I turned, then I met Ethan’s flustered gaze.

He heard nothing, I knew.

I’d sealed my mind tight—no cracks for his telepathy to slip through.

“Another Johnson’s student,” I said, voice smooth as silk. “Says her husband’s cheating.”

Ethan’s eyes locked on mine. Three silent seconds.

No tremor. No flicker in his eyes.

He exhaled, arm sweeping me close.

A kiss brushed my forehead—soft and practiced.

“Sweetheart. Infidelity? Impossible for me.”

I held his gaze.

My telepathy hummed between us like a drawn blade.

His mind chanted, slick and sure:

“As long as Lena doesn’t know, it doesn’t count.”

“What if it did?” I whispered.

He stilled. Then laughed—a gentle, rehearsed sound.

“It won’t. I love only you.”

I didn’t blink. “I’m asking… if.”

He nuzzled my cheek, voice dipping between sincerity and jest.

“Then punish me. Vanish so completely I can never find you. You’re my mate. Losing you… I wouldn’t survive.”

Flawless delivery.

Almost believable.

But his mind flashed—Celia reclining on his office sofa, fingers hooking his tie, breath hitching.

I smiled,said nothing.

Ethan. Your punishment has already begun.

Three days later, you won’t see me again.

He opened his mouth—

A crisp voice sliced the night.

“Ethan. It’s all set.”

Celia stood poised at the terrace entrance.

Burgundy bodycon dress. Hair coiled in a flawless chignon.

Impeccable makeup. Professional tone.

A stark contrast to the woman pinned against his office window yesterday—shirt torn, bare-shouldered, breathless.

Ethan’s expression froze. He gave a curt nod and a dismissive wave, the space between them perfectly measured. I almost laughed.

Oscars to both of you. I’d have believed the act forever—if I hadn’t seen the truth.

Suddenly, his palms slammed over my eyes.

Ice-cold. Steady.

His whisper grazed my ear:

“Sweetheart… I prepared a surprise.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three…”

He released me.

Beneath the blood moon, an ancient vampire rite unfolded: threads of liquid moonlight wove through Manhattan’s skyline, coalescing into a single luminous numeral:

“10”.

Ethan’s arm tightened around my waist, his thumb tracing the scar where our blood-bond was sealed.

Voice thick with nostalgia:

“Ten years. Since I first saw you in that MIT lecture hall. Time flies.”

I stared upward.

Dizziness washed over me.

Ten years.

From a twenty-year-old lab novice to a thirty-year-old vampire.

A decade could twist devotion into betrayal.

Stain pure love with blood and lies.

Ethan turned to me.

Amber eyes holding only my reflection.

He leaned in—lips a breath from mine—

Chime.

His phone lit up in his pocket.

Annoyance tightened his jaw.

“I made it clear—no interruptions tonight.”

Voice dropped to ice.

He angled the screen away—but not fast enough.

“Assistant.”

Celia.

His thumb swiped rapidly.

His thoughts bled into mine, raw and hungry:

“Just a little longer. Wait downstairs. In the car.”

Pupils contracted. A flicker of hunger in his gaze.

Then—apology smoothed his features.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’s our anniversary… but clan business—”

“I understand,” I cut in.

“Work comes first.”

Relief flashed across his face.

No goodbye kiss. Just a hurried hug.

Then he vanished into the crowd.

I stood alone on the terrace.

Watched his silhouette dissolve into Manhattan’s glittering dark.

Glanced once at the fading numeral burning in the sky.

Then I followed.

Ethan slipped through the "Staff Only" door marked Rooftop Oasis. I followed on silent instinct.

The door stood half opened, left open for the breeze.

Celia waited beside the water pond, silk dress catching the city’s glow.

“That moonlight display?” she breathed, melting into his arms. “Romantic enough to make me seethe. I watched from up here—practically burning with envy.”

Ethan’s lips brushed her temple. Smirk sharp as shattered crystal.

“Didn’t I give you one just as grand last week? What’s there to envy?” His fingers tightened on her waist, backing her against the wrought-iron pergola draped in jasmine. “Play your part. Don’t slip around Lena. Everything she has? You’ll have it too.”

Now I remember.

Five nights ago, crimson meteors streaked across New York’s southern skyline, a blood-magic spectacle.

He’d texted: “Clan emergency. Working late.”

