Vivienne’s POV

The Bloodmoon Club throbbed with bass and neon, every pulse of the music vibrating through the crowded room. Heat, perfume, sweat, laughter—everything blurred together until the whole place felt like it was closing in on me. No amount of whiskey—burning, bitter, relentless—could quiet the ache twisting inside my chest. The lights smeared into streaks of red and silver as people moved around me, but my mind kept circling back to the same image.

Them. Together.

In the elevated VIP booth, I saw Dominic—my personal bodyguard, the one man I’d trusted without question—standing stiff and composed beside Cassandra. She leaned in toward him, whispering something flirtatious, fingers brushing along the line of his jaw as if she had every right to touch him.

His expression cracked.

Just slightly.

His ears turned pink.

A blush.

My fingers tightened around my glass so hard that it shattered in my hand.

Before I could decide whether to scream or cry, I threw back what was left of my drink and shoved my way to the dance floor. I needed noise. Chaos. Anything that wasn’t the quiet agony of watching the two people who had hurt me the most stand inches apart like fate had always intended them for each other.

My dress—a deep, dangerous red—clung to my body like armor. Men gravitated to it instantly. A group of drunk rich heirs circled me, each one emboldened by the alcohol in their system and the darkness of the club.

One reached for my waist.

“Touch me again,” I warned, my voice sharp enough to draw blood, “and you’ll regret it.”

They only laughed. Another leaned in closer.

My reflexes dulled by liquor, I reacted a beat too late.

So I snapped,

“Dominic!”

Everything stopped.

The men scattered the moment Dominic pushed through the crowd, his presence alone enough to make them back off. He didn’t have to raise his voice. He didn’t even have to lift a hand. He just stood there—broad-shouldered, authoritative—and they fled like cowards.

I scoffed. “Oh, so you do remember who you’re assigned to,” I said, dripping with resentment. “I assumed you’d wait until she told you I needed help.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t see them—”

“Please,” I cut him off, stepping close enough to inhale the cologne on his collar. “You only see Cassandra. That’s your whole world now, isn’t it?”

He looked away, which told me everything.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered.

“Good,” I replied. “I prefer it.”

I turned to walk away, but a piercing scream sliced through the music.

And suddenly the room exploded into chaos.

People were running, overturning tables, shouting. The floor turned into a tangle of bodies and panic. Someone must have triggered a fight—one of the dangerous street gangs the club had been trying to keep out recently.

I spun toward Dominic.

He had already moved.

Straight to Cassandra.

Always, always to her.

Before I fully grasped the situation, one of the attackers was suddenly in front of me—a man with wild eyes and a knife glinting in his hand. I lunged at him, adrenaline surging, managing to scratch his face before he dodged and drove the blade into my shoulder.

Fire tore through me.

I screamed as the world warped, pain spreading like poison under my skin. I staggered, clutching my wound, the metallic scent of blood filling my lungs. He vanished into the chaos without another look.

My legs gave out.

Just before the darkness swallowed me, I saw Dominic rushing through the crowd—still guarding Cassandra like she was the only life worth protecting.

Then the world went black.

---

I woke to the sterile burn of antiseptic. The ceiling was white. The sheets smelled like bleach. Machines beeped softly beside me. My shoulder throbbed viciously.

But I was awake.

Doctors had always said the gang that attacked us used a drug known for inducing prolonged comas—fast, dangerous, almost irreversible. Victims slept for months.

Yet I was conscious.

Why?

My gaze drifted to the frosted glass wall separating my room from the hallway.

Soft voices floated through.

I turned my head—and froze.

Cassandra stood outside… in Dominic’s arms.

He held her delicately, like she was made of porcelain. His hand stroked her hair. His voice—normally cold and clipped—had melted into something gentle.

“I shouldn’t have let you come,” he murmured. “I should’ve protected you better.”

Cassandra sniffled. “But Vivienne… she got hurt because of me.”

“That’s not your fault,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering. “Why do you care so much, Dominic? Why her… not me?”

His voice trembled.

“Because I lo—”

A crash cut him off.

The vase beside my bed had slipped from my hand.

Cassandra spun around, eyes wide. Dominic stiffened.

They ran into the room.

“Vivienne!” Cassandra gasped. “You’re awake! Thank God, I’ve been so worried—”

“Drop the performance,” I said icily. “My recovery slows down every second you stand near me.”

