admit, I do believe I’ve met my match in chess.”

I exhaled, the corner of my mouth twitching.

“Well played.”

His grin widened.

“Now,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re mine for the night.”

“I only dance and serve drinks,” I blurted immediately.

His smile softened, icy gaze holding mine.

“I just want to enjoy the pleasure of your company, nothing else.”

I hesitated but nodded. He set up the game again, and I leaned over the pieces, sipping my beer as I considered his technique.

“Tell me something you’re proud of,” he murmured, moving his castle across the board.

I didn’t let the conversation distract me from the game.

“I’m a ridiculously good poker player,” I admitted.

His eyebrows shot up. Then he laughed.

“I didn’t take you for a gambler, sweetheart.”

“What do you think I’m doing here with you, sir?” I shot back.

He tossed his head back, laughing freely, the sound rich and unrestrained.

“Fair enough.”

“What is your biggest secret?” I mused, peering up at him as I played my next piece.

He paused, his amusement fading slightly. His gaze turned contemplative.

“I’m not sure I want the future my grandfather has planned for me.”

I studied him.

“What future is that?”

He gave a wry smirk.

“Not something I want to think about when I’m with you.”

His voice held a rawness, a hint of vulnerability that made my heart race. His eyes locked onto mine, unblinking.

“Tell me, Aya, what scares you the most?” he asked.

Without hesitation, I replied, “Never getting to see the world. Being trapped in a loveless marriage. What about you?”

His face shifted, his eyes clouding over.

“Not being loved for who I truly am.”

I studied his features, searching for clues.

“And who are you, Alexander?”

A smirk played on his lips.

“The devil.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“I think you’re just a lost boy, Sir.”

He cocked his head to the side, intrigued.

“What makes you say that?”

I gestured toward his expensive attire.

“You’re clearly from a wealthy background. You’re here, on the other side of the world, running from something. You didn’t fight in the war—you’re too young, I believe. You’re trying to escape reality, Sir.”

His eyes darkened, studying me as if I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“You see right through me, Aya. I don’t know how you do it.”

We played games throughout the night. The club slowly emptied, the music dwindled, and the dancers trickled out. He kept drinking, his focus alternating between the game and me.

I won most of the matches. Each loss seemed to frustrate him but also amuse him. He asked about my family, and in return, he shared stories about his younger sisters, his travels, and his grandfather.

He confessed that he had fought in the war. It was the war that made him want to escape.

When he finally won a game, his face lit up with childlike joy. He insisted on giving me a chance to reclaim my dignity, conveniently forgetting that I had won the previous five games.

After a particularly intense forty-minute match, he sighed.

“I guess it’s time for me to go.”

I looked around the deserted club.

“I should go too.”

He extended his hand.

“May I walk you home, Aya?”

My heart skipped a beat. I placed my hand in his.

“If you insist.”

The streets were dark and nearly empty. His hand was warm, his grip firm yet gentle. He spun me around, twirling me under his arm before pulling me close to his side.

“I’ve had a wonderful night with you, Aya,” he whispered.

“You can come back tomorrow,” I suggested. “I work most nights.”

“Dancing for other men?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded, looking down. “Yes.”

We stopped walking. I looked around, confused. “This isn’t my house.”

“I know. But I wanted to show you something.” He held out his hand. “You have to hold on tight, okay?”

I hesitated. “I can do that.”

“Good girl. Now, get on.”

I blinked. “Get on what?”

His grin was devilish. “My back.”

Frowning, I carefully climbed onto his back, my heart pounding as his hands slid up my legs, securing me in place. Before I could even process the heat flooding my cheeks—

He leapt.

We soared into the sky. I screamed, clutching him tightly. He moved with an inhuman agility, scaling the city like a predator.

When we reached the rooftop, he gently set me down. I was shaking. The city sprawled out before us, the Nile snaking through it like a silver ribbon, the pyramids standing tall and eternal in the distance.

The warm summer air caressed my skin, as did his gaze.

I turned to face him. And I knew—deep down.

He wasn’t human.

His hand rested on my back, steady and comforting. His eyes were soft, playful.

I felt safe with him. I couldn’t have been more wrong.