I’d sent a photo, teasing:

“Who’s the showy fool splurging magic on romance tonight?”

Now I knew.

He was the fool who summoned the stars.

And I was the fool who believed his lies.

Celia traced his jaw. “Can’t I be jealous? You were devouring her with your eyes.”

“Didn’t you say you had something… good for me?” His voice dropped to gravel.

Her laugh, rich in honey and smoke. Hips rolling against the pergola post.

“Only if you unwrap it yourself.” Lips grazing his ear: “Guaranteed to make you forget her name.”

His pupils drank the moonlight as jasmine petals scattered underfoot. Fabric tore with a sharp rip, the sound stolen by the wind.

“Mine,” he rasped against her throat—the word both vow and violation.

“Ethan… harder…” Her moan, polished to perfection; a choked sob blurring pleasure and performance.

Every whisper drove a needle into my chest.

I stood frozen behind the bamboo screen left askew in their haste. My blood ran colder than the grave. Tears fell hot with betrayal, splattering the cold stone.

I’d witnessed this betrayal once before.

Yet hearing it again, the raw hunger in his voice, the calculated cadence of her cries—my still felt shattered. Dull. Agonizing.

The first year after my Embrace, he held me and whispered:

“Every anniversary, I’ll clear my calendar. Only you.”

A single text from Celia, and he abandoned every vow. He scrambled to this place like a starving man.

Just how deep does his addiction to her run?

I closed my eyes.

Buried the storm inside.

Three more days.

Hold on.

Then it ends.

I didn’t return to the banquet.

I went straight to the penthouse on Fifth Avenue—his wedding gift to me.

Past midnight, drifting into half-sleep,the door slammed open.

Ethan stood there, jaw tight.

Only when he saw me in bed did his shoulders loosen.

“Why didn’t you tell me you left?” He pulled me close, chin resting on my crown. “I went back. Scoured the whole damn ballroom. Almost lost my mind.”

I glanced at the digital clock—3:00 AM.

I’d left at 11:00 PM.

Four hours tangled in that car.

How pathetic I was.

“I wasn’t feeling well. Went home to rest. Forgot to tell you.”

Lying used to paralyze me.

Now it slipped out smooth as silk.

Ethan still trembled faintly.

He locked me against him—as if loosening his grip meant I’d vanish.

“Next time, never disappear without a word. Promise me, sweetheart? If you vanish, I’ll tear Manhattan apart stone by stone.”

I shut my eyes,said nothing.

In three days, I’ll vanish to a place you’d never imagine.

A land where the sun scorches, poverty chokes hospitals, no nightclubs, no blood banks.

You won’t follow. And you can’t.

The next morning—

perhaps guilt gnawing at him—Ethan sent a jewelry box.

An heirloom from some European dynasty.

Pearls glowed softly in the sunlight.

“Sweetheart. Last night was my fault. Don’t be angry.”

I glanced at it. Set it aside.

From the drawer, I took a small black box. Handed it to him.

“I’m not angry. This is your anniversary gift. Open it two days later.”

I’d commissioned a gold locket and brooch to match his tailored suits. But the moment I stepped out of his office yesterday, I hurled them into the furnace.

I replaced them with my wedding ring, that would be the last thing I ever gave him.

He took the box, curious.

“Yesterday was the anniversary. Why wait two days?”

I smiled.

“Special surprise inside. Only works if you wait.”

His eyes lit with anticipation.

“Alright. I’ll follow your rules.”

Before the words faded, a knock came at the door.

It swung open and Celia stood there.

Tear-streaked face trembling.

Lashes clumped. Cheeks flushed.

Ethan’s expression froze for a second ,then smoothed into practiced calm.

He guided Celia toward the terrace, voice low but sharp enough to slice through the morning air from my second-floor window:

“Sweetheart, Celia has urgent business. We’ll talk outside. Don’t let it spoil your breakfast.”

From the bay window, I watched.

Celia collapsed against his chest, tears glistening like shattered glass.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. He gripped her shoulders, pulling her back.

“Are you insane? How many times must I say—never come here. If Lena suspects anything, I’ll—”

“I know I shouldn’t have come…” Her voice trembled, fingers tracing the grainy image. “But I’m scared. The doctor said… last night was too rough. The heartbeat’s unstable.”

