My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Chapter 826: Stella and Vergil

Here is a lighter scene, focused on Stella and Vergil, using Paris and the Eiffel Tower as the main setting.Stella had to insist for almost a week to convince Vergil to go out with her without turning the outing into some disguised mission. He only agreed after the third time she appeared before him with her arms crossed, an expression far too serious for a domestic conversation, and the direct accusation that he knew how to cross dimensions, invade the Abyss, defeat Deadly Sins, and argue with celestial entities, but apparently did not know how to reserve one afternoon to be alone with his own wife. Vergil tried to argue that the castle still required attention, that the new Authorities needed control, and that there were possible political movements from fallen angels, demons, and other forces interested in him. Stella simply stared at him until he understood that none of those answers would save him.

That was how the two of them ended up in Paris, walking along the banks of the Seine while the Eiffel Tower rose in the background, illuminated against the night sky. Stella had chosen the place precisely because it was ridiculously famous. She said that if she was going to drag Vergil out of the castle, she would do it properly, without hiding him in some silent village or an empty dimension. She wanted living streets, lights, people passing by, open restaurants, the smell of food, couples walking without hurry, and that feeling that, for a few hours, the world did not demand blood from anyone.

Vergil walked beside her with his hands in the pockets of his dark coat, looking around with his usual controlled expression. He did not seem bothered, but he also did not seem completely relaxed. His eyes followed reflections in the river, the movements of nearby people, the entrances to side streets, and anything that could be interpreted as a risk. Stella noticed it within the first few minutes and naturally took hold of his arm, pulling him a little closer.

"You are doing it again," she said.

Vergil looked at her from the side. "Doing what?"

"Analyzing every escape route, possible threat, and blind spot in the area."

"That is prudence."

"That is you trying to turn our date into a patrol."

He remained silent for an instant, as if considering a response, but Stella tightened her hold on his arm before any justification could appear. Vergil let out a low sigh and shifted his gaze to the Eiffel Tower shining in the distance. "Very well. No patrol."

"No patrol," Stella repeated, satisfied. "Today you are only my handsome and intimidating escort."

"Handsome and intimidating?"

"In the correct order."

Vergil looked at her for a few seconds, and Stella noticed the almost-smile he tried to hide. It was too small for anyone else to notice, but she knew his face well enough to recognize the change. That alone was already worth half the night.

They continued walking until they reached a nearby bridge, where Stella stopped to look at the river. The water reflected the city lights in distorted bands, and the cold wind lightly moved her hair. Vergil stood beside her, quieter now, no longer searching for threats quite so openly. Stella rested her arms on the railing and looked down for a few moments before turning her face toward him.

"It has been a long time since we stayed like this."

"In Paris?"

"Just the two of us."

Vergil did not answer immediately. He knew she was right. Lately, almost every conversation between them had been interrupted by wars, family crises, celestial revelations, new powers, or some disaster appearing before the night ended. Even when they were together, they were rarely truly alone. There was always someone who needed him, some council, some worried wife, some child running through the castle, or some threat on the horizon.

"Yes," he said at last. "It has."

Stella smiled, but there was no accusation in the smile. Only affection. "That is why I brought you here. Not because Paris is perfect, or because I needed an expensive outing. I just wanted a place far enough away for you to remember that life exists outside emergencies."

Vergil placed one hand on the railing beside her. "You chose one of the most visited cities in the world for me to forget emergencies."

"Exactly. There are so many people here that you will be forced to accept that the world keeps functioning without you for a few hours."

"That logic is questionable."

"But it is working."

He looked around. People walked, laughed, took photos, spoke in different languages, and continued their lives without knowing that the man standing beside the bridge carried Death, six Deadly Sins, and more cosmic problems than any mortal should ever imagine. To everyone there, Vergil was only a tall, well-dressed, overly serious man accompanying a beautiful woman on a Parisian night. That perception was strange. Not bad. Just strange.

Stella pulled him by the hand before he could think too much. "Come on. I want to eat something before we go up."

"Go up?"

She pointed toward the Eiffel Tower. "Did you think I would bring you here and not go up?"

Vergil looked at the illuminated structure. "I can fly."

"You are not going to fly."

"It would be faster."

"You can also cut dimensions, but today we are going to do normal things."

"Going up the Eiffel Tower with thousands of tourists is normal?"

"That is exactly what makes it normal."

Vergil stared at her for a few seconds. Stella held his gaze with absolute confidence. In the end, he simply accepted being led, which, to anyone who knew Vergil, would already be considered a complete victory.

They bought crepes from a small nearby stand, and Stella made a point of choosing one that was far too sweet for him. Vergil looked at the crepe covered in chocolate as if it were a threat of an unknown category. Stella took a bite of her own without any ceremony and watched his reaction with obvious amusement.

"Are you suspicious of dessert?"

"I am evaluating it."

