🪶Disclaimer: 🪶 This is a fictional narrative. All characters, events, and settings are entirely imagined—though loosely inspired by a heavily modded save in The Sims 4, extensively customized to behave and appear as realistically as feasible, with enhanced visuals, nuanced social dynamics, and detailed world-building that mirror real human complexity.

If you’re a Simmer, you might recognize the location names and emotional beats. If you’re not, you’ll still find your way—no prior knowledge required. Everything you need to know lives inside this blog.

This story is for anyone who’s ever rebuilt their life from the ashes and dared to write new chapters. For those who crave storylines that think outside the usual boxes—and for anyone who knows that sometimes, the most powerful myths are the ones we make ourselves.

Main Character Biographies

Victoria Sinclair– Author. Painter. Vampire. Mother.
Recently turned vampire—without consent—in a desperate act to save her life during childbirth. She is recovering emotionally and physically, navigating her new existence with fierce vulnerability and quiet resolve. Her art and writing now carry the weight of immortality, legacy, and maternal fire.

“I didn’t ask for eternity. But I’ll make it mean something.”

Cesare Vannucci – The Master. Keeper. Sovereign of silence. The power behind the Hollow—and above it. Ageless and archaic, with a presence that bends time and memory alike. His voice carries weight; his silences, decree. Known for restraint, precision, and unnerving calm. When he speaks, even truth feels curated. He does not rule with spectacle. He does not need to. His authority is the kind that others feel before they understand.

Riordan Hargrave – Steward. Cipher. The man beside the throne. Handsome and charming but bears the gravity of someone who’s seen too much. Trusted by Cesare to handle delicate matters. Moves like silk through shadow. His loyalty is quiet, his wisdom louder.

Caelan Vannucci – Hunter. Provocateur. Dangerous presence. Longsword in a tailored coat, with a voice like a growl and eyes that never soften. Known for his volatility and flair for violence. Tracks what others can’t find. Leaves fear in his wake and never apologizes. Stillness is his weapon. Most have never seen him smile.

Scarlett Cameron (nee Vannucci) – Daughter of one legend and married to another. She straddles two worlds: the quiet rituals of the Hollow her father rules over and the spotlight her husband summons like a storm. Fame doesn’t chase her—it circles, curious. And when she steps into it, she wears it like silk, commands it with icy elegance. Appears early thirties, silver-eyed and unreadable. Older sister to Caelan, wife to Blaine, mother of many. Known for her elegance and emotional fluency. She speaks softly, but her presence rewrites the room. She is not the echo of Blaine’s legend. She is its counterpoint.

Blaine Cameron – Rockstar. Wild card. Chaos incarnate. Appears late-thirties. Married to Scarlett, father of eight. Charismatic, vulgar, and unapologetically theatrical. Known for his irreverence and magnetic unpredictability. Leaves Victoria stunned, amused, and horrified—often all at once.

Alder Davenport Mage of Mourningvale, poet by compulsion, and man of many masks. Conceived in shame, born out of wedlock to a mother who died in childbirth at a convent, his birth records bear the assumed surname Davenport. She named him Alder, and he honors her choices by keeping Davenport as his nom de plume. Branded Thorne by the ward who raised him, he wears his fictional name by his mother now by choice, reclaimed from cruelty. To some, he’s a romantic. To others, a traitor. To Victoria, he’s both—and neither. His verses read like riddles wrapped in regret, and his disappearances leave only ink and silence behind. Alder walks the line between redemption and ruin with quiet grace and a fate he no longer tries to outrun.

Lord Gavin Cameron – Composer. Heir. Born in Del Sol Valley, but long-time resident of Henfordshire, where he and his former wife raised their two kids. Son of Blaine Cameron—the legendary vampire and rock icon. Reserved, private, emotionally guarded. After his recent, bitter and long-dragged out divorce from Bianca, who still stalks him, Henfordshire has become the only place she won’t follow due to a bitter feud with the local royals.

Burn, Baby, Burn

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Not officially. Not logically. Not even theoretically, if we’re being honest. But logic had never been my compass, and logic—well, logic bends for those who walk with ink-stained hands and blood-warmed hearts.

Ravenwood.

Even the name felt like a whisper from a forgotten tale. I hadn’t heard of it before Riordan mentioned Leeora’s dealings here, and even then it sounded like a place that should exist only in the margins of a cursed manuscript. But it was real. Tangibly, hauntingly real.

