Chapter Text
There was something electric in the air that night. A sense of excitement, of desire . The crowd around her seemed to shift endlessly in the dark, a combination of impatience and nerves keeping those closest to her on edge. The illuminated sign overhead cast a flickering shadow over those in the queue behind, each and every one of them filled with anticipation over what awaited them inside.
And she was no different.
The warm evening breeze that skittered over her skin had her shivering, making her regret not bringing something to cover her bare shoulders. Yet again, she found herself tugging at the hem of the red satin dress she was wearing, all too conscious of the fact it was a good three inches shorter than anything else in her wardrobe.
Not that it had actually come from her wardrobe. No, this was a carefully researched purchase, with only one goal in mind. A goal she was becoming more unsure about by the minute.
Lucifer Morningstar was her target. Her soulmate, if the tests were to be believed. Emphasis on the multiple, given that mere seconds after she finished investigating who exactly she'd been matched with, she was on the phone booking to get re-tested. And then again after that.
But every single time, the result came back the same. Lucifer Morningstar, club owner and renowned bachelor, was the soulmate of Chloe Decker, former actress and single mother. According to the machine that had dictated the happiness of mankind for decades, he was her perfect match, the one person who could make her life complete.
Which was utter nonsense, as far as she was concerned. Not the test itself, of course. After all this time there was no point in denying it didn't work—99% of the time, anyway, given her current situation. But in her line of work, she knew full well that meeting your soulmate had no guarantee of a happy ending, even if the majority of people insisted on pretending otherwise.
Because who wouldn't, when the proof of what their lives could be was all around them?
The perfect example of a success story was her parents. Her mom and dad couldn't have been more different if they'd tried, and yet together, they just fit. Nearly 25 years together before her father was taken from them proved testament to that. But without the test, they might never have even met.
And then there was her ex, Dan, who was happier now with his new lawyer girlfriend than he had ever been with her, as much as it stung to admit it. There was a certain lightness to his step these days, a spark in his smile that she hadn't even noticed had been missing for the past few years.
Looking back, it was clear their marriage was doomed the instant she received the notification that she had a match. It didn't matter how many times she reassured him that she had no intention of even looking at the result, the fact remained that there was someone else out there in the world more suited to her than he was.
Which, logically, had always been the case for both of them, but having it there in black and white made all the difference, chipping away at the foundation of their relationship until there was barely anything left.
So much for Mr. "It doesn't matter if we're not soulmates."
It was devastating enough to discover a year ago that Dan had secretly taken the test, but when he admitted to actually having met his soulmate… it was the beginning of the end for them.
Her own test happened before she even hit twenty, long before joining the police force had even crossed her mind. After the death of her father, she found herself searching for something, for anything that could help her through it, and at the time, the idea of finding a soulmate felt like the answer.
Dan had no such excuse.
And while it was true that not all soulmates ended up falling in love, that wasn't the case for her husband. He was one of the 'lucky' ones. The love at first sight ones, the ones who always ended up more than willing to give up their entire lives to chase the dream of a perfect life.
Which is exactly what he did, neatly shelving away nearly a decade of marriage in a box labeled 'mistake'.
The only upshot of the whole thing was that their daughter got to see her father more now than she ever did when they were together. There were no more late nights at work, no stakeouts he couldn't find a way out of. Now he had all the time in the world for anyone that wasn't her.
All of which left her standing here alone, waiting, hoping , to gain entrance into a nightclub she'd actively tried to avoid for months now. Six months to the day, in fact. Six months since Dan served her the divorce papers, six months since it became official that there was no way back for them.
She knew it was coming, of course, but that still hadn't prepared her for the finality of it all. He was leaving her, for the one person who had always been meant for him.
It was that stone-cold realization that finally made her open her test results. A luxury that would never be afforded to her counterpart, given that she had chosen to keep her own details private all those years ago. When the test failed to find her a match, she came to the conclusion that taking it had been a mistake in the first place. She couldn't depend on some stranger to help turn her life around; that was something she needed to do herself.
Which also meant preventing said stranger from coming in and turning that life upside down in the future. Not that it had worked, in the end, considering just the notification proved to be enough to do it. A private account meant that while a potential future soulmate would be told they had a match, they would never know it was her, not unless she agreed to it. Or, in the case of two private accounts, they both gave consent.
