The hallway outside Delilah's apartment smelled faintly of expensive candles, perfume, and flowers that had probably been sent by people who suddenly remembered she existed after the headlines started trending across every entertainment site.
Lucifer stood in front of her door with one hand in his coat pocket. He rang the bell and waited. The building was quiet, far quieter than Lux, which made every tiny sound seem sharper than it needed to be. Somewhere behind the door, he could hear slow footsteps approaching.
A few seconds later, the lock clicked.
The door opened, and Delilah appeared in front of him wearing a loose top and shorts. Her right palm was bandaged, and another patch of white gauze rested near her shoulder beneath the collar of her shirt. She looked tired, pale around the eyes, and far more alive than the bloody memory still sitting inside Lucifer's head.
For one second, Delilah simply stared at him.
Then she stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
Lucifer froze for the smallest moment before his arms settled around her with careful pressure. He kept his grip gentle, avoiding her injured shoulder, though Delilah seemed less worried about pain than about making sure he was really standing there.
"You came," she whispered against his chest.
"Of course I came," Lucifer said, looking down at her with a faint smile. "I make a habit of checking whether people I save have had the decency to remain saved."
Delilah let out a soft laugh, though it broke slightly near the end. She pulled back and wiped beneath one eye with the back of her uninjured hand.
"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Sorry, the place is kind of a mess."
Lucifer walked in and glanced around the apartment. It was expensive, stylish, and full of signs that someone had been living too fast to notice the wreckage collecting around them. Designer clothes rested over a chair near the window. Empty water bottles sat beside prescription painkillers on the coffee table. A guitar leaned against the wall near a stack of unopened flowers and glossy gift baskets from people who cared publicly and conveniently.
"Yes," Lucifer said as he entered. "A true disaster. I can see at least three brands of luxury suffering."
Delilah smiled a little and closed the door behind him.
They moved toward the couch. Delilah lowered herself carefully onto one side, wincing when her shoulder pulled the wrong way. Lucifer noticed, though he said nothing as he sat beside her and placed the envelope on his lap.
"Thanks," Delilah said after a quiet moment. "For everything. The hospital room, guards, doctors, the whole thing. They told me you handled all of it."
"I did," Lucifer replied, leaning back against the couch. "Humans are remarkably fragile, and hospitals tend to work better when one throws absurd amounts of money at them."
"You also caught who did it," she said, her eyes dropping toward her bandaged hand. "Or helped catch him. It's all over the news."
Lucifer's expression sharpened at the name.
Delilah shook her head slowly, still struggling to believe it even after hearing the truth. "I still can't wrap my head around it. To think Jimmy tried to kill me just to create hype and sell the album."
Lucifer shrugged a little.
"The things humans do for money never cease to amaze me," he said. "Betray kingdoms, families, lovers, and somehow, every generation still manages to make greed look tackier than the last."
Delilah stared at the coffee table, her fingers curling carefully against her knee.
"I knew Jimmy was bitter. He hated me for leaving him, and he was desperate after everything started falling apart, but hiring someone to kill me?" Her voice trembled with anger now. "I mean, if not for you, I'd be dead."
Lucifer looked at her injured shoulder, then at the fear she was trying to hide beneath anger.
"Yes," he said quietly. "But it's all over now."
Delilah swallowed hard and turned toward him.
"Jimmy disappeared from the hospital," she said. "The news said he vanished before the cops could move him. What if he comes after me again?"
Lucifer's smile returned, slow and dark enough to make the air feel colder around him.
"That sleazeball won't be hurting you or anyone else for that matter, so you can take a breather," he said.
Delilah studied his face.
Something in his tone made her stop asking the next question. She had seen enough impossible things outside Lux to understand that Lucifer Morningstar's world had doors she might regret opening. He had taken bullets for her and walked away without a scratch. He had looked at a dying man like judgment had finally arrived in a tailored suit.
She leaned back and released a shaky breath.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll take the breather."
"Excellent choice," Lucifer said, then lifted the folded envelope from his lap. "Also, I brought you something."
Delilah looked at it, cautious now.
"What is it?"
Lucifer held it out between two fingers. "Open it."
She took the envelope with her good hand and carefully unfolded the flap. A few sheets of paper slid into her lap. At first, she seemed too distracted to understand what she was seeing. Then her eyes moved across the first page, and her entire expression changed.
She looked up at him.
"Lucifer... what is this?"
"A contract," Lucifer said casually.
Delilah stared down at the papers again.
"This says LUX Studios."
"Yes," Lucifer replied. "Catchy, isn't it?"
Her eyes widened further as she read more. "You bought Jimmy's studio?"
"His dying studio," Lucifer corrected with visible distaste. "The place was already circling the drain, and with Jimmy suddenly unavailable for all future acts of mediocrity, it seemed like a perfect opportunity."
Delilah looked at the contract again, her face caught between shock, fear, and something dangerously close to hope.
"You're giving it to me?"
"I'm giving you control," Lucifer said. "The studio belongs to me, technically, because lawyers become twitchy when I start handing entire companies to recently shot pop stars recovering on pain medication. You will run it as you see fit. Sing, record, shoot videos, produce, discover talent, throw chairs at incompetent executives, whatever makes you feel alive."
Delilah's lips parted, but no words came out.
Lucifer leaned forward slightly, his tone losing some of its playful edge.
"You wanted a second chance, Delilah. Consider this one with better acoustics."
Her eyes glistened again. "I don't know if I deserve this."
Lucifer gave her an unimpressed look.
"Deserving is such a tedious little word," he said. "You have talent, experience, a voice people would sell kidneys to hear, and a rather spectacular ability to survive poor romantic decisions. That should be more than enough for the music industry."
Delilah laughed through the tears, then pressed the papers carefully against her chest.
"I don't know what to say."
"You could start with thank you, followed by a promise to avoid every walking disaster with jewelry and a recording booth."
She wiped her face and gave him a shaky smile. "Thank you."
"There we are."
"And I promise," she added, though her smile turned sheepish, "I'll try to make better choices."
Lucifer lifted one finger.
"No trying," he said. "Trying is the word people use when they wish to keep a side door open for failure."
Delilah rolled her eyes, though the warmth in her expression stayed.
"Fine. I'll make better choices."
If you want to read early advance chapters and support me, you can join>: https://xcaliburxc.carrd.co/
[Read 20+ advance chapters] + [The Big Bang Theory: Science, Music and Billions> 16 chs. Early access.]