There Is No Devil (Sinners Duet, #2)
Sophie Lark
Meet Sophie
Part two is for everyone who has suffered abuse.
I grew up poor and was severely bullied as a teen. I got married at 19 to someone who hurt me in every possible way, tearing apart my self-esteem until I felt lower than dirt.
Mara’s struggles are drawn from my own experience. Her rebirth into a new life likewise parallels my own.
It doesn’t matter where you started, or what you’ve done. Maybe you’re all fucked up, and the world around you looks dark and cruel.
This book is about finding love and acceptance in another person, and more importantly, loving and accepting yourself.
You are worthy of love. You are worthy of a more beautiful future.
It can happen for anyone. It happened for me.
Love you all,
– Sophie
There Is No Devil Official Soundtrack
Spotify → geni.us/no-devil-apple
Apple Music → geni.us/no-devil-apple
Terrible Thing - AG
Amore - Bebe Rexha & Rick Ross
6 Underground - Sneaker Pimps
Psycho - Mia Rodriguez
Mad World - Gary Jules
Venom - Little Simz
Black Out Days - Phantogram
Paranoia - HAVEN
911 - Ellise
I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire - The Ink Spots
I Feel Like A God - DeathbyRomy
How Villains Are Made - Madalen Duke
This Is Love - Air Traffic Controller
Heart Shaped Box - Neovaii
The Devil is a Gentleman - Merci Raines
Animal - Sir Chloe
Demons - Hayley Kiyoko
On My Knees - RüFüS DU SOL
Survivor - 2WEI
Always Forever - Cults
Girl With One Eye - Florence + The Machine
INDUSTRY BABY - Lil Nas X & Jack Harlow
I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift
I am not a woman, I'm a god - Halsey
Bust Your Knee Caps - Pomplamoose
Fire Drill - Melanie Martinez
1
Mara
I wake to the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below. Cole keeps all his windows open on the north side of the house. I smell salt and iron, the scent of the bay. Fog drifts into the room, swirling around the posters of the old-fashioned bed.
I slip out from under the heavy coverlet, naked, my nipples stiffening in the cold. The fog condenses on my warm skin, making me slippery as a seal.
Cole has left a silk robe for me—the kind a vintage film star would have worn. It swirls around my body, heavy, sumptuous, and ridiculously extravagant.
He left slippers for me as well, but I ignore those, preferring to pad across his thick Turkish rugs in my bare feet.
Walking through the halls of Seacliff is like walking through Versailles after hours. It seems outrageous that I’m even allowed inside this place, let alone that I live here.
I could never have imagined what real wealth looks like, what it feels like to the touch. Palatial, empty, echoing space. Priceless art hung in distant wings where months or even years could pass without a single person viewing it. The aesthetic perfection of every last faucet and doorknob—each made of the finest materials. Patinaed with age, but never becoming broken or run down.
Motion sensors are everywhere. He already knows I’m awake.
Cole is the most observant person I’ve ever met. He uses technology to enhance what he can see, what he can hear, until he’s god-like in his reach.
Inside this house, he could always be listening. He could always be watching.
I want him to be.
I’m safe from the rest of the world when I’m under his eye, under his protection. No one can hurt me, no one can touch me.
Except Cole himself.
I walk down the wide, curving staircase to the main level, the long train of the robe trailing behind me like a wedding gown. I haven’t belted it. I see the hunger in Cole’s dark eyes when he sees my bare breasts slipping in and out of view within the folds of the liquid, shimmering silk.
He’s already dressed for the day, the soft black waves of his hair still damp from his shower. Freshly shaved, the sensual curves of his mouth and the sharp line of his jaw look impossibly youthful. He’s ageless. Eternal. Beautiful in a way that hurts me, that grabs hold of my heart in my chest and squeezes hard.
He holds out a double-walled glass, the layers of espresso, milk, and foam seeming to float in space.
“I made you a latte.”
He must have started it the moment I opened my eyes. Perfectly timed to the minutes it would take me stretch, slip out from under the covers, pull on the robe, and pad down the stairs.
His precision terrifies me.
In the same breath, I feel deep admiration for what I—distracted and impulsive as I am—could never hope to accomplish.
I could never be this calculated, this patient, this effective. He really is superhuman.
And he’s not even trying. It’s just a game to him.
A game to hand me this perfectly prepared latte, exactly the way I like it. He already knows this, too: the temperature I want, so I can sip without burning my mouth. Sweetness enhancing the flavor of the expensive beans, but not obscuring it. Extra foam, thick and rich as whipped cream.