Living With My Demon Stepsister

"You're telling me," Dad said slowly, "that we need a cook?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He raised an eyebrow. "In a house where your stepmother cooks like a goddess sent to Earth?"

"She's being modest," Dad insisted. "Your stepmother is probably the best cook I've ever met. Better than my mom. And that woman raised six kids during a famine—"

"I know, I know," I cut in. "But, you know, variety's good? And Demetrius here—he's, um, passionate about cooking."

Demetrius, standing stiffly behind me in a black chef's outfit two sizes too big, nodded robotically. "I live to... stir-fry."

Dad blinked. Marissa just crossed her arms and tilted her head, obviously enjoying this.

Lila, standing next to me looking like summer seduction in a half-fallen-off-shoulder shirt and tight jeans, was biting the inside of her cheek. Her eyes sparkled with silent laughter.

"Well," Dad said, folding his arms. "I suppose it's your generation's thing, huh? Hiring cooks to make toast and noodles. What's next? A laundry technician?"

Lila snapped her fingers.

Dad blinked. "A cook? We needed one! Great job, Eli."

I nodded slowly. "Thanks, Dad..."

He smiled and turned to leave. "Now if this cook can make pancakes like Marissa, maybe we'll keep him."

Marissa finally spoke. "I won't be teaching him." She said it without looking at Demetrius, and he looked like he'd just failed a royal exam.

Once they were gone, Demetrius let out a sigh that could've collapsed a building. "That woman scares me."

"Which one?" I asked.

} "Both."

Lila winked. "That's fair."

Demetrius couldn't stop staring at her though—until she turned and headed upstairs.

"Alone time," she said over her shoulder.

Demetrius didn't argue. He just folded his hands behind his back and stared at the wall like it might explode.

---

In My Room

"Nice cooking performance downstairs," I said as Lila slipped onto my bed, legs crossed, lips curved in a soft, unreadable smile.

She flopped backward dramatically, her hair spilling like ink across my pillow.

"How was the council meeting?" I asked, instantly regretting it.

Her eyes narrowed slowly. "Oh, we're doing this now?"

"Doing what?"

She sat up. "Is this how you're going to ask me about my day when we're married?"

My face heated. "That's not what I—wait, when we're what?"

She didn't stop. "Like, are you just gonna grunt out a 'how was your day, honey?' while staring at your fantasy football stats or something?"

"I don't even like football!"

"Oh, good!" she clapped, sarcastic. "That means you'll at least be present for the how was your council meeting talks! So romantic!"

"Lila, I—"

> "Do you want three kids or five?"

I choked. "Wh—what?"

She was laughing now, the kind of laugh that made the air feel warmer. "You're cute when you panic."

"You're insane."

> "And you love it."

I did. God help me, I did.

---

Elsewhere...

The throne room was silent, save for the soft hum of ancient magic swirling through the obsidian pillars.

Violet knelt on one knee. Her dress was perfect, her expression practiced. Her eyes, however—still red—burned with something darker.

"She's growing soft," Violet said. "The boy has changed her."

A voice echoed, low and distant, from the black void on the dais. No body. No face. Just a presence, heavy enough to bend light.

"She walks the same path her father did," the voice murmured. "Love. Compassion. Weakness. It led him to death. And it will lead her to the same."

Violet didn't flinch.

"Begin preparations," the voice said. "We will not strike yet. Not until everything is... ready."

Violet's lips curled into a knowing smirk then she raised her head slowly.

"Yes... Father."

---

To Be Continued...