Chapter Text
Lucifer stared down at his phone, the screen glowing in the dim light of his lounge. A garish new app pulsed with red and pink hearts—“RENT-A-GIRLFRIEND”—and the absurdity of it made him scoff under his breath. Humans… ever the creative, desperate little things. He flicked his thumb with slow disdain, swiping left through profile after profile of sinners draped in seductive outfits, each more ridiculous than the last.
His smirk twisted into a grimace when a particularly bold profile appeared—a sinner with deer-like features, wearing nothing but a g-string, her chest clumsily censored in a pixelated blur. “Oh, for Hell’s sake…” he muttered, recoiling like he’d just bitten into something sour. With a groan, he smacked his face and dragged his palm down it, dismayed.
This is what I’ve been reduced to? Swiping through Vinder just to save face?
He imagined Charlie's disapproving eyes, her warm smile dimming with disappointment. The thought alone was enough to sink a rock into his gut.
He hated the thought of showing up alone to Charlie’s New Year’s party. Not after everything. Not after failing her for so long. Not after losing Lilith and fumbling his chance to raise their daughter properly. This—this—was his chance to do better. To be better. To show her, he could be present. That he wanted to be in her life. Really be there.
When he visited the hotel last week, she’d pulled him aside. There was something in her eyes—something unsure and fragile—that made the air in his lungs tighten.
“Dad…” Charlie’s voice was small, her fingers fumbling nervously with each other. Her eyes flicked from side to side like she was searching for an exit.
Lucifer’s stomach dropped. A cold dread curled in his chest. Had he messed up again? Said something? Done something? He'd only just begun to repair the fragile thread of their bond. The idea of fraying it again, of losing her, was unbearable.
He forced a broad, nervous smile and leaned on his staff, the apple-shaped top catching the light. “What’s up, kiddo? You didn’t like the stuffed animal I brought?” he asked, glancing at the absurd twenty-foot-tall plush rabbit looming in the corner. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and it had twisted horns, a bat wing, and a crooked spiny tail.
“It’s all the rage in Lu-Lu World,” he added, hoping to lighten the mood.
Charlie winced at the doll, her lips curling in a polite but pained smile. “N-no, that’s not it. I’m not a kid anymore, Dad…”
That stung more than he expected.
His throat tightened, a bead of sweat slipping down his temple. She’s pulling away… again. The crushing anxiety returned like a vice around his heart—panic that she might ghost him, shut him out, vanish from his life as if this reconciliation never happened.
“But I still like the gift!” she rushed, waving her hands in mock surrender, her laugh nervous and forced. “It’s just that… uh…” Her eyes darted to the side. Lucifer’s gaze followed—and caught Vaggie watching the scene with a thumbs-up and an encouraging nod.
He mirrored his daughter’s tension, his voice softening. “What is it, sweetheart?”
She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, that’s not right…” she mumbled to herself. Then, after a pause, she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye.
“Dad… I love you. You know that, right?”
Lucifer froze.
The words wrapped around his heart and squeezed, tender and unexpected. His expression cracked into something real—unguarded. His voice trembled with sincerity as he reached for her hands.
“Aw, Charchar… I love you too. You mean the world to me.”
“I—I know that after Mom left, things haven’t really been the same, but—”
Lucifer’s brows lifted as though someone had flipped a switch in his head. His mouth formed a small, perfectly round “o.”
“Oh, Charlie,” he said slowly, a hopeful gleam flickering behind his eyes. “Do you… do you want me to find you a new mom? Is that what this is ab—?”
Charlie flinched. Her shoulders jerked upward, and her face scrunched as if she’d bitten into the sourest lemon in existence.
“What? No!” she burst out, scandalized. “It’s not for me, Dad.” She pulled her hands away from his, her voice carrying both frustration and care. “It’s for you.”
