The next evening was the opening gala for my art exhibition.

I walked into the grand ballroom on Alistair’s arm, the perfect picture of the devoted artist and her patron prince.

Tonight was supposed to be my night.

The hall of the Valerius estate was dazzling, filled with the city's elite and supernatural dignitaries, all gathered to celebrate my artistic achievement.

“Madam Seraphina, your work is simply breathtaking.”

“Congratulations. This exhibition is without a doubt the art event of the year.”

I smiled and accepted their praise, but then I saw her.

And there she was. Isabella. Standing beside a massive, cloth-draped easel, smiling like she owned the damn place.

As the evening reached its peak, the host invited me to the stage to give a speech.

Just as I was about to speak, Isabella stepped forward, taking the microphone before I could.

“Thank you all for coming to my sister’s exhibition tonight.” Her smile was sweet and innocent. “But tonight, I have a surprise of my own. A debut, as a new artist.”

She pulled away the cloth behind her.

A gasp swept through the crowd.

It was drowned out by the sudden silence where my heart used to be.

It was First Light in an Endless Night. My soul on canvas. The story of being pulled from one darkness, only to be thrown into another, deeper one.

But now, in the bottom right corner, the signature read: “Isabella.”

“The core concept of this piece is ‘the hope of a new beginning’…” Isabella droned on, explaining the painting to the crowd.

She was twisting my soul, my pain, into some cheap motivational bullshit.

Ice shot through my veins. I snapped my head toward Alistair. I saw it—a flicker of guilt in his eyes, gone as quickly as it came.

“Seraphina!” Isabella’s voice called from the stage as a spotlight swung onto me. “My dear sister, thank you for all your… inspiration. This painting wouldn't exist without you. And so, I dedicate it to you.”

The entire room’s attention was on her.

Praise poured in, with people proclaiming that her artistic talent would far surpass my own.

Isabella glided down from the stage. She stopped right in front of us.

“Sister, you don’t look happy,” she whispered, her voice low enough for only the three of us to hear. “Are you… jealous?”

I stared at her, speechless.

Before I could respond, suddenly, a piercing scream ripped from her throat.

“Ah—!”

She crumpled to the floor, a trembling, sobbing mess.

“A psychic attack!” someone in the crowd shouted.

Every eye in the room locked onto me.

“It wasn’t me,” I said, my voice desperate.

“Seraphina, enough!” Alistair’s voice cracked like a whip. He didn’t even look at me. In a blur of motion, he was at Isabella’s side, scooping her into his arms.

A golden healing light poured from his palm.

And I, his wife, stood there at what was supposed to be my celebration, surrounded by looks of suspicion and condemnation.

“Thank God, she’s all right.”

Alistair let out a breath of relief.

Then he turned to me, his eyes filled with disappointment.

“Enough Seraphina. I taught you magic, and this is what you use it for? To harm your innocent sister? Whatever this is, we’ll discuss it back at the castle.”

He wasn't just accusing me. He was silencing me. Publicly.

“Alistair, that painting…” I pointed at my stolen work, my hand trembling. “You said she wouldn’t steal from me…”

He followed my finger, his gaze flickering away, unable to meet my eyes.

After a few seconds, he looked back at me, his voice hoarse.

“You inspired her. She interpreted your light in her own way. Isn’t that a form of legacy? Artistic inspiration is shared. Why would you use such a filthy word as ‘steal’ to describe your only sister? Has this fame made you so cruel? So possessive? This isn't the woman I fell in love with.”

In that moment, my world shattered.

He knew the truth. But to protect Isabella, he chose to trample on me with the most ridiculous lie.

A knot of pain twisted in my stomach. Tears slid down my cheeks, but I kept the smile plastered on my face.

Alistair saw it, and for the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his features.

He handed Isabella to a healer who had rushed over and took a step toward me.

“Seraphina, calm down…”

“I am calm.” I wiped a single tear from my cheek. My voice was dead flat. “I have never been calmer.”

“Alright, let’s go home. I can forgive everything that happened tonight. I don’t want anything to spoil your night.” Alistair reached for my hand.

I took a step back.

“No. I’m not going back to the castle.” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice so quiet it scared even me.

“Tomorrow is my birthday,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I want to go to the cathedral. The one where we first met. Just the two of us.”

The drive from the city to the cathedral took an hour.

The silence in the car was suffocating.

I sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the blurred city lights.

My fingers traced the healed scar on my stomach.

Alistair’s hand covered mine. His palm was ice-cold, but his voice was perfectly warm.

“Alright, let’s put tonight behind us. I’ve already put the finest elven chefs on standby. Whatever delicacy you desire for your birthday feast, I’ll have it made for you.”