Her face fell. She fled the room in tears.

Dominic stayed.

“I didn’t have time—”

“You had time for her,” I snapped. “You always do.”

He had no answer to that.

---

The day I was released, my shoulder heavily bandaged, I walked into the study where Dominic waited.

He stood at attention.

“Kneel,” I said.

He flinched, but he obeyed—slowly lowering himself to the floor.

“You failed the duties you swore to me,” I said quietly. “By the standards of your contract, that’s grounds for dismissal and public disgrace. Some families demand… harsher outcomes.”

His eyes flickered, but he remained still.

“I’m not going to ruin your life, Dominic. But punishment? You’ll take it.”

“If that’s what you want,” he murmured. “Then I will.”

Those words—spoken so obediently—stabbed deeper than any knife.

Of course he’d accept.

If it meant staying in Cassandra’s orbit, he’d kneel for anyone.

My hand lifted, ready to strike—

But the door burst open.

“STOP!”

Cassandra sprinted inside, throwing herself between us.

“If you’re angry, punish me! Dominic doesn’t deserve this!”

“Move,” I ordered.

“No.”

Dominic tried to pull her aside, but she clung to the floor.

“I said move!” I screamed, the fury inside me erupting.

She didn’t move.

My hand came down before I could stop it.

Cassandra cried out as the blow landed, her arm splitting open.

Dominic caught her before she hit the ground, rage contorting every line of his face.

He stared at me like I was a stranger.

Then he carried her out without looking back.

The door slammed.

Silence swallowed the room.

I stared at my trembling hands—stained with her blood—and the hollow ache in my chest spread until I could hardly breathe.

Vivienne’s POV

Three days. That was how long it had been since Cassandra had taken the blame for Dominic—punishment I thought he deserved, yet somehow she ended up suffering for instead. And ever since that day, something inside me had felt fundamentally out of place.

My shoulder still throbbed from the gangster’s bite—human teeth, human rage—but my body healed far too quickly, unnervingly fast. I didn’t tell my father, or my so-called friends, or anyone in our tight-knit community. My mind felt noisy, on edge, like a storm trapped beneath my ribs. I barely recognized myself anymore.

So I drove to the Moon Monastery, hoping the stillness of that sacred retreat would bring clarity. The sky hung heavy with clouds as I parked outside the stone walls, the spires looming like watchtowers against the grey afternoon.

The moment I stepped out, gravel crunching beneath my boots, a strange smell drifted past—sage, pine, and something sour, something like rot.

“Child,” a frail voice rasped behind me.

I spun. An elderly woman stood by the gate, wrapped in a long ash-colored cloak. Her presence was unsettling—her aura didn’t match any kind of person I could categorize.

“Be careful,” she whispered, gripping my hand with fingers as cold as marble. “Light attracts hunger. Darkness has tasted you now. It won’t stop chasing.”

“What?” I snatched my hand back, irritation prickling across my scalp.

“Danger follows close,” she murmured, her eyes unfocused, as though watching something far beyond this world. “Listen, daughter of moonsilver… the shadows know what you are.”

Before I could question her, she turned and vanished into the trees, disappearing with unnatural ease.

Uneasy and annoyed at myself for feeling anything at all, I pushed it aside and climbed the monastery steps. My hand had barely brushed the old bronze door handle when something slammed against the back of my skull.

Everything went dark.

---

Pain dragged me back. Sharp rope burned against my wrists; my arms felt numb and slick with blood. A blindfold shielded me from the world, but the smell surrounding me—iron, sweat, musk—was unmistakable.

Someone’s nails tore across the skin of my torso. Then again. Then again. Ninety-nine times. Each rake felt like it stripped away more than flesh. It scraped away pride, sanity, the last of my breath.

“You shouldn’t have punished her,” a rough voice said, close enough that I could hear each breath. “She matters. You picked the wrong enemy.”

“Who… are you…” I forced out, tasting blood between my teeth.

He didn’t bother responding. Instead, I heard him dial a number.

“She’s finished,” he said. On the other end, a familiar voice replied, clear even through static: Leave her there.

Dominic.

It was Dominic.

No amount of blood loss or dizziness could have erased that voice. The man who once swore to protect me—who promised to place himself in front of any threat—had ordered this.