She clasped her hands together tightly, grounding herself, her gaze softening with an ache that mirrored his own. “I don’t want you to be alone anymore. I don’t want you to keep clinging to the past like it’s all you have left.” Her voice cracked, just barely. “Dad, I just want you to be happy. And maybe… maybe if you found someone again…”
Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to Vaggie, who stood nearby watching quietly. Charlie looked at her with a gaze full of warmth—adoration, even. It was the kind of look that said she knew love. That she believed in it.
“…maybe you’d be less…” She made a swirling motion with her hands, as if searching for the right word. Her nose scrunched before she finally winced and said it.
“Lonely?”
Lonely.
The word hit him like a whip crack in a silent hall.
He blinked. Coughed. And then—laughed. Wheezing, awkward laughter that felt like it belonged to someone else. “L-Lonely?” he echoed, louder this time, as if saying it again might make it more absurd. “Me?”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong. That he wasn’t lonely. That he had her, his brilliant, compassionate daughter, and that was enough. That he didn’t need a partner to fill a void he didn’t acknowledge.
But the truth was quieter.
Crueler.
Because when he thought of his palace, the place that once rang with life and arguments and laughter, it was hollow now. Cold. Like time had congealed there, untouched. Every room seemed frozen in memory, as though merely walking through it would crack the fragile illusions he’d built to protect himself.
And beneath all of that… there it was.
That dull ache in his chest. The one he never spoke of. The hole Lilith had left behind when she turned away from them all to chase some misguided idea of the “greater good.” A cause that had swallowed her whole. A goodbye that had no closure. No return.
Centuries.
It had been centuries since he’d heard her voice. Since he’d felt truly seen by someone who understood the weight he carried.
Lonely?
Was he really?
He thought about coming home after visiting the hotel—how the silence would stretch for miles. How even the crackle of firelight seemed muted. He’d even considered moving into the hotel permanently. The thought had lingered more often lately. But leaving their home behind still felt like turning his back on everything he once was.
Turning his back…on her.
Still…
“Dad?”
Charlie’s voice was gentle. Concerned. Grounding.
He blinked back into the present, the warmth of her presence tugging him out of the depths.
And what he said next…
Well.
He’d regret it.
He’d regret it more than anything he’d said in the last three days.
“Charlie, I… I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”
The words hovered at the back of his throat, sticky and sharp like broken glass. His inner voice was screaming—Don’t say it. Don’t lie. Don’t dig yourself into a hole you can’t crawl out of. But then he looked at her. Really looked.
The worry in her eyes. The gentle furrow in her brow. The way her hands fidgeted nervously, like she was holding back tears or hope or both.
And maybe…it wasn’t fear that pushed him over the edge.
It was pride.
The same pride that cast him down from Heaven. The same pride that built his kingdom in fire and gold. The same pride that now whispered, Don’t let her pity you. Don’t let her see you as hollow.
So, he smiled—tight-lipped and trembling—and said, “I’m actually… seeing someone.”
The last two words came out in a tumble, mumbled like a confession, as if saying them quietly might make them less real.
Charlie blinked, her lips parting slightly before stretching wide into a smile that was radiant and unguarded. It was the kind of smile that could disarm angels and make demons question their loyalties. Her whole face lit up with joy. Pure, unfiltered joy.
He should’ve laughed. Tweaked her nose. Called “Bazinga!” and told her it was just one of his dumb old-man jokes.
But then he saw it—the way her eyes sparkled. The genuine excitement, the hope, the relief.
And just like that, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take it back.
Not without shattering that beautiful expression.
“I’m… seeing someone,” he repeated, rubbing the side of his arm with a sheepish motion. The words tasted wrong on his tongue, bitter and false.
And the lie began to grow.
He spun a story. It was painfully careful and absurdly romantic about a mysterious woman he’d met, someone unlike anyone he’d ever known. He explained he’d kept it a secret because he wasn’t sure how to bring it up, how to explain that loving someone new didn’t erase what he’d had with Lilith.
And he meant that part. God, he meant it. He would always love Lilith. Even now, with the echo of her absence lingering in every hallway of his life.
But he told Charlie he was happy. That he’d found someone who brought him light again.