He, or she, had apparently made no such decision though, which is how she ended up in possession of an email that held the key to her future, if she wanted it. She couldn't even remember how long she held a trembling finger over the link, the glass of wine in her other hand having done little to steady her nerves. There were many times in the past she'd been tempted to delete it, but a small voice inside her head always told her not to.
One click, one name, and a quick Google search later, however, and it was a voice she wished she'd ignored.
Her soulmate was the "Devil", by name and by nature, apparently. Handsome, yes, but also plastered over social media with a different partner on his arm every night, a smirk on his face that had her heart sinking into her stomach just at the sight of it. Gossip columns had him listed as one of LA's most desirable, while the reviews of his club painted it as the place to go if you were looking for a night of debauchery and sin.
Things only got worse when she got to the precinct. Here she was, a homicide detective, and her supposed soulmate was either currently under investigation from multiple departments within the LAPD, or had been in the past. Something her colleagues would have a field day with if they ever found out. Things were bad enough following the mess that was Palmetto, but with her divorce on the horizon and no partner in sight, she would be lucky not to get transferred within the year.
There had to be a mistake. She thought it then, and she still believed it now.
Because how on earth could her soulmate be him?
For one thing, he was without a doubt a criminal. His ties to the mob were clear, both through witnesses and surveillance, and the books for his club were way too clean for there not to be tax fraud involved. Vice in particular were always keeping a close eye on him, convinced that he was secretly running some sort of drug operation on the side, even if their raids consistently failed to find any evidence to prove it.
Not that it would matter if they did. From what she'd seen in the records, not a single case against the club or its owner had ever made it to court. Investigations would abruptly come to an end with a myriad of excuses; a mistake in the paperwork, evidence that mysteriously disappeared, or witnesses that suddenly were no longer willing to talk. And other times, there was no official reason given at all, just the lingering smell of an order that had come down from on high.
It seemed Morningstar had everyone from the police to politicians in his pocket. Word on the street was that if you wanted something done, he was the man to go to. A fixer of the highest order, that dealt solely in unnamed favors to be repaid at a later date.
Why anyone would want to take such a deal was beyond her, but Los Angeles was nothing if not a city of reckless people willing to do anything to make their mark in the world.
All of which pointed to there being no way in hell that this man was meant for her.
Sure, he was easy on the eyes—and that was putting it very mildly—and apparently rich beyond belief, but since when had she ever cared about that? Most women would feel like they'd won the literal lottery with him as their soulmate, but not her. No amount of money or looks could make up for being with the kind of man he was.
Nights spent alone, knowing he was out there with another woman? Or another man, judging by some of the photos that had crossed her computer screen.
No, thank you. Not again.
Unfortunately for her though, Lucifer Morningstar proved to be quite the genie in a bottle; once unleashed, he refused to go back where he belonged, firmly locked away in the back of her mind. He would appear in her thoughts far more often than she would like, with everything from the sight of a man in a well-tailored suit, to the vaguest hint of a British accent reminding her that she still didn't know , not for sure, whether he wasn't who the test insisted he was.
But the times she thought of him most often were when she saw Dan with his girlfriend, those times when she found herself quickly casting her gaze to the floor, jealousy spiking hot and sharp within her chest. Not because of what she'd lost, but because of what the couple had together. A love that she could finally admit to herself she wanted, but would never find, all thanks to a faulty machine giving her a result that could only be an error.
The last straw had been receiving the final divorce paperwork in the post this morning. It was exactly the kind of push that she needed. Dan was moving on with his life, and it was high time she did too.
All she needed to do was get past one last roadblock and prove once and for all that Morningstar wasn't her soulmate. That way, she could stride back into the testing center with her head held high, confident in the knowledge that they were wrong. One test later, and with a certain Devilish profile removed from the equation, she'd be a step closer to being happy again.
Happy, and not alone, like she was right now, standing in line picking at the material of her too-short dress and wearing makeup twice as heavy as she normally would. She could feel the looks of pity and judgment from some of the women around her like pinpricks upon her skin. Women who were half her age and twice as confident. Women who belonged here.
