Chapter 3

I didn't sleep that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face—those black, empty eyes, those gleaming fangs inches from my throat.

He could have killed me. He almost did.

But he stopped.

Why?

The next morning, I found a note slipped under my door.

"Forget what you saw. It won't happen again. —S"

That was it. No apology. No explanation.

I crumpled the note and threw it across the room.

For the next few days, I didn't see Severin at all. Mr. Cole said he was "indisposed." I didn't ask what that meant.

Instead, I explored the mansion.

The west wing was beautiful but empty—sitting rooms no one sat in, a library with books no one read, a piano covered in dust.

Then I found the gallery.

It was a long hallway lined with portraits. Generations of the Vael family, dating back centuries. They all had the same pale skin, the same sharp features, the same crimson eyes.

At the end of the hall, I found a portrait that made me stop.

It was Severin.

But the plaque beneath it read: "Lord Severin Vael, 1847."

He was over 170 years old.

I stared at the portrait, my mind racing. In the painting, he looked exactly the same—same face, same cold expression, same emptiness in his eyes.

How many wives had he had? How many "contracts" had he signed?

The last one didn't last three months.

I felt sick.

That night, I was reading in the library when the door opened.

Severin walked in.

He looked... different. Paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. His movements were slower, almost labored.

He stopped when he saw me.

"You're still awake," he said.

"Couldn't sleep." I didn't look up from my book. "Hard to relax when your husband almost ripped your throat out."

A long pause.

"I told you to forget that."

"And I told myself I'd never sell my soul to a vampire, yet here we are."

He moved closer. I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and unreadable.

"You're not afraid of me," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I'm terrified of you," I corrected, finally meeting his eyes. "But I'm also stuck here for a year, so I might as well stop pretending."

Something flickered across his face. Surprise? Interest?

He sat down across from me, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"You're... strange," he said.

"Thanks. You're a vampire. I think we're even."

The corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close.

"The thirst," he said quietly. "That's what you saw. It happens when I go too long without feeding. I lost control. It won't happen again."

"Because you'll feed more often?"

"Because I'll stay away from you."

I should have felt relieved. Instead, I felt something else—something I couldn't name.

"What if I don't want you to stay away?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Severin's eyes darkened.

"Then you're more foolish than I thought."

He stood abruptly and walked to the door.

But before he left, he paused.

"Your scent," he said without turning around. "It's... different. Sweeter. I've never encountered anything like it."

My heart skipped.

"Is that bad?"

He was silent for a long moment.

"It means staying away from you might be... harder than I anticipated."

The door closed behind him.

I sat there, my pulse racing, his words echoing in my mind.

Harder than I anticipated.

What did that mean?

And why did part of me hope he would fail?