We arrived just before dawn, the moment Riordan released me from his vampiric portation embrace I looked around and felt like I’d fallen backward through time. The streets were cobbled and narrow, flanked by buildings that looked like they’d been carved from shadow and sorrow. Gothic spires clawed at the sky, their silhouettes etched against the bruising horizon. It reminded me of Forgotten Hollow—same architectural melancholy, same sense of suspended moment in time—but here, there were flowers. Wild, colorful, abundant, unapologetic blooms spilling from wrought iron balconies and creeping along stone walls. And the sun.

The sun was rising.

I felt it before I saw it. A prickle along my hand. A warning in my blood. Cesare and Riordan had assured me my immunity was improving, that I could tolerate daylight in short bursts now. But they hadn’t felt their skin blister in the time it took to forget to be careful. They hadn’t screamed into pillows while healing slower than promised after forgetting again and getting caught by the daylight. So yes, I was hesitant. And that’s putting it mildly.

What was I doing here?

Officially, I was shadowing Riordan while he met with Leeora. Learning. Observing. Blah blah ceremonial and educational nonsense. But the truth? I knew Alder was here. I knew this was where they’d tucked him away, under the witches’ protection, under the Arcane High Order of Four. Leeora had pulled strings. Even that mysterious Gwydion I didn’t know but heard a lot of by now had nodded from whatever cryptic tower he haunted. Alder was safe now. Allegedly.

All good and well, but I needed to see him. I needed to know for sure that nobody just off’ed him anyway and was feeding me balmy bullshit so I behaved like a good girl. I had to see he was alright with my own eyes. I had asked, but had been told no, which rubbed me insanely wrong to be treated like a dumb schoolgirl. Well, so instead I excused myself to stretch my legs after scribbling down a hastily copied part of the map of Ravenwood where Leeora had shown Riordan where Alder had been safely set up.

So, I did what I always did—ignored protocol, followed instinct, and wandered into a town that felt like it might swallow me whole.

The streets were waking slowly, like an old Transylvanian village shaking off a dream. Wooden shutters creaked open. Smoky tendrils curled from chimneys. But then—contrast. A woman in yoga pants and earbuds with pink hair jogged past me, her ponytail bouncing like she belonged in a different century. A man in a business suit stepped out of a stone cottage, checking his phone with a sigh. From another door a mother with three children emerged, all of them with backpacks of modern bands or cartoon characters. Cars rumbled in the distance, but not here. Not in the heart of Ravenwood. The streets were too narrow, too sacred. A town where the past and the present seemed to coexist somehow.

The forested edge of autumnal Ravenwood was nearly impenetrable. Gnarled trees twisted together like they were conspiring. Moss clung to everything, damp and ancient. I stumbled through it, boots catching on roots, cloak snagging on brambles. By the time I reached the outskirts of the town proper, my hair was tangled and my mood was feral.

I hailed a taxi at the edge of town, a dusty sedan driven by a man who looked like he’d seen too much and cared too little. “Mourningvale,” I told him, showed him my map, tapping at the X that marked the spot I wanted to visit and he nodded without a word.

The ride was short, but the shift was seismic.

Mourningvale wasn’t just gloomier — it was indescribable. The buildings were few and far between, scattered like forgotten tombstones across the fog. No people leaving for their daily business here — just silence, distance, and the weight of memory.

Spanish moss hung in abundance, draping from the twisted limbs of weeping willows like mourning veils. It swayed in the breeze, whispering nothing and everything. The air was heavier, thick with damp sorrow and the scent of old stone. The sun—damn the sun—was climbing higher, casting a purplish haze that made the fog glow like bruised skin. Even here it was rising, unlike Forgotten Hollow where it hardly ever as much as truly illuminated the thick layer of high fog.

I paid the man, stepped out, and immediately regretted it. The car driving off felt like fate had fallen on me.

The first rays hit me like a slap. My skin flared, not quite burning, but close. Too close. Too much. I pulled the hood of my coat tighter, stumbled forward, groaning. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to keep moving. My vision blurred—I could see neither map nor environment. I was miserable. Scared. And stupidly stubborn.

I heard someone scream, realizing too late it was me as everything began to fade to black around me.

Then—arms.

Strong, urgent arms grabbed me, pulled me sideways into shadow. I was too weak to resist, too dazed to fight. I heard a door slam. Darkness wrapped around me like a balm.

When I could finally see, I looked up into familiar eyes. Chocolate brown, soft, kind, lined by enviably thick lashes.