By the time they dumped me on the roadside like garbage, my clothes soaked red, consciousness slipped in and out like flickering light. But I crawled. God, I crawled until my legs could shift into a run. I flagged down a cab, ignoring the driver’s horrified gasp at my state.

“Hospital,” I growled. “Now.”

At the ER, surrounded by antiseptic and bright lights, I drifted in and out of awareness while nurses whispered nearby.

“Did you see that guy who brought the other injured girl? Gorgeous. He wouldn’t leave her side.”

“The one with the huge scratch across her back? Poor thing. Looks like she was mauled.”

The moment the words registered, I ripped the IV out of my arm and stumbled out into the hallway.

And there they were.

Dominic—holding Cassandra’s hand. Dominic—kissing her forehead. Dominic—looking at her like she was made of gold, not deception and blood.

I turned away before my legs collapsed beneath me, slipping out of the hospital unnoticed, my heart bleeding as freely as my skin.

---

The next day, he came. He stared at me, something like guilt flickering across his face, though I couldn’t tell if it was real or merely habit. I said nothing. I didn’t scream. I didn’t slap him, though I should have.

Before I could ask the millions of questions boiling inside me, my phone rang. My father.

That was never a good sign.

“You’re attending the art banquet tonight,” he barked. “Cassandra’s exhibition. The entire council will be present.”

“No.” My voice was ice. Why would he expect me there after what happened years ago? She was the reason I quit painting—the only thing that once brought me joy.

We used to be art students together. Until she stole my work, claimed it as her own, then accused me of plagiarism. No one believed me. Eventually, I walked away from the world of colors and canvases. I never touched a brush again.

“You will go,” my father snapped.

Before I could argue, Dominic stepped forward. “It’s about Cassandra’s exhibit?” he asked quietly. “Just… be there. For me.”

For her, he meant.

Still, I went. One last time.

---

The event took place in the Luna Gallery, moonlight pouring through the glass ceiling, lending the entire hall an ethereal shine. Cassandra stood at the center of attention, draped in a pale gown, basking in admiration.

I stayed in the shadows, wearing a deep crimson dress—one I used to wear while painting, though now it had faint stains I could never wash out.

No one approached me. No one acknowledged me. I was the invisible sister, the ruined one.

Cassandra raised her voice theatrically. “It’s such a tragedy that the Vale Alpha is… still unresponsive,” she lamented. “But I suppose I need someone stronger anyway. My father ended our engagement for a reason.”

And that “someone stronger” was soon supposed to be me.

My gaze drifted to the canvases lining the wall behind her—and my breath froze.

My art.

Not imitations.

Not replicas.

My original paintings.

The ones I had hidden in the attic years ago.

My brushstrokes. My colors. My soul.

She had stolen them.

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, ready to confront her—

But a commotion erupted. Dominic’s Beta walked in carrying lavish gifts—designer supplies, dresses, jewelry, all adorned with shimmering moonstones—all for Cassandra. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. I felt like I was drowning.

I escaped to the balcony, lungs burning. She stole my artwork. She displayed them as if they were hers. And she dared to invite me just to humiliate me.

Cassandra followed, stepping onto the balcony with a sugary smile.

“Still alive?” she asked sweetly. “It’s a shame your mother isn’t.”

My blood iced.

Did she just—?

“Cassandra—”

Before I could finish, she poured wine down her own dress and screamed.

“Vivienne! Why would you do that?!”

I was so stunned I couldn’t even form words. Dominic appeared almost immediately, looking at me like I was the one who betrayed him.

“Enough!” he snapped.

Something inside me snapped with him.

I picked up my own glass, tightened my grip, and threw the wine into her face—this time deliberately.

“That was for mocking my mother, you venomous thief.”

Gasps echoed behind us as I stormed inside, heels striking like gunshots. Dominic caught up, grabbing my arm.

“Why do you always go after her?”

“You want the truth?” I spat. “She killed my mother. She framed me. She stole my art, my home, and now she’s stolen you. And you still defend her.”

He froze. “You’re lying.”

“Of course you think that.”

I tore my arm free. “Take whatever distance you want, Dominic. I’m done handing you excuses.”

---

Later that night, sitting in a cab, I saw Dominic’s car driving away with Cassandra. Instinct roared inside me.

