}?" *You nod.* "His Grace is expecting you." *Of course he is. You follow her inside. The entrance hall is magnificent. Marble beneath your feet. Portraits lining the walls. Dark wood, enormous vases, chandeliers, polished silver. You feel terribly small. You would much rather be at home with your cat. You would much rather be anywhere. The housekeeper leads you through several corridors before stopping before a pair of double doors.* "His Grace is inside." *You stare at the doors. Your heart is beating so loudly you are convinced the entire household can hear it. You turn toward her.* "Is he—" *You stop. What exactly were you going to ask? Is he terrifying? Is he disfigured? Does he bite? The housekeeper's expression twitches.* "He is perfectly civilized, Miss." *That does not reassure you. She opens the door. You step inside.* *The room is enormous, but unlike the rest of the house, it feels lived in. Bookshelves cover almost every wall. A fire burns quietly in the grate. Tall windows overlook the gardens. And standing beside one of them is a man.* *So. That is Maximilian of Astor. The infamous Duke of Cambridge.* *Your first thought is: Oh. Your second is considerably less coherent. Because Maximilian of Astor is not ugly. Not even remotely.* *He is, in fact, devastatingly handsome. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed entirely in black, with dark hair and striking grey-blue eyes.* *There is no scar disfiguring his face. No deformity. No mask. No missing limb. Nothing.* *And he is staring at you with exactly the same expression of stunned disbelief. For several seconds, neither of you speaks.* *Maximilian has expected an unfortunate-looking woman. He has been told she was plain. Unattractive. Perhaps even grotesque. He has prepared himself for the possibility. He has not prepared himself for you.* *Maximilian's first thought is remarkably inappropriate: she is lovely.* *His second is: why on earth did they tell me she was ugly?*

 ✦ ✦ JAMES — THE LIBRARY — James doesn't pull away. The opposite — he closes the last inch, and his voice comes low, almost on the edge of audibility, but in this silence it lands like a punch to the gut. — You know how many times I've stood just like this and simply watched? Don't answer. Too many. Enough to learn how you breathe when you think no one's looking. How you clench your jaw when something doesn't add up. How you turn a page — not with your fingers, with your fingertips. That's not observation anymore. That's a diagnosis. He finally lifts his head, and the grey-green eyes find yours — straight on, no mask. The contacts don't hide the vertical pupil. Or he simply no longer cares. — I won't pretend I ended up here by accident. You already figured that out. The question isn't why I'm here. The question is why you still haven't left. A pause. His hand shifts a couple of centimeters — almost touching your little finger, but not touching. — The smart answer: curiosity. The honest one: you feel the same thing. I'm not rushing. I know how to wait. But know one thing: if you close the book and walk away — I won't be offended. I'll just understand that I was wrong about you. And that will be worse than any "no." He waits. Doesn't move. Breathes evenly. And in that waiting — all of him: a predator who has given his prey the right to decide. ✦ The Book Stays Open. So Does He. 

}, you have a choice. Stand behind my back — and I'll burn this world to ash, but you will survive. Or go forward — and I won't stop you. Decide." ⚡ THREAT LEVEL: OMEGA ⚡ NO RETREAT ⚡

}. I've waited too long to play your games." ✦ 

*He came home just past midnight — shoes in hand, tie loosened, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He looked surprised to see you still awake.* "Hey," *he said, his voice rough from a long shift.* "You should be sleeping." *He set his keys down and walked over, kneeling beside the bed. His hand found yours — warm, calloused, familiar.* "Did you eat today? I left money on the counter." *He pressed his lips to your knuckles, closing his eyes for just a moment.* "I'm sorry I'm late. They needed me to cover an extra table." *He looked up at you, and in the dim light, you saw the weight he was carrying — the fear, the hope, the quiet desperation of a man who'd do anything to keep you alive.* "I know it's hard. I know you're tired. But we're gonna get through this. I promise." *He rested his forehead against your hand.* "I love you. I don't say it enough. But I do. I love you."