He paused, his violet eyes softening.

"And you've been so fragile lately," he murmured, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. "Maybe it's time we talked about a child. About making you eternal. Truly mine."

Pregnant?

I choked back a sob, my eyes burning. My heart felt like it was being ripped in two.

This Prince, with his legendary perception... He never noticed. He never sensed I was pregnant.

He never sensed I lost our child. A child he destroyed with his own hands.

Just as the car turned onto the winding mountain road to the cathedral, Alistair’s phone blared to life.

He glanced at the screen. All the color drained from his face.

"Sorry," he said, answering the call. "What? Now?"

I heard a rushed voice on the other end.

"Understood. I'm on my way back." He hung up and turned to me, his eyes a storm of apology and pain. "Seraphina, a rival clan is making trouble. It's an emergency. I have to go back and handle it."

There it was again.

The exact same excuse as that night.

“Go,” I said calmly. “Your duties come first.”

He flinched, as if my calmness was a slap. “Seraphina, I…”

“It’s alright,” I even managed a smile. “I’ll wait for you in the cathedral. You promised you’d be here for my birthday.”

He stopped the car at the cathedral gates, kissed my forehead with a reluctance that felt like an act, and then spun the car around.

Watching his car disappear into the night, I slowly walked into the magnificent Gothic cathedral.

Moonlight streamed through the massive stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the floor.

Just like the night we met.

The irony was suffocating. Both times I’d come here, I was in agony.

In the dead silence of the church, the chime of a social media notification was deafening.

I looked down. Isabella had a new post.

It was a photo of her, looking weak and frail, nestled in a man's arms.

His face was deliberately out of frame, but the tattoo visible just above his wrist made my heart stop.

An ancient vampire sigil.

Identical to the one on my own wrist.

Our matching tattoo.

The caption read: *"So lucky my guardian angel is always there when I need him most."*

I let out a cold laugh and dialed Alistair's number.

The voice that answered wasn't his.

“Oh, is that you, sister?” Isabella's voice was sickly sweet. “Alistair’s a little busy right now. He's comforting me after my… ordeal.”

Her laugh was sharp and cruel. “Are you wondering about that ‘urgent business’ on the night you lost your little bastard? Let me tell you. I took a silver-laced dagger, gave myself a tiny scratch, and ran to him crying that a werewolf had attacked me. And just like that, he sent the Head Healer—the one who was supposed to be saving you and your mongrel—to my side instead. Did you really think you could ever compete with me?”

My world collapsed.

One lie. That's all it took to kill my child.

I dropped the phone, my hand trembling. The tears finally came, hot and unstoppable.

Five years of marriage, built on one lie after another.

My child, my art, my love... they had trampled it all into dust.

Just like the first betrayal I’d walked in on before my wedding.

I waited all night.

I waited until the moonlight faded, until the first rays of dawn were about to break the darkness.

Alistair never came back.

I walked to the cathedral entrance, where Alistair's guards stood watch. “You may return to the castle,” I told the captain.

He hesitated. “Madam, the Prince ordered us to protect you.”

I shook my head, my voice a soft whisper. “You can go. He promised he would come back for me. I want to wait for him alone.”

The guard didn't dare argue. He bowed and retreated with his men.

I walked slowly towards the altar, the place where the holy light was strongest.

All his beautiful vows, his tender embraces… a gorgeous, poisoned dream. How ridiculous they seemed now, compared to the words on that scroll: *“Absolute priority. Above all else.”*

As the first ray of sunlight pierced the dome and illuminated the altar, I called his number one last time.

The call was cut off before it could even ring.

I stared at the dark crystal screen, then placed three things upon the altar.

A copy of the blood scroll, proof of his priority.

The hidden miscarriage report I’d never shown him, proof of how his neglect killed our child.

And the recording crystal of my call with Isabella, proof of the entire, twisted truth.

With that done, I spread my arms wide, bathing in the holy light that cut through the darkness.

I closed my eyes and whispered my confession.

“I confess… that I fell in love with a lie.”

“I confess… all the hope I held because of him, a hope that should never have existed.”

“I confess… this soul that he has tainted.”

In a shadowed corner, a young monk cleaning the pews stared, his eyes wide with terror.

The holy light flared, becoming blindingly bright, and completely engulfed the woman on the altar.

When the light faded, all that remained were a few glittering motes of golden dust, drifting in the air.

As if she had never been there at all.

...

Meanwhile, Alistair was just about to leave Isabella’s residence.

His clan elder, Viktor, materialized in a swirl of shadow, his face a mask of pure terror.

“My Prince, it’s a catastrophe! The Madam... she took her own life on the altar of the old cathedral!”