“Alder…”

He looked older. Not in years, but in weight. His eyes held storms. But his voice—his voice was soft, concerned. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

With a groan I held out my handdrawn map to him, he took it and shook his head while his eyes found mine again, softer now.

“I wanted to check on you,” I whispered, my throat raw. “I needed to know you were okay.”

“You shouldn’t be out in the sun,” he said, already guiding me to a chair. “You’re not ready.”

I glanced down. My hands were blistered. My forearms mottled with angry red patches even where the sleeves had covered them. I hadn’t even noticed. The pain had been drowned out by panic. But I sure felt it now.

Alder moved with quiet precision. He pulled herbs from a shelf, crushed them in a mortar with practiced ease. The scent was sharp—lavender, sage, something bitter and healing. He pressed the poultice to my burns, wrapping them gently. I winced, but the relief was immediate. Cooling. Calming.

“You’re lucky,” he murmured. “Another few minutes and you’d be unconscious.”

“I’m already halfway there,” I muttered weakly, trying to smile. It came out crooked.

Time passed. I don’t know how much. The pain dulled, but the healing was slow. Too slow. My body was still adjusting. Still betraying me. Becoming vampire was a painfully slow process. There is more to it than growing a set of fangs and learning new rules.

Alder watched me. Thoughtful. Then, without ceremony, he rolled up his sleeve.

“I can help,” he said. “If you want.”

I stared at his wrist. At the pulse beneath the skin. My stomach twisted. My pride screamed no. But my body—my body leaned forward.

“I’ve never…” I began.

“I know,” he said. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. It was terrifying. It was intimate. It was crossing a line I hadn’t even drawn yet. But I was too weak. Too desperate. And he was offering.

I took his wrist.

I hesitated.

The moment my lips touched his skin, I felt Alder flinch. Not violently—just a subtle tightening of muscle, a breath caught in his throat. I almost pulled back, almost apologized, almost let pride win. But he didn’t stop me. He didn’t recoil. He held his arm steady, jaw clenched, eyes locked on mine with a quiet kind of bravery. He wanted to help. He was willing to bleed for it.

I broke the skin.

Then I drank.

Just a little. Just enough.

It was surreal. The scent hit me first—metallic, warm, ancient. Then the taste. Not coppery like I’d feared. Not grotesque. It was… divine. Like velvet and fire. Like moonlight distilled into liquid. Like every hunger I’d ever buried had just been given a name and a purpose.

I had sworn I would never do this.

Never drink from a human. Never cross that line. Never become the thing I feared.

But in that moment, I wasn’t a monster. I was a woman unraveling. A creature in pain. A lost soul whose body had betrayed her, and whose friend had offered sanctuary in the most primal way.

I drank.

And the world sharpened.

Colors bloomed. My skin cooled. The burns faded, knitting themselves together with a speed that felt impossible. I felt stronger. Whole. Alive.

Ecstasy and shame warred inside me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream at the universe for making this necessary.

But mostly—I wanted to thank him.

I pulled back. My lips tingled. My hands trembled. Alder’s wrist was already healing, the puncture marks fading like they’d never been.

He looked at me, calm. Steady. Kind.

“It’s the least I could do,” he said softly.

I stared at him, unsure whether to collapse into his arms or run into the forest and scream until the trees answered.

Instead, I whispered, “I didn’t know it would feel like that.”

He nodded. “Most don’t. Until they do. I read so much about vampires when I was being prepared to … well, let’s not speak of that.”

I sat back, dazed. The room felt warmer. The shadows gentler. My body was no longer screaming. Just humming. Quietly. Reverently. A light high enveloped me.

And somewhere deep inside, a part of me shifted.

Not broken.

Not monstrous.

Just… changed.

I whispered, “Thank you.”

And he nodded, like he understood everything I couldn’t say.

Reconcile

We settled down with tea.

It felt absurdly domestic, considering I’d just drunk from his wrist and nearly combusted in the street. But Alder moved with quiet ritual, steeping the leaves like he’d done it a thousand times. The scent was earthy, calming. I wrapped my fingers around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my still-recovering skin.

We didn’t speak at first. Just sat. Let the silence stretch.

Then he began.

“I lured them,” he said, voice low. “The mages. The ones who used me. Who twisted me into something I never wanted to be.”

I looked up. His eyes were distant, but steady.

“I told them I had information. That I’d found a way to break Caelan’s protections. They came fast. Greedy. Stupid.”

