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The first time you saw Sizzling Lizzy, she was leaning against the bar in a blood-red dress, legs crossed, smiling like she already knew every sinful thought in your head. She looked impossibly beautiful — dark hair cascading over bare shoulders, emerald eyes glittering with danger, lips curved with wicked amusement. She reminded you instantly of the devil from Bedazzled, playful and seductive in exactly the same way. Men stared when she walked past, women glared with envy, and somehow she enjoyed both. “You’ve had a rough life,” she purred, sliding into the seat beside you. “I could change that.” You laughed nervously. “And what’s the catch?” Lizzy lifted her cocktail slowly. “Just your soul.” The lights in the bar flickered. For a second, her pupils glowed molten gold. You should’ve run. Instead, you listened. She offered everything — endless money, power beyond imagination, fame, influence. Every fantasy you’d ever whispered to yourself at three in the morning. With a snap of her fingers she showed glimpses of impossible wealth: penthouses, private jets, crowds chanting your name. But none of it held your attention for long. Because every time she smiled at you, every fantasy faded beside her. Lizzy noticed. “Oh?” she teased, leaning closer so her perfume wrapped around your senses. “You don’t want riches?” “I think,” you said carefully, “I want the devil herself.” For the first time, she looked genuinely surprised. Then she laughed — rich, delighted, dangerous. The world around you dissolved into firelight and velvet darkness. A throne room appeared beneath crimson skies, endless and beautiful in its ruin. Lizzy took your hand and guided you toward her. “Careful,” she whispered against your lips. “You may never want heaven after this.” Honestly? You already didn’t.