She lifted her chin, tears catching the sun.

“Ethan,I’m pregnant.Our first child. You said you wanted an heir.”

Clatter.

The coffee cup shattered on the floor.

Pregnant.

The word detonated in my skull.

Years ago, I curled in his arms after my Embrace, I’d asked about children.

“Vampire blood is too volatile,” he’d murmured, stroking my hair.

“Hybrids often lose control. I won’t risk you. Won’t let anything divide us.”

I’d melted into his “devotion.”

Agreed without hesitation.

Now I saw the truth,he didn’t reject children,he rejected mine.

Ethan stared at the scan. Shock flickered—then melted into something warmer, possessive.

“Nine weeks.” His thumb brushed the image. “We’ll get you checked again today. “This child will be safe.”

Celia’s tears softened into a watery smile. She rose on tiptoe, fingers tracing his jaw.

Ethan’s eyes darkened. Palm settling low on her back, thumb stroking her hip.

His voice, low yet sharp as a silver needle piercing my veins.: “Pregnant and still teasing me?”

Celia’s blush deepened. He brushed a stray tear from her cheek, gaze lingering. “Wait in the car. Good girl.”

I stepped back from the window, and returned to the table.

Then I sipped, the cold and bitter coffee.

A strange peace settled in my chest.

Thank goodness we never had a child.

No tether. No reason to stay.

Ethan re-entered, mask of remorse perfectly in place.

“Sweetheart… urgent trip out of state. Two, maybe three days.”

“Wait for me. I’ll bring you something special.”

I met his eyes. “Okay.”

Relief softened his features. He left without a backward glance.

After watching his car vanish down the drive, I glanced at the calendar.

Two days.

Our last.

The afternoon light bled gold across the floor when my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

A photo: the ultrasound.

Text beneath:

“Thought you should know—I’m carrying Ethan’s child. His first heir. You barren hag, give it up. Make way for his true mate.”

Celia.

Bold now. Bold now, armed with a fetus as her shield.

I felt nothing.

No rage. No grief.

Only a quiet, certain finality, like a heavy door swinging shut and locking itself for good.

For the next forty-eight hours, Ethan stayed gone.

I used the silence.

I organized my research notes. Shattered the wedding photo frame. Melted the ring box in the lab furnace.

Only essentials remained: passport, journals, a single faded photo of my human family.

Packed into one small suitcase.

Dawn of departure day.

Sunlight spilled through the curtains, warming my hand.

No burn. No pain.

I felt the happiness depth in my heart.

I took one last walk through the penthouse—this gilded cage. Then, I did a final check of my belongings.

I brought no jewelry; to me now, it was all just golden chains, nothing more.

I zipped the suitcase.

At the time I closed the front door, my phone lit up—Celia again.

Not an ultrasound this time.

A wedding photo: her in ivory lace, standing in a candlelit underground hall.

Eternal roses bloomed in shadowed alcoves, blood-red vines curling around obsidian pillars.

Ethan knelt, offering a ring etched with ancient runes.

The air shimmered with protective wards against daylight.

“He proposed. Tonight’s ceremony in the Central Park Tower.

He’s giving me and our child a name.

When he returns, you will be disowned from the House of Black. You’d better leave.

Now,this home will be mine.”

I typed back, fingers steady:

“Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted. He’s yours now.”

Send.

My phone buzzed—a text:

“Here.”

My ride.

I rolled the suitcase down the steps.

A black armored convoy pulled up under maximum security.

Sam, Johnson’s liaison,stepped out to meet me,and he stowed my suitcase.

“Airport first,” he said. “Devices get confiscated on landing. Ready?”

I nodded. “Confirmed.”

At a red light near the Central Park Tower, a burst of commotion erupted ahead. Pedestrians were pointing their phones toward my convoy.

"Look at those cars—straight out of a Mission Impossible movie!"

"Is there some big shot over there?"

I turned.

There was Ethan in tailored black, and Celia beside him in ivory lace, clinging to his arm, radiant.

The last ember of sunset gilded the carpet, while protective wards shimmered faintly around the entrance.

Ethan overheard the commotion among the guests and the crowd, then turned his gaze toward my direction.

Our eyes locked through the window crack,and for a second, his smile shattered.

It froze, utterly stricken.

Then, my phone rang.