“He claims to hate her, but his obsession says otherwise. A deadly game of spite and desire unfolds as enemies collide, and lines between hate, love, and possession blur in the most dangerous ways.”
Yandere! Divorce Attorney : Skin of the Saint Series – Part 3
Word Count: 828 words
The church had become his arena—a battleground masked as a sanctuary.
When he returned the next morning, he lingered at the edge of the nave, leaning lazily against a stone pillar. From where he stood, half-shrouded in shadows, he could see you at the altar, oblivious to his presence. Your hands moved with a precise grace, adjusting candles, smoothing cloth, cleaning away dust as if every gesture was a word in a silent prayer. The stained glass filtered dawn’s light in muted colors across the floor, and yet you worked without pause, like time itself was irrelevant.
It bothered him—how you were always here.
It gnawed at him, that unwavering dedication you poured into this place, as though your entire existence had been reduced to servitude for a silent God who refused to acknowledge you. The thought alone set his teeth on edge. People like you shouldn’t exist, and yet you did. Right there. Living proof of a belief he had long since discarded, and that made something burn deep in his chest.
It wasn’t curiosity, he told himself. It was contempt.
Still, he watched.
“Doesn’t this get old for you?” His voice shattered the quiet, ricocheting through the stone walls and chasing away the morning calm.
You turned slowly, the faint glow of dawn catching on the edge of your veil as it framed your face. There was no surprise in your eyes, no sharpness, just an unshaken indifference that cut sharper than any blade.
“Why are you here again?” you asked. Your voice was soft, cool, and impossibly steady, as though he weren’t worth raising it for.
“The case.” The lie slipped from his mouth too quickly. Maybe it wasn’t even a lie anymore. He couldn’t tell.
Pushing off the pillar, he strode toward you, his boots echoing across the stone as he crossed the distance in just a few steps.
“Most people would’ve told me to get out by now,” he said, that signature smirk twisting his mouth. “Guess you’re one of those turn-the-other-cheek types?”
You didn’t flinch. You barely seemed to register him at all as you returned to your work, your hands as steady as before. “I don’t waste time arguing with men who refuse to listen.”
“And what exactly are you doing that’s so important?” His tone sharpened with mockery. “Scrubbing floors? Praying to empty air? Polishing halos that don’t exist?”
Your hands paused—just for a beat—before you set your cloth aside. You turned to face him fully now, your expression calm and detached, though your gaze could have cut through steel.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” he shot back, venom coating every word as he closed the distance further. “You’re wasting your life on a fantasy. On a God that doesn’t answer, doesn’t care—that doesn’t even exist.”
“And yet you’re here,” you replied, a flicker of steel beneath your calm tone. “Why is that?”
The question made something snap in him. His smirk faltered, his jaw tightening as if your words struck a nerve he hadn’t realized was raw. He stepped closer, his presence looming now, a weight pressing down on the air between you.
“Maybe I enjoy watching you delude yourself,” he sneered, his voice low and dangerous.
“Or maybe,” you said quietly, your words cutting sharper for their softness, “you’re afraid I’m right.”
The accusation landed like a blow, one he wasn’t prepared to take. His fists flexed at his sides, twitching with an energy he couldn’t release. He didn’t like the way you looked at him—unmoved, unshaken, as though he were nothing but noise in the vast stillness of your world.
“You’re weak,” he growled, his voice a low snarl. “Clinging to faith because you’re too scared to face reality.”
“You think devotion is weakness?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, the faintest edge of amusement breaking through your composure.
“I think it’s stupidity,” he spat.
“And yet here you are.” The words came softer now, but they hit harder for it. “Why do you keep coming back?”
His teeth ground together. He couldn’t answer that—or maybe he wouldn’t. Instead, he took another step, close enough to catch the faint warmth radiating off of you. Close enough to shake you if he wanted, to demand the reaction you refused to give him.
“Don’t pretend you know me,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly warning. “If you did, you wouldn’t talk so freely.”
Your gaze didn’t waver. “And yet you’re still here.”
Turning away from him with infuriating calm, you picked up your cloth again, as if he no longer existed.
Something about it made his blood roar in his ears. He hated the way you dismissed him, hated the unshakable stillness you embodied. He wanted to tear it apart—to break you, to see what lay beneath the surface.
But as much as he loathed you, as much as he wanted to see you falter—he couldn’t leave.
And worse yet, he couldn’t stop watching.
𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 