And the more she listened, the more she believed—the brighter her features became, until her aura shimmered like rainbows in sunlight. She gasped, hands pressed to her chest, and then threw her arms around him in a tight hug.
“Oh, Dad! That’s wonderful! You have to bring her to the party—I need to meet her!”
He hugged her back, guilt clawing into him like a parasite.
And now… now here he was.
Sitting alone in his cavernous bedroom, bathed in the cold glow of his phone, the silence around him suffocating. The walls of his room felt tighter tonight.
More judgmental.
App after app filled his screen—swipe-based hellscapes of desperation, lust, and neon-filtered selfies. He downloaded everything he could, until finally, he found it:
Rent-a-Girlfriend.
The name was so ridiculous it was practically divine intervention.
It was precisely what he was looking for.
Except… not really.
He’d been swiping for five hours now. Five hours. And every profile blurred together—dozens of sinners in sultry poses, dressed in next to nothing, their expressions blank or predatory. The commodification of companionship. The illusion of romance.
All looking for a quick fuck. None looking to play the part of ‘Lucifer’s True Love.’
His thumb paused mid-swipe. A hollow ache settled in his chest again, curling inward like a dying star. He should tell Charlie the truth. Rip the bandage off. Confess. Face the fallout.
But he couldn’t.
He’d already painted this woman as perfect. Ideal. A new beginning. Charlie believed in her. She believed in him.
He couldn’t take that back. Not without breaking her heart. Or worse—breaking her trust.
Maybe… maybe he’d find someone. Just for the night. Bring a beautiful, convincing date to the party, smile for the pictures, sell the dream.
And afterward?
Afterward, he’d say they broke up. Quietly. Sadly.
A love lost too soon.
And maybe… This whole mess would fade into the background.
But first…
He needed to find a woman.
As if Heaven itself had momentarily lifted its eternal restraining order on him—which would be shocking, considering Lucifer was fairly certain God had put him on a celestial Do Not Call list centuries ago—his phone suddenly chimed.
A soft bell tone, bright and clear, echoed through the stillness of his dark chamber. The screen lit up, casting a pale glow across his face like moonlight filtering through a stained-glass window.
Lucifer, sprawled on his bed in a dramatic mess of silk sheets and self-loathing, flipped onto his stomach with the grace of a fallen starfish. He squinted at the screen, his eyes still adjusting to the light.
A notification pulsed gently at the top:
He blinked once.
Then twice.
And then—pure, unfiltered chaos.
“HOT DIGGITY DOG! HALLELUJAH!” he howled, startling the infernal crows roosting outside his window. His voice echoed through the chambers like a choir of mad angels. A manic laugh burst from his throat, giddy and frenzied, tumbling out in wild waves.
He kicked his legs back and forth like an overgrown teenager, gripping his phone like it was a holy relic. “Finally! Finally, something in this godforsaken hellscape is going right!”
Without wasting another moment, he summoned his notepad app with a flourish, fingers tapping feverishly as he began crafting the ultimate list. Every trait, every nuance, every detail his imaginary perfect partner might possess.
If this app could deliver what it promised, he’d have four whole days to train this lucky lady in the sacred art of not embarrassing him. Four days to teach her about Charlie, the hotel, his favourite wine, his good side, his better side, and most importantly—how to make it look like they’d been in love for years.
This was it.
The lie had grown too large to abandon now. But if he could just pull this off, he wouldn’t have to face that flicker of disappointment in Charlie’s eyes. Maybe she’d never know how hollow the truth really was.
All he had to do now was find the woman of his manufactured dreams.
And rehearse one hell of a love story.
You leaned in gently, pressing a soft kiss to your fake boyfriend’s cheek—a delicate gesture choreographed with practiced ease. His mother stood a few feet away, clutching a rosary like a lifeline, her eyes shining with naive relief. She believed it. She really believed it. Her precious son wasn’t gay—just shy, just particular, just… reserved.
And that’s all it took. A single kiss. A single illusion.
