The world tilted.
Sasha blinked, and she was no longer in the guest room.
She was seated in the familiar diner—The M Table—its warm golden light flickering like before.
The same smell of sugar and smoke hung in the air. Only now, there were no waitresses, no laughter, no clinking glasses.
Just him.
Mephistopheles lounged on a velvet sofa before her, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of Spiritwine resting lazily in his hand. His eyes gleamed like molten metal.
He smiled when he saw her. "Ah, milady. I was wondering if you'd show up."
Sasha steadied her breath, clutching the book against her chest. "I haven't given up."
"Good," he said. "So… have you decided? Remember, you only have one chance to negotiate. After this, no second offers."
Sasha looked up at him, her fear buried under exhaustion and love. "You said something yesterday—that money can be bought with life, but life cannot be bought with material gains."
He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."