"It is chocolate, Vergil."

"Exactly."

She laughed, took his wrist, and brought the hand holding the crepe closer to his mouth. "Just bite it."

Vergil looked at her, then at the crepe, and finally obeyed. His expression did not change much, but Stella saw the exact moment he decided the taste was acceptable.

"And?"

"Sweet."

"That is the point."

"Too sweet."

"But you liked it."

Vergil looked away. "It is tolerable."

Stella smiled as if she had heard a passionate declaration. "Translation: you liked it."

"Do not translate my sentences."

"I am your wife. Translating you is part of the job."

The line to go up was busy, and Stella seemed happy simply to be there, leaning against him while they advanced little by little. Vergil, for his part, remained surprisingly patient. A nearby child stared at him for far too long, probably intrigued by his serious posture, and Stella had to hold back laughter when the boy hid behind his mother after Vergil merely turned his face toward him.

"You scared the child," Stella whispered.

"I merely looked."

"That is the problem."

"Should I smile?"

"No. That might make it worse."

Vergil fell silent. Stella began to laugh softly, resting her forehead against his arm so she would not draw attention. He watched her reaction and, despite his controlled expression, there was something gentler in his eyes. That was the reason he had agreed to go out. Not because of Paris, nor because of the tower, nor because of the outing itself. But because Stella laughed at simple things beside him, and for some reason, that made the world feel less heavy.

When they finally went up, the city opened around them in countless lights. Stella walked to the observation railing and stood in silence for a few seconds, looking down at Paris from above. Vergil positioned himself behind her, not out of conscious protection this time, but out of the habit of staying close. The wind was stronger there, and he noticed when Stella crossed her arms because of the cold. Without saying anything, he took off his own coat and placed it over her shoulders.

Stella looked back with a small smile. "You know I am not fragile."

"I know."

"Then why did you do that?"

"Because you were cold."

She held the collar of the coat, pulling it more comfortably around herself. "That was a very normal answer for you."

"I am practicing."

Stella laughed again, softer this time. Then she leaned her back against his chest and continued looking at the city. Vergil wrapped his arms around her naturally, holding her against him in a calm way. There was no urgency in the gesture. No hard possessiveness, no immediate fear, no reaction to a threat. It was simply closeness.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The Eiffel Tower shone beneath them, Paris remained alive around them, and the night seemed to offer a pause neither of them knew exactly how to ask for aloud. Stella closed her eyes for a few seconds, feeling his warmth behind her, and Vergil lightly rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Thank you for coming with me," she said.

"You did not give me much choice."

"I did. You chose correctly."

Vergil looked out at the city. "You truly wanted only this?"

"Yes."

"A walk."

"A walk. A crepe. A beautiful view. You not trying to solve the fate of the world for a few hours."

"That sounds small."

Stella turned within his embrace, facing him. "It is not small to me."

Vergil lowered his gaze to her. The answer struck him silently, harder than he expected. Stella was not asking for an oath, a war won, or an impossible promise. She was asking for presence. Time. Attention. Simple things that, by habit, he often treated as lesser than crises and threats.

He raised one hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Then I should do this more often."

"You should."

"Do you intend to drag me to other famous attractions?"

"Absolutely."

"Which ones?"

Stella pretended to think for a few seconds. "The Colosseum, the Great Wall of China, Machu Picchu, maybe the pyramids. I am still deciding the order."

"That sounds like a military campaign."

"It is a romantic campaign."

"You named a romantic campaign?"

"I have now."

Vergil looked at her for a moment. Then, finally, he truly smiled. Not much, not openly or excessively, but enough for Stella to stop joking for a second and simply appreciate the victory.

"That smile was mine," she said.

"Is everything a conquest to you?"

"When it involves you relaxing, yes."

He did not argue. He only leaned down and kissed her forehead first, a calm and lingering gesture. Then he kissed her lips with the same tranquility, without hurry, while the lights of Paris continued shining around them. Stella held the front of his shirt and smiled against the kiss, satisfied in an almost childish way that she had managed to drag him out of the castle and place him there, among tourists, lights, and cold wind.

When they pulled apart, she remained close, still holding him. "See? The world did not end."

"The night is not over yet."

"Vergil."

"I am joking."

Stella blinked, surprised. "Did you make a joke?"

"An attempt."

"It was terrible."

"Then I am still learning."

She laughed and leaned against him again, looking at the city once more. Vergil kept his arms around her and, for the first time in a long while, allowed his mind not to run toward the next danger. He did not think about the Authorities, Amon, Azazel, the angels, the Sins, or whatever might still arise. He thought only about the warmth of Stella wearing his coat, the soft sound of her laughter, and the strange normality of standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower on a date.

Perhaps that was what she had wanted to teach him from the beginning.

That not every moment needed to be conquered.

Some could simply be lived.

And that night, Vergil accepted living that one.