“And then?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Then the vampires came,” he said. “Caelan and his men. They didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate. It was… brutal. Efficient. I watched them die. All of them.”

He paused, fingers tightening around his cup.

“I felt fear,” he admitted. “Real fear. I’d never seen vampires like that. I’d seen the elegant kind. Composed. The ones who talk in riddles and wear silk and brocade without looking ridiculous. These were monsters. Horrifying, terrible monsters.”

I nodded. I could imagine.

“But I also felt… satisfaction,” he said. “They were gone. The ones who hurt me. Whose ancestors did terrible things to my mother. People who made me betray you. And I felt free. For the first time.”

I let him speak.

“Caelan wasn’t gentle,” he continued. “He dragged me back to the castle. Cesare thanked me. Promised to keep his end of the deal. Then I was handed off to Leeora and Artemus.”

He said their names like they were royal titles.

“She’s… intense,” he said. “Fiery. Determined. The kind of woman who doesn’t ask permission. Artemus is quiet. Polite. But there’s something about him. Something dangerous.”

I smiled. “Golden and imposing?”

Alder blinked. “Exactly.”

“I met them,” I said. “When Riordan and I arrived. Artemus looked like he’d stepped out of a painting. His eyes—”

“Gold,” Alder said. “Or light brown with that vampiric glow. Optical illusion.”

“Leeora’s a witch,” I added. “But she looks like a runway model. I was told she used to be one. Still runs a boutique. Scarlett shops there.”

“She checked on me,” Alder said. “A few times. Made sure I was adjusting. Eventually, they gave me this house. Told me I was free.”

He looked around, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Freedom felt strange,” he said. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I was lonely. I kept wondering what my purpose was now.”

I sipped my tea. Let him unravel.

“I started writing again,” he said. “Letters to you. Ones I knew I’d never send. Then poems. Like I used to. But they felt different. Sadder. Sharper.”

He looked down.

“I was suspicious of everything. Every creak at night. Every rustle in the leaves. Every glance from a stranger. I thought it was another illusion. Another trap.”

“But it wasn’t,” I said.

“No,” he agreed. “It wasn’t.”

We sat in silence again. The tea cooled. The shadows shifted.

Then he asked, “How have you been?”

I snorted. “Trying not to burst into flames. Learning impossible things every day. Cesare’s idea of education is throwing me into the deep end and watching if I swim.”

Alder smiled. “You always swim.”

“Eventually,” I muttered.

He hesitated. I saw it. The way his eyes flicked toward me, then away. The way his fingers tapped the rim of his cup.

“You want to ask about Gavin,” I said.

He blinked. “I—”

“Just do it.”

He cleared his throat. “Are you… working things out?”

I sighed. “We’re trying. He’s going through the transition. Faster than me, of course. Already has his sun immunity back. No fair.”

“Because he was born a vampire,” Alder said.

“Exactly,” I said. “His body remembered. Mine’s still learning.”

Alder looked at me. Really looked.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. “I still feel things. For you.”

I froze.

Then I shook my head. “Don’t.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“I can’t trust you,” I said. “Not after everything. I don’t care about you like I used to.”

He didn’t argue.

He just asked, “Then why did you come?”

The words hit me like a blade.

I opened my mouth. Said nothing. Tried again.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

I looked away.

And in that moment, I knew.

I was lying.

To him.

To myself.

I still cared.

Not love. I knew for a fact my old feelings for Gavin were back in full force. But something deeper than friendship for Alder. He made terrible mistakes, but when it really counted, he came through and stuck to his word. And when I first arrived in Henfordshire all that time ago I was so lost, so alone, so confused—and he was there to steady me.

You don’t forget something like that easily.

“Are you going to stay here? For good?” I changed the awkward subject to something more neutral.

He nodded. “I think so. I was gifted this house, one I intend to turn into a home. I’ve lived decades now, but it feels like rebirth, in a way. Gwydion, who is a very powerful mage, centuries old, lives down the street past the belltower. He’s offered to mentor me, so I can reach full potential of my powers and maybe use them for something meaningful. Leeora is quite fierce. There had been some resentment, and she made short dealings with that. Basically she decided I was to be treated with respect, so everyone else had to—or deal with the consequences.”

“Sounds like she takes after daddy,” I said, meaning it. Definitely Caelan’s daughter. No DNA test needed to convince me of it.