It was almost absurd—funny, in that bleak, bitter kind of way that made your chest ache more than your stomach. The mother and son were both damned, both condemned to the fire and rot of Hell, and yet… to her, the only thing that seemed to matter was that her son wasn’t gay.
Not the endless torment.
Not the bloodstained skies or the scent of sulphur that clung to everything like guilt.
Not the screaming, the violence, the centuries of pain.
No.
In her mind, the worst possible fate wasn’t damnation.
It was deviation.
There was something grotesquely tragic about it. This stubborn clinging to a false sense of morality, this desperate need to preserve some imagined social order even in a realm where rules were shattered and rewritten with every scream. As long as her son was “normal” in her eyes, that was enough. That was her line in the sand.
You watched her, the way she came over to him and held his hand a little too tightly, the way he forced a smile that barely masked his fatigue. You saw the flinches, the tension in his shoulders, the quiet sadness behind his eyes—because even here, even after everything, he still wasn’t allowed to be himself.
And it wasn’t your place to say anything. This wasn’t your story to rewrite. You were just a performer in their little play—an actress brought in to deliver a convincing scene and exit stage left.
Still…
You couldn’t help but feel the sting in your chest as you showered in her compliments of how her son finally found himself a lovely girlfriend.
You knew that some prisons weren’t made of bars.
Some were built from expectations—and love twisted into chains.
When the charade ended, the two of you parted like actors after a curtain call. The shrimp-like sinner, small, dainty, and practically humming with nervous energy, pulled out his phone and, with trembling fingers, transferred the agreed-upon sum to your account.
“Thank you so much,” he said, voice fluttering like a hummingbird, delicate and sweet. “She completely fell for it!”
You smiled warmly, the same customer-service grin you’d mastered over dozens of gigs. “It’s no problem at all! If you're happy with the service, please remember to leave a five-star review!”
You turned to leave, already mentally checking this job off your list, but something in your chest gave a soft tug.
A pang.
A whisper.
You hesitated.
“Uhm… Carl?” you called, voice quiet, almost hesitant, as if the words themselves tiptoed past your lips. You weren’t sure if this was the right thing to say, or even your place to say it—but sometimes, when something weighed on your heart, it had to be let out.
Carl tilted his head, those shiny black eyes wide and curious. “Hm?”
You placed a hand gently over your chest. “I hope you and Jack can be happy one day.”
The words hung between you, tender and sincere.
Then, quickly, you added, “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” wincing slightly, your feet already turning to walk away, retreating before the awkwardness could bloom.
But just as you stepped out of earshot, you caught a soft whisper carried on the wind like a secret blessing: “Thank you.”
Your chest tightened—just a little—and you smiled to yourself.
Another job finished.
You pulled out your phone, ready to check out, when you noticed several missed messages buzzing in the Rent-A-Girlfriend app. At the top of your screen glowed a tiny pink envelope, sealed with a heart-shaped sticker. It shimmered faintly with golden light as you tapped it open.
Premium Client.
The aura of the message alone was enough to tell you one thing: whoever this was, they weren’t just rich—they were seriously desperate.
You read the request slowly, eyebrows raising with every line. The client was looking for someone… specific. A girlfriend not for a day, not for a date—but for a long-term illusion. Someone who could fake a deep, meaningful relationship with him. Years of fake memories. Shared laughs. Old habits. The kind of familiarity you only get with time.
He wanted a trial run first. Thirty minutes. One-on-one.
You blinked. That wasn’t exactly standard.
Your phone pinged again—this time a new chat invite. A private group with the other Rent-a-Girlfriend workers. You opened it curiously.
The messages were blowing up:
You stared at the chat in amused disbelief. Thirty girls, all saying the same thing. This Luci guy? Apparently, unbearable.
You tilted your head, thinking.
“Interesting,” you murmured aloud. Only thirty minutes, huh?
Part of you knew better. The warning signs were right there.
But then again… you’d always had a hard time turning down someone in need.
So, you pressed the “Accept” button.
Just thirty minutes.
What could go wrong?