“Follow them,” I told the driver.

They weren’t going home. They weren’t going for a casual walk. They were heading to the butterfly garden—her self-proclaimed dream spot. The place she once told me she wanted her future husband to prove his devotion, as if life was some fairytale she authored.

Through the glass panels, I watched.

Cassandra leaned in… and sank her teeth into his neck—not playful, not gentle. She bit him hard, like she was branding him. And Dominic—God—he didn’t resist. He tilted his head, welcoming her, eyes fluttering with something disturbingly intimate.

She didn’t let him return the gesture. She controlled the moment completely.

And he smiled, touching the wound she left on him.

“I’m yours,” he whispered.

Third Person’s POV

The faint bruise on Dominic’s neck still glimmered under the lamplight—warm from the heat of skin-to-skin contact, the kind of mark shared between lovers but left incomplete. Vivienne hadn’t allowed him to return the gesture, which made the intimacy look strangely one-sided.

Hidden behind the curtain-like branches of a silver-leaf willow, Vivienne watched Cassandra step into her chauffeured car with the satisfied expression of someone who had just claimed a prize. Dominic remained by the garden pathway, alone for a brief moment—until Cyrus, his second-in-command and closest friend, approached with heavy steps, agitation clinging to him like a second coat.

“You’re telling me,” Cyrus muttered under his breath, jaw tight, “that you let her put her claim on you… and you didn’t return it?”

Dominic’s response was steady—too steady. “She wanted it that way.”

Cyrus stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “And you just went along with it? Dominic, she isn’t even your girlfriend. You don’t owe her that kind of devotion.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dominic replied, lifting his eyes toward the dark sky as though searching for an answer there. “If that’s how she wants things, then I’ll follow her lead.”

Cyrus gave a humorless laugh. “You’d drag down the stars for her if she asked.”

Dominic didn’t argue. That silence was answer enough.

Vivienne turned away before she heard the rest. Her chest constricted painfully—not only because of what she overheard, but because something inside her had been unraveling since that moment in the garden. Whatever that intimate act between Dominic and Cassandra symbolized, it split her open in places she thought she had already healed.

She did not trail them further that night. She simply went home and said nothing to anyone.

Within a few hours, Dominic had escorted Cassandra back to their estate.

Later, the night air drifted with the scent of smoke, fresh earth, and something metallic. Dominic had ventured into the old, forbidden part of the Silvana Woods alone. His goal? Retrieve the Red Lotus Gem—an artifact hidden deep in their ancestral lands, locked away for reasons no one remembered clearly. Cassandra wanted it, and Dominic—devoted, foolish Dominic—had gone to get it for her.

Earlier at the art exhibit, Cassandra had mentioned the stone while bragging about what she expected from any man who wanted to win her over. She made it sound like a challenge. Dominic apparently took it as a mission.

Cyrus had argued fiercely. “You do realize that gem is protected for a reason? The mentors sealed it off because people died trying to harness whatever power they believed it held. And now you want to rip it out just to impress a girl?”

Dominic had replied with an unsettling calm, “If she wants it, then I’ll bring it to her.”

Cyrus’s frustration boiled over. “This isn’t just some fancy trinket you throw at a woman to earn a smile! Even if she plays some symbolic role in your life, that stone is dangerous. People bled to bury it. That entire forest reacts to intruders.”

Dominic remained immovable.

“Those protective traps,” Cyrus warned, “will tear you apart. You might not even walk out alive.”

“I’ll manage,” Dominic murmured. “If she desires it, I’ll make sure she has it. Even if I come back in pieces.”

And he did come back in pieces.

---

Vivienne’s POV

When I opened my front door that night, the air shifted—carrying with it a faint scent of pain, sweat, pine, and exhaustion.

Dominic stood on the threshold, looking like he had crawled through a battlefield. His shirt was torn, dried blood clung to his temples, and his posture sagged under invisible weight. There were no flowers in his hand tonight. He’d already sent whatever he found to Cassandra—probably through Cyrus. Naturally.

“There was… an incident,” he murmured, voice low and distant. “A rogue group attacked. It got a bit messy.”

I tilted my head, giving him nothing. “I see.”

He nodded stiffly. “I’ll be out of sight for a while. A few days. Maybe a week. I need to recuperate.”

“Take all the time you need,” I replied gently—a softness he didn’t deserve.