Alder smiled. “In more ways than you think. She decides over life and death. Her husband reaps the souls. I don’t want to get into it more, but they’re a couple nobody dares to mess with. Did you know she killed her first husband, a witcher, when she found out he was secretly a vampire hunter and after her dad? Caelan found out too and went there, but arrived only in time to deal with the body. She loved that man—but she’ll always love her daddy more.”

Alder’s words hung in the air like incense—heavy, fragrant with truth, and impossible to ignore.

“Wow,” was all I could say, and even that felt insufficient. What do you say to a story like that? A woman who loved fiercely enough to kill, loyal enough to choose blood over romance, powerful enough to make the entire Arcane Order flinch when she raised her voice. Leeora wasn’t just Caelan’s daughter—she was his echo, his heir, his fire reborn among the witches.

Alder sipped his tea, eyes distant. “She told me once that love is only sacred when it’s dangerous. That if it doesn’t make you bleed, it’s not worth calling love.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like something Caelan would say.”

He chuckled. “Probably did. She just made his usual grunts sound poetic.”

I leaned back, smiling, letting the warmth of the tea and the old familiarity settle in my chest. The room was quiet, but not empty. It was filled with memory—mine, his, ours. Henfordshire. The letters. The betrayal. The redemption. The ache.

“She’s terrifying,” I said. “But I kind of admire her.”

“She’s the reason I’m still alive and might even stay that way longer term,” Alder said. “Her and Artemus. He’s… something else.”

I nodded. “Golden and deadly.”

Alder smiled. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to,” I said. “He looks like he was sculpted by a god with a flair for drama. And those eyes—”

“Not quite human,” Alder finished. “Not quite vampire either. He lived centuries as a rogue. Bent every rule without breaking them. Until he did.”

“Riordan told me,” I said. “Caelan wanted him dead.”

“Leeora intervened,” Alder said. “Pleaded his case because she’d been dating him for a while by then. Caelan relented. Gave him to Cesare. Now he’s bound by rules. Coven meetings. Protocol. But he’s still dangerous. Just… contained.”

“And married,” I added. “With grandkids.”

Alder laughed softly. “Yeah. They’re a power couple. She designs clothes. He reaps souls. Domestic bliss.”

I shook my head slowly, the weight of everything pressing against my thoughts. “This occult world is insane.”

Alder looked at me then. Really looked. Not just with his eyes, but with that quiet, searching gaze that felt like it could read the footnotes of my soul.

“But you belong in it,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I could. The silence between us wasn’t filled —just stillness. Just awareness.

“So what now?” I asked, voice low. “You stay here, train with Gwydion, write poems you’ll never publish?”

He hesitated, swirling the last of his tea. “I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out. And I might publish again. The rest of my story remains yet to be written.”

I nodded. “Same.”

He glanced at me, cautious. “But your story now includes Gavin as the male protagonist?”

I sighed, leaning back against the armrest. “Yes, but we’re taking it slow and steady. He’s still rallying from his divorce, but also somehow already planning a future for us. Meanwhile, I’m mostly dazed and confused, trying to figure out who I am now.”

I paused, then continued. “I’m flattered—really flattered—that he sees us together long-term, as a family. But I just don’t have the bandwidth to process everything at once. Cesare and Riordan are demanding. The training is taxing. I’m still hammering out the kinks of trying to use vampiric speed without collateral damage. And clearly, my sun immunity is still a work in progress. As is eating real food. He can eat, and I can watch. No fair.”

Alder looked down at his hands, fingers curling slightly. “I’m glad you have him.”

I said nothing.

Then, gently, he asked, “How is Catriona?”

I felt the ache—not in my chest, but somewhere deeper. He cared for her. That much had always been clear, which made the truth harder to deliver—despite everything he was guilty of.

I sighed. “Right. About that. I am going to file to officially change her name. It doesn’t feel right, knowing she was named in and for a lie.”

His face shifted—just slightly. The hurt was there, unmistakable. But he forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I see …” he said softly. “I’m sure whatever her name will be you will choose a beautiful name. I hope she grows into it with joy.”

I swallowed. That landed harder than I expected.

“Will I continue to be part of your story?” he asked.

I hesitated.

He looked away, then back again. “You’ll always be a pivotal part of mine. I just don’t know how yet.”

That was the moment. The one where I felt the full weight of what he wasn’t saying. I knew he cared—deeply, maybe more than I could ever return. But to me, he was Alder. Complicated. Familiar. Like a brother I’d fought beside in a war I didn’t choose.

I loved Gavin. I knew that. But I also knew I didn’t want to hurt Alder more than I already had.