The truth was, she had no idea how long it had been since the last time she came to a club like this, never mind dressed up this way. After their daughter was born, nights out on the town with Dan quickly became a thing of the past. Not that they'd ever frequented establishments like this in the first place.
LUX was the kind of club she would have spent her time in her youth, those days when she was just famous enough to be escorted to the front of the line, paparazzi left trailing behind her, while the VIP section lay in wait.
Now, she had to join the back of the queue just like everybody else, without even knowing for sure if she would make it through the door. She must have been waiting for an hour at least already, and with every rope drop for a celebrity or influencer, she felt her chances fade away a little more.
As she steadfastly tried to avoid meeting anyone's eyes, the spark of a lighter from the alleyway up ahead caught her attention, the amber glow of a cigarette a beacon in the darkness there. She watched as a black silhouetted figure pushed himself effortlessly away from where he was leaning against the wall, one arm straying into the light as he straightened out his jacket. And then he stepped out onto the street.
Shit.
It took less than a second for her to recognize him, the long, lean lines of his body and the way he moved practically burned into her retinas after all this time. Out of instinct, she flinched and turned her head away towards the asphalt, as though he was somehow going to magically know what she was. Or rather, what she might be, what she prayed she wasn't.
Time seemed to slow, long enough for her racing heart to slow down a beat or two. The noise of the crowd still buzzed around her, louder now that Morningstar had made his appearance. It was then that she reminded herself that she didn't come here to hide, especially not from him.
And so, with a deep breath, she stood tall and faced the alleyway again, one hand tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she did. When she raised her eyes though…
He was staring at her.
Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the weight of his gaze. His eyes slowly roamed over her body, a scorching heat following in their wake. It was almost as if he were touching her, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable, caught off guard in a way she never expected to be.
And then he looked away, and it was over.
She tried to swallow past her disappointment; he'd noticed her, and that was what she wanted, wasn't it? And now his attention was drawn elsewhere. Specifically, to the group of three blondes just a few rows in front. In less than a few seconds, he'd proven that there was no mysterious connection between them, no pull that he felt toward her at all.
He soon strode back inside the club again after that, with the swagger of a man in complete control of his surroundings. The men and women he passed on the way giggled and preened, proudly putting themselves on display for his attention. Most were ignored, but a few were graced with a pleased smirk or a raised eyebrow, and she suddenly had a vision of the lucky recipient swooning in the crowd like some Victorian debutante.
And then he was gone, leaving the crowd to settle into fervent whispers. She fiddled with the clasp of her red sequined clutch for a minute as she wondered what to do next. The obvious step was just to turn tail and call a cab, before heading home to tear off the ridiculously high fuck-me heels she was wearing and crawl into her nice warm bed.
But she had to admit, after waiting so long she found herself curious to find out what it was like inside. She'd seen countless photos and videos over the past few months, but she was also aware that they could never really capture the essence of a place, the soul of it. And if she wasn't enjoying herself, she reasoned, she could always leave. Who knows, maybe she might even meet someone, someone who really didn't care about the whole soulmate thing.
Lost in thought, she failed to register the man next to her at first, his large frame casting her in shadow. It was only the scuff of his shoe on the floor that alerted her, instantly jolting her out of her reverie. Instinctively, she reached for a gun that wasn't there, before she finally recognized him as one of the two bouncers that had previously been guarding the rope-clad door up ahead.
"Miss?" he said, a slightly apologetic look in his eyes after obviously having startled her.
Mrs, she thought automatically, the word resting on the tip of her tongue, ready to correct him, before she remembered that wasn't her, not anymore. She wondered if this was it, the moment where she was politely but firmly informed that this club wasn't for the likes of her. That she should just go home and find something to do more suited to a newly divorced woman creeping closer to middle age with every passing day.
She nodded cautiously and tried to focus on the fact that just a minute ago she was thinking of going home anyway.
He smiled at her in return. It was a kind smile, not one she might have expected from a man with his occupation. "Front of the line, please," he said, before gesturing with one sweeping hand towards the entrance. She blinked at him, the words not quite sinking in. "Mr. Morningstar insisted."
Oh. Oh no.