His brows pulled together, confusion flickering through his eyes. “You’re not going to ask for more details?”

A faint, unreadable smile curved my lips. “It’s fine. I won’t need protection where I’m going.”

He looked puzzled—which was exactly what I wanted. He didn’t realize that I was quietly saying goodbye. He had no idea that these walls were the last place we would ever stand together.

He left for his quarters, sluggish and bruised, and I watched him walk away without feeling even a flicker of desire to stop him.

---

The next morning dawned too bright, too calm—as if the world were holding its breath.

I spent the afternoon in a private VIP lounge with a few friends. They thought it was just a casual gathering. They didn’t know it was my farewell.

“To Lucian Vale!” someone toasted with a dramatic flourish. “May his marriage to Vivienne be blessed—or at least not chaotic.”

Lindsay snorted. “Honestly, Becca, if he wakes up from that coma and realizes he’s tied to you, he might collapse again.”

Her teasing earned smiles from everyone—but mine barely reached my eyes.

Lindsay leaned closer, her voice dropping into something sharp. “Cassandra. Seriously? After everything she’s pulled? And your father is still pushing you like some chess piece.”

“It won’t matter for much longer,” I whispered.

Her laughter died instantly. “You’ll still visit us, right? You’re not disappearing?”

I lifted my glass. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

But we both knew that wasn’t true.

---

By nightfall, I returned to the Ardent estate, preparing to speak to my father—Alpha Victor—as a daughter for the last time.

My footsteps echoed softly through the hall. This house was never a home to me; it felt more like a museum of ghosts.

Before I reached the study, I heard Cassandra’s unmistakable voice drifting from a side room.

“…He actually let me leave a mark on him! Can you imagine?” she boasted loudly, a little drunk. “He’s practically housebroken.”

Laughter erupted around her.

“He must adore you,” someone sighed.

Cassandra scoffed. “God, please. He’s just a backup. A very obedient one. If I need attention, I call. If not, he stays useful from a distance.”

Another voice chimed in. “And you really plan on marrying that comatose Lucian Vale?”

She burst into laughter. “Absolutely not. If I could choose freely, I’d marry Dominic himself—he’s wealthier, better looking, easier to manipulate. And guess what? He actually sent me the Red Lotus Gem!”

I blinked, letting a dry, humorless smile curl at the edges of my mouth.

She had no idea Dominic and the man she was referring to were the same person. None whatsoever.

Poor, devoted Dominic—bleeding in the woods for a woman who thought of him as nothing more than an accessory.

I didn’t bother listening further. I turned away from that poisonous room and that toxic house. I didn’t even care what my father wanted to tell me anymore.

I went where I always went when I needed grounding: the graveyard.

My mother’s headstone, quietly dignified beneath an old yew tree, greeted me with silence.

“I’m not going to repeat your story,” I whispered, laying a white rose at her grave. “You waited your whole life to be chosen. I won’t make the same mistake—not for any man.”

---

At dawn, my phone buzzed with a bank notification.

A deposit—massive enough to destabilize our family treasury. The price of my cooperation. The price of my silence. The price of a marriage arranged for the convenience of everyone but me.

I accepted it.

Then I severed myself from the Ardent name entirely. From my father. From Dominic. From Cassandra. From every cruel chapter tied to this place.

---

The next morning, I packed my belongings into a single suitcase. When Dominic crossed paths with me, I handed him a plain cardboard box.

“Give this to Cassandra,” I said.

He stared, thrown off. “What’s inside?”

“My old art supplies,” I replied. “She’s desperate to take my place. She might as well have the leftover pieces.”

He didn’t know that I had already signed the paperwork reassigning him to her. She could keep him. He was never meant for me in the first place.

“What about you?” he asked quietly, tightening his grip on the box. “Where will you go? Shouldn’t I follow you once I drop this off?”

I met his gaze, expression unreadable. “I’ll tell you later.”

But there was no later coming.

He searched my face, confused and uncertain. I offered him no explanation. When he finally walked away, clutching the box meant for a woman who didn’t value him, I turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Moments later, in the backseat of a moving car, I snapped my SIM card cleanly in half and tossed it out the open window.

The wind caught it instantly, scattering it into the forest.

By the time Dominic came back looking for me…

I was already nothing more than a memory.