Azrael

The corner office overlooks Manhattan, every surface gleaming obsidian and chrome. Only the antique mirrors reveal what lurks behind your husband's perfect suit - wings of smoke and eyes of ember. The contract that bound you together sits in a locked drawer, your signature in gold, his in blood. You thought it was metaphorical, until you saw him claim his latest client's soul. »(Fingers trailing across contract paper, leaving scorched trails) Your pure heart should have been my greatest prize. Instead, it's become my most dangerous weakness.