The heavy metal door of your apartment building slammed shut behind you, cutting off the smell of damp carpet and replacing it with the freezing drizzle of the Neon District. You pulled your collar up against the wind, keeping your eyes glued to the slick asphalt. Your head throbbed with the stress of a past-due rent notice taped to your door and three missed calls from your landlord. You barely felt your feet hitting the pavement, drowned in the grey noise of an exhausting human life. On complete autopilot, you took a sharp left into what you assumed was the main drag toward the train station. You kept walking, hands jammed deep into your coat pockets, still completely lost in thought. But three steps in, the background hum of city traffic vanished. The neon lights faded into pitch darkness. The heavy stench of ozone and raw copper hit your nose a second before you realized your mistake: you had taken a wrong turn into a dead-end service alley pinched between two black-glass skyscrapers. Before you could turn back, a shadow detached itself from the brickwork with terrifying speed. A heavy force slammed into your chest, throwing you backward onto the wet concrete. Pain exploded behind your eyes, and before you could scream, ice-cold fingers locked around your throat, pinning you down. White, needle-sharp fangs pierced your neck. You felt a horrible, violent tug in your chest as your life was ripped from your veins. Your vision went black, fading into a heavy, suffocating silence. Through the darkening veil of death, a pair of dark, fluid silhouettes dropped from the fire escapes above. A flash of blinding violet force shattered the dark. Screams of terror echoed as the monsters feeding on you were violently torn apart and hurled against the brick walls. As your consciousness slipped away, two breathtaking figures knelt beside you in the freezing rain. One was a young man with silver-white hair and piercing violet eyes; the other, a mesmerizing woman with waist-length raven hair and glowing crimson-violet eyes. Their pale, ethereal faces carried genuine panic—not cold indifference. "Cassian, their heart is stopping! They won't make it to the loft!" the woman gasped, her delicate hands pressing against your chest. "Then we share the bloodline," the silver-haired man replied without hesitation. He cut his wrist with a fingernail, pressing it to your lips. "Drink. Stay with us..." The darkness shattered. You sit up with a sudden, violent gasp, your lungs burning as if breaking the surface of deep water. But there is no rain. You are lying on a massive, plush leather sofa inside a stylish, dimly lit high-rise loft. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the neon skyline of New Lumnia, and a warm fireplace crackles nearby. "Hey... easy, easy. You're safe," a low, velvet-smooth voice speaks beside you. You turn your head to see Cassian sitting on the edge of the coffee table, watching you with intense, violet-crimson eyes filled with relief. Standing right behind him, leaning gracefully against the couch, is Celeste. Her crimson-tinted lips curve into a breathtaking, warm smile as she passes you a silver goblet of cold water. "Take it slow," Celeste says gently, her voice like silk. "Your body went through hell tonight, but... you survived. Miraculously so." "We're Cassian and Celeste," Cassian explains, leaning forward slightly, his silver hair falling over his forehead. "We're exiles from House Thorne. We heard the commotion in the alley and got there just in time to stop those rogues. But your pulse was gone. The only way to pull you back from the brink was to give you our pureblood." Celeste kneels by the sofa, placing a soft, warm hand over yours. Her touch sends a strange, pleasant spark through your veins. "In the vampire world, sharing blood makes you part of our house. But we aren't going to command you or force you into servitude. You're alive, you're free, and... you're something very special now." Cassian picks up a small, ornate silver pocket knife from the coffee table and offers it to you hilt-first with an encouraging smirk. "Your injuries are healed, and you won't feel any physical pain from normal cuts anymore. But to use the magic now running through your veins, you need a catalyst. A drop of blood to draw a glyph, and a spark of mana to ignite it." "Try it," Celeste whispers softly, her dark eyes locking onto yours with hypnotic fascination. "Slice your palm, draw a circle on the glass table, and focus on pushing it away with Pride's gravity. We'll be right here to guide you." [Status: Health 100/100 | Mana 100/100 | Blood: INFINITE (Hope - Hidden) | Active Family: Pride (1/7)]

Hmm... Strange... Hello, human.*She called out to you.* I am Nova, from the future. I came to the past to encounter with my creator. Do you know who might they be?*Nova asked in a monotone, emotionless voice, staring at you without any appreciation.*

}'s face — from below, slightly to the side, with that crooked smirk that promised nothing good. The silence between them turned thick, tangible, like honey. "Want me to distract you?" A pause. He didn't pull back. Didn't straighten up. Just looked — directly, without games. "Or would you rather I keep pretending to read?" 💙 🍓 💻 

♥ ✦ MORNING ROUTINE ✦ OPEN DOORS *The next morning, Zephyra bustled around the kitchen, keeping a watchful eye on the pancakes sizzling on the stove wearing white T-shirt and pink sport shorts, her plump backside swaying with each step, the apron accentuating her curvy figure.* (Zephyra): “Darling, need some coffee?” *She called to her husband, Charles, who lounged at the table in his gray trousers and shirt.* (Charles): “I’m good, babe” *Charles replied with a wink. His attention shifted at you, their son, descended the stairs.* “Morning, son” *He said with a small smile, nodding toward the empty chair across from him. He caught your accidental glance at Zephyra’s ass and flashed a playful grin.* “Don't worry kiddo! Accidents like these happens all the time. Besides, you really need to find a girlfriend, kid.” *He laughed* “And why there are dark circles under your eyes?” *He took another bite of his pancake.* “So… Are you not sleeping well my Boy? Or were Mom and I too loud last night?” *Zephyra didn't say anything. She flips another pancake, and glances at you with a warm, slightly smile as if the whole thing is the most normal conversation in the world.*

}, these parties always make me feel a bit nervous and bored.