Morningstar hadn't just noticed her. He'd noticed her enough to pick her out from a crowd, enough to make sure she got inside. This was bad, wasn't it? This was really bad. She should have just left when she had the chance, safe in the knowledge that he felt nothing at all when he looked at her. Now she was right back where she started, with no idea whether she was being pulled out of line because of some invisible tie linking them together, or because—
Her question was answered the second she took a step forwards, only to find herself following in the footsteps of the three blondes up ahead as they walked towards where the other bouncer lay in wait. Like her, they were clad in short dresses and high heels, something that she knew from her investigation into Morningstar's preferences was the ideal combination to catch his eye.
He really was a leg man, it seemed.
To her surprise, she felt strangely conflicted over not having been singled out, but she soon squashed her flicker of disappointment under a sigh of relief. This was the plan, after all. Attract his attention, and then wait for him to cast her aside without a thought. To prove that tonight was a night like any other for him, and she was just one of many.
And while it hadn't exactly worked out that way so far, once she was inside and amongst the masses, he would fail to even give her a second glance. She was sure of it.
In the meantime though, she allowed herself to revel in the jealous looks and murmurs as she walked past the others still waiting in line. Apparently, she still had it after all, which was a much-needed boost to her confidence, especially today. Maybe this night wouldn't turn out to be as much of a waste of time as she thought.
The second bouncer greeted her with a nod as he unhooked the rope, and she smiled gratefully at him in return. At this point, she couldn't wait to sit down and give her feet a rest. Being a detective wasn't exactly a job that required stilettos; she was very much out of practice. Most people would be fighting their way to the bar once they got inside, but not her. The only plan she had was hunting for the nearest booth.
Well, that, and the entire reason she came here.
Another member of staff opened the set of double doors that blocked off the foyer from the club, and she was immediately hit with a wave of heat and pulsing music that nearly swept her off her feet. Once inside, she made for the balcony, gripping the cool metal rail there firmly as she lowered her head and allowed the almost overwhelming sound to wash over her, until the thumping base settled in her bones and she felt like she could breathe again.
The women who had entered with her were already busy navigating their way down the stairs, laughing and shouting at each other over the beat. She felt a sting of loneliness at the sight. It had been a long time since she had any friends to call her own, especially female friends. What with work and her daughter, there just never seemed to be any space in her life. That, and the fact it just didn't feel like a priority.
But at times like these, she found herself wishing that it could be.
As the music changed to something a little less frantic, she gathered herself together before walking to the center of the balcony, where she could watch over the masses below. Golden lights strung from overhead illuminated the dance floor and beyond, but try as she might, she couldn't locate Morningstar, not from here.
Now that she was inside, the club felt smaller than it did in the photos, more intimate. The swathes of material lining the walls acted like curtains that shut out the world beyond, creating a sense of privacy, of freedom. She could see how that could appeal; the chance to let loose, to spend an evening exploring your every desire without fear of consequence.
It was no wonder so many people wanted to come here.
The mirrored wall behind the bar caught her eye, the reflection of the lights within giving the illusion of space that wasn't there. Or rather, it was, it just couldn't be seen. One glance at the floorplans for the building and it was easy to see that the club didn't cover all of it, leaving plenty of space for multiple rooms in the back.
If she had to guess, Morningstar was probably making his rounds in those exclusive areas, where desperate petitioners came to seek his services. Areas she no doubt had a hope in hell of getting into. It felt like the best and the only thing she could do right now was follow her not-quite companions downstairs and wait. Which is exactly what she did, her hand never leaving the rail as she concentrated on not falling over.
Thankfully, just a few minutes later she was lucky enough to catch an empty booth as its occupants got up to dance. She closed her eyes for a moment after she got settled on the plush golden cushioning, the sensation of taking the weight off her feet the closest thing to orgasmic that she'd felt in ages. A small groan of pleasure escaped her lips, and she sighed happily before opening her eyes again.
Only to find a dark-skinned woman looming over her, clad head to toe in leather straps that showed enough skin to be bordering on inappropriate, even in here. She regarded Chloe with a look of disdain, her sneer doing little to obscure her beauty. In the next instant, she'd slammed a glass down on the table, the liquid inside sloshing over the rim and dripping onto the surface below.
"Oh, I didn't order a drink," Chloe started, but she quickly found herself cut off by the clearly unimpressed woman.
"Courtesy of the owner," she answered with a smile full of teeth, sharp and deadly. If smiles could have knives, this one would have them in spades.