So what do I say—without overpromising, without twisting the knife?

A knock shattered the quiet.

Sharp. Intentional. Not the kind that asked permission.

Both Alder and I jumped to our feet, mugs forgotten, reflexes sharp. We traded glances—mine wide-eyed, his wary.

“Expecting someone?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “No. Nobody ever comes here except…”

The door rattled again.

Then a voice. Female. Commanding. Familiar.

“Alder, open up already. We know she’s with you.”

Leeora.

“Yeah, her. Oh boy.” He sighed.

Alder moved toward the door with reluctant gravity, like a man walking into a storm he knew he couldn’t stop. He opened it, and returned moments later with Leeora and Riordan flanking him like sentinels.

Leeora looked radiant and irritated, her fiery hair half-tamed and her silver eyes sharp enough to cut through stone. Riordan didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. One glance from him said more than any reprimand could.

“I know, I know. Sorry,” I muttered, already bracing for impact.

Riordan folded his arms, voice low and disappointed. “We had that discussion. I told you—not yet.”

He sounded less like a commander and more like a father catching his daughter climbing out the window at midnight.

“I had to know he was okay,” I said.

“We told you he was.”

“I needed to see it with my own eyes.”

Riordan sighed, the kind of sigh that carried centuries of patience and just enough exasperation to make me feel twelve again.

“Well,” he said, gesturing toward the door, “now you have. Bid your farewells. We are leaving.”

Leeora didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone was a verdict.

Alder looked at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

I looked back, heart heavy, throat tight.

This wasn’t how I wanted it to end. But maybe it wasn’t ending. Maybe it was just another chapter. A new chapter. One where we could be friends again. Just friends, but good ones—the kind that had weathered storms and rough seas together.

It was awkward. We looked at each other like familiar strangers. We both knew what we wanted to do, but I couldn’t move. He finally did, just as Riordan put a hand on my shoulder to step outside so we could port back to Forgotten Hollow.

“Just a moment, please,” he said in that soft, poetic voice with the familiar cadence.

He stepped up and embraced me.

At first I just allowed it, arms dangling at my sides. Then I raised them, folding them loosely around his waist—and finally, it became a tight hug.

“Thank you for still caring.”

“Thank you for…” I paused, my eyes flicking to Riordan. “Well, you know.”

“I know.”

When we parted, it felt odd. Melancholic.

“Come on, we have work to do,” Riordan said. We didn’t. It was his polite way to urge me along.

One last glance back at Alder, standing there in the hallway of a house that would finally be his home— before I felt Riordan’s arms wrap around me, and everything turned into a rushing blur.

Punishment

I was sent to my room to await punishment.

Cesare hadn’t specified what it would be yet, but I knew the tone. It wouldn’t be torture. Just something tedious. Vampiric administrative tasks, probably. The immortal equivalent of scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush. Something to remind me I’d disobeyed orders without actually hurting anyone’s pride but my own.

I paced. Fumed. Grumbled.

Becoming a vampire had made me look younger again—shaved about twenty years off my appearance, skin smooth, eyes bright, body sharp—but that didn’t mean everyone got a free pass to treat me like a teenager. I wasn’t some fledgling to be grounded. I was Victoria. Writer. Painter. Mother. And I—

Knock.

“No! Go away!”

Another knock.

“I said: go away!”

Knocking again.

“Just fuck off already!”

The door opened.

Gavin stepped inside, uninvited, shutting the door behind him with the kind of ease that made it feel like his divine right. My irritation flared.

He turned, arms crossed, gaze steady.

“So,” he said, “we had a little adventure, did we?”

“Argh, not you too now! Just no.”

“Why?” His tone was mellow, but there was a flicker of something beneath it. “You and I spoke. You assured me he was history.”

Guilt. Immediate. Sharp. I knew what he was thinking. What everyone else would think.

“Gavin, no. It’s not like that. I was worried about him. He was my first and only friend in a time when I had nobody else left. Alone, in a new country, without two dimes to rub together. He was kind and sweet and very helpful.”

“Sweet?”

“Not like THAT!”

“Hm. Not like that.” He tilted his head, amused. “You know, my grandfather thought I should have a say in your punishment. Seeing how I’m directly involved in another generation linked to him.”

My blood boiled. Patriarchy, anyone?

“Ah yeah?” I snapped, testy. “How very kind of him.”

“Yeah…” he said, calm. Noble. Soft. Which made it worse.

