One careless wish, one smoking-hot problem. I was just reading my latest obsession — a fantasy romance about a demon named Dante Marcellus, the world’s most infuriatingly hot demon prince — when I made the mistake of sighing, “I wish I had a boyfriend like him.” I didn’t know he was real. I didn’t know he was listening. And I definitely didn’t know he’d show up in my bedroom next morning — shirtless, smirking, and very much my problem. Now Dante claims I “summoned” him… and he’s not leaving. Which would be fine, if he didn’t insist on walking around my apartment like it’s his throne room. Or if he wasn’t technically a demon with a past as dangerous as his jawline. I wanted a book boyfriend. I got the plot twist of my life.