Chloe knew who she was, of course. Mazikeen Smith, otherwise known as Maze, was Morningstar's right hand, rarely ever leaving his side. She had a reputation all of her own, mainly as the person responsible for cleaning up any mess her boss left behind. Mess that generally required something far more violent than anything he allowed himself to get personally involved in.
Before she came here tonight, it was hard to imagine such a slight woman inflicting the kind of damage shown and recorded in the incident reports, but now, having met her in person, she had no doubt that every word of it was true. Not that anything ever came of it, any charges filed always ended up withdrawn before they went anywhere. Smith was just as protected as her boss, and it grated against every single principal Chloe had as a cop.
She stared at the drink in front of her, taking in the sugared rim and unidentifiable pink liquid inside. Not to mention the cocktail umbrella. "This is from Mr. Morningstar?" she asked, unable to quite keep the doubt out of her voice. She would have expected a scotch at least. In fact, she could really use one right now.
"He asked me to make you something you'd like. Did I get it wrong?" Smith cocked her head to the side as she pointedly ran her eyes over her too-tight dress, which even when sitting down, continued to cling to her in all the right places.
It dawned on her then what she must look like from an outsider's point of view. Somehow she'd managed to forget that she was supposed to be acting out a role tonight, playing the part of every other woman in here looking for a good time, and not drawing too much attention to herself. Outside of his, that is.
And so she plastered on a bright smile and shook her head, adding in a small giggle as she lifted the glass to her lips. Smith briefly rolled her eyes in response, and then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd so quickly that it was as though she were never there at all.
A thousand questions still crowded Chloe's mind, in particular about the woman's connection to Morningstar, but they were questions she hadn't dared ask. This wasn't a sting for work, after all, and giving away the fact that she'd basically been stalking him for the past six months wasn't exactly a good idea.
With little else to do for the time being, she absentmindedly stirred her drink, watching as the cherries swirled around the bottom of the glass. With pinpoint accuracy, she skewered one with her cocktail umbrella, then lifted it to her lips. Memories of learning to tie a cherry stem with her tongue when she was younger brought a smile to her face. She wondered if she could still do it, or if it was a skill now lost, like so many other things from her youth.
It was then that a sudden hush fell over the club, the many voices around her lowering to a whisper until the sound of a piano cut cleanly through the air. When she looked up, she was unsurprised to find a spotlight shining on Morningstar in the center of the room, a simple melody flowing from his fingertips. One by one, his admirers drifted closer, but he paid them no mind, his body softly swaying back and forth as the composition grew more complex.
He looked different this way. More… at peace. As if he were somewhere far from here, somewhere he could be someone else, someone other than this. If she didn't know better, she'd say that the Lucifer Morningstar everyone else here saw was just a front, a mask, and that this was the real man underneath it all.
It turned out she was right when she said that photos and videos could never capture the soul of a place, but what she failed to realize at the time was that soul was all him. He was a part of everything here, from the thick velvet curtains that lined the walls, to the dark shadowy corners hiding all manner of sin.
But most of all, he was this. Music that swelled and waned and swept you up in its thrall, until it finally crescendoed, leaving you bereft of that one perfect moment where the world outside ceased to exist.
Her drink forgotten, she watched, mesmerized, as he worked his way through his set, trying in vain to connect the man before her with the arrogant womanizer she knew him to be. A task that was all soon easily accomplished.
For as the last note rang out and the lights flared into life again, he was immediately surrounded by admirers, three of whom she recognized as the blondes she'd entered the club with. He preened under their attention as they pawed at his chest and whispered what was no doubt filth in his ear, and she rolled her eyes at the unseemliness of it all.
If anything felt like a sign that it was time to leave, it was this. Morningstar's plans for the evening were quite obviously set; another night of being fawned over by his devotees before choosing which one—or more—to take upstairs. The odds of them interacting any further than those few seconds of eye contact were slim to none, and she was glad of it.
Now, she could go home and put him, and all of this, far behind her. No more wondering, no more trying to convince herself either way. She was here, within reach for the first time ever, and if he were her soulmate, then surely he wouldn't be wrapped up with anyone other than her. He would be captivated, enthralled, and even if he wasn't, he would definitely be watching her.
Exactly like he was right now.