“What do you want?”

“I’m thinking about that. Whatever it is, I can assure you—I’ll have full support of my grandfather.”

“You are agitating!”

“I know.”

He stepped closer.

I stepped back.

“Aggravating!” I hissed, still retreating. “Annoying. Arrogant. Self-righteous. Condescending. Smug. Infuriating. Maddening. Impossible—”

My back hit the wall.

He caught up. One arm went up on my left, palm flat against the stone.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “And insufferable. Overbearing. Unrelenting. Obnoxious. And—”

His other arm rose, boxing me in.

I went hot and cold. My body tensed. There was a smile in his eyes—not cruel, not mocking. Flirting. Real. Intentional.

“The absolute worst,” he finished.

Then he leaned in and kissed me.

I melted.

My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened. We made out like the world had paused for us alone. His hands were strong, steady, reverent. Mine were desperate, anchoring.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “You and my ex-wife should exchange notes. She had a whole list of how terrible I am.”

“Oh, I’m building my own,” I said with a hoarse voice. “You’re helping.”

“Glad to be of service,” he whispered, and kissed me again.

Then he lifted me—effortless, like I weighed nothing—and carried me to the bed.

And for a moment, there was no Castello. No Cesare. No punishment. No past.

Just us.

The Upper Hand

We went all the way.

It felt good. Really good. Not just physically, but emotionally—like something old and sacred had been reaffirmed and magnified by us being vampires with heightened senses. Gavin was steady, reverent, and maddeningly confident. I let myself melt into it, let my body forget the politics and the guilt and the layers of guilt.

But the moment it was over, I wrapped my arms around him, wanting to snuggle, to linger in the warmth.

He pulled away.

Got up.

Started getting dressed.

“Why the rush?” I asked, still curled in the sheets. “You have to leave? Already?”

He grabbed my clothes and tossed them at me.

I unburied myself out of instinct, then sat up, fuming. “Gavin, what the hell!?”

“Get dressed.”

“Why? What for?”

“Your punishment,” he said in that smooth, poetic tone, already opening my closet and rifling through my clothing.

I jumped up, slipping on my underwear, rushing over. “What are you doing?!”

He turned, calm and unfazed, holding two dresses. He held the first up to me, then the second, evaluating. I tore them both from his hands.

“Answer me! And quit going through my stuff!”

“Your stuff? These ballgowns are yours?” His eyes sparkled with a smirk.

“Well, they were given to me to wear to all those… festivities.”

“Exactly. So, you’ll need them.”

“Cesare said nothing about another ball.”

“Cesare isn’t hosting. Nor attending. We are.”

I blinked.

“You, my love, are going to Henfordshire with me to be my escort to a royal ball,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I hated having to tell AG no, and now with Bianca gone and my son very much involved in the aristocratic circles, I intend to do him proud.”

I stared.

“I understand you spent time at the court in Windenburg to paint Her Majesty. Try to remember all that—you’ll need it. Oh, and this is a festivity among mortals, so remember how to hide your fangs. You’ll need that a lot this week.”

He was already pacing, planning.

“After the ball, we’ll be traveling to Del Sol Valley to attend the award show. Both my father and my brother Chase are nominated. Since this is Chase’s official return to the spotlight in his old, youthful form, he and Colton will not only announce that 2Dark 2C is rebanded and working on a new album and reunion tour, but also make public that they’ve returned to fangs—before the tabloids can do it for them with the usual lies and unnecessary speculations.”

I stood there, dresses in hand, arms hanging at my sides.

“You’ll be my date for that too. Luckily, you already know Leeora. She’ll hook you up with a dress. I have many talents and have been told I have good taste, and while I can and will tell you if I like your attire and styling, I am useless trying to figure out women’s fashions. Clear your schedule.”

“My punishment is to go to lavish balls in beautiful gowns?” I asked, half-laughing. Was he serious?

He smiled. Winked.

“Start packing. I told you Grandfather lets me have a say, and I felt you’ve been through enough. So instead of tasking you with humiliating projects, I’d rather use you for egotistical things. To be my date. To prepare society for the fact that I may have a new woman at my side.”

He stepped closer, kissed me again—soft, deliberate.

“Plus, I’d like my son to meet his newest sister so we are taking the baby. And for you to meet him and his family. I’d love to introduce you to my daughter as well, but as I told you before, my ex-wife has decided to live with her, which isn’t exactly Maeve’s idea of fun. But she loves both her parents and won’t kick her out. Eventually, you’ll meet her.”

Then he turned and just left.

Okay, look. Normally, that sort of treatment would result in me yelling, throwing things, and planting feet in asses. But somehow, I felt he had the right.

Me running off to spend time with a man who had tricked his way into our relationship—effectively breaking us up—and while most of the intimacy with Alder wasn’t real, some of it had been. So me sneaking off to see him hadn’t been okay, considering Gavin.

Roles reversed, I’d be jealous and furious.

So… I let him have this win. Let him have the upper hand.

Plus, I mean—what girl wouldn’t want to be whisked off to fancy balls at a palace and a music awards show?

Yes, please.

I thought as I started packing, lingering in my underwear drawer longer than normal, putting back my usual day-to-day things and digging out the nice and rarely worn lacy numbers instead.

Glenmere Hall

Glenmere Hall stood quiet in the late afternoon light.

It wasn’t grand. Not like the estate Gavin had grown up in. Not like the ceremonial halls of Castello di Vannucci. It was smaller, older, tucked into a forested fold of land where ivy curled around stone and the air smelled faintly of moss and memory.

He’d bought it around the time we started seeing each other more—before Alder interfered, before everything unraveled. But it still didn’t feel like him. The furniture was heavy and ornate, the wallpaper too floral, the rugs too loud. It felt like he was renting someone else’s life.

I stepped inside, carrying our daughter, and looked around. The chandelier was dusty. The paintings were forgettable. A porcelain swan sat on a side table like it was guarding the room from joy.

Gavin followed me in, watching me as I moved.

“I haven’t really decided how to furnish it,” he said. “It still has the previous owners’ things. I keep meaning to change it, but…”

“But?” I asked, shifting the baby in my arms.

He smiled, soft. “I was hoping you’d help me remodel.”

I turned to him, surprised.

He shrugged, casual but not careless. “Make it yours too. Eventually.”

The hint landed. Not just about the house. About us. About her.

I felt flattered. And a little speechless.

I walked to the window, looking out at the stream that curved beneath the stone bridge. The trees were tall and quiet, the sky scattered with clouds. It was beautiful. Peaceful. Surreal.

“All this feels so surreal…” I murmured.

“Victoria,” Gavin said behind me, “did you hear me?”

I turned. “Yes.”

He stepped closer, reaching for the baby. I handed her over, and he lifted her easily, holding her up so she could see the room. Her chestnut hair caught the light, and her green-blue eyes sparkled as she looked around, flailing her little arms with excitement.

“I’ve been thinking,” Gavin said. “About what you said. About wanting to rename her.”

I said nothing. Just watched them.

“How about… Annabelle?” he murmured. “Lady Annabelle Cameron. Anne, Anna, or Belle for short—if she ever lets us get away with it.”

She giggled. Loud. Unapologetic. Her little hands waved like she was conducting an orchestra.

Gavin smiled and kissed her forehead. “Oh, we like that, huh?”

I smiled. “Well, there’s your answer. The Lady approves.”

Then I paused. Let it settle. “But I don’t recall agreeing to change her last name. She’s still my child, too.”

Gavin nodded. “Yes. I was getting to that…”

The way he looked at me—steady, warm, deep—made it clear this wasn’t just about paperwork.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what this is. What we are.”

He glanced at her, then back at me.

“We’ve both been in long-term marriages. You were set to marry again. And me—when I finally filed for divorce, after dragging it out for over a decade—I swore I’d never tie myself to anyone again. Maybe something more permanent than casual. Even a live-in partner. But not irreversibly so.”

He gave a quiet laugh.

“And I never thought I’d be a father again. Never thought I’d want to be. I also never thought I’d be a vampire again. That chapter felt closed. But here we are.”

He paused, letting the moment settle.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is… I’d like her to have my name. Not because I’m claiming her, but because she’s part of me. And because, in some strange, unexpected way, so are you. While I feel that neither one of us wants to or should rush into anything, I am saying that I could see something permanent again with you one day down the line. Once the dust has settled and you have fully embraced your new life.”

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

He stepped forward, handed our daughter back to me, then leaned in and kissed my temple.

“I want this to be your home,” he said. “Ours. Hers.”

I looked around again. The porcelain swan. The floral wallpaper. The heavy rugs.

It wasn’t us.

But it could be.

Meet & Greet

The royal ball had been… hard to describe.

Amazing, yes. But more than that. It was the kind of night that felt stitched from dreams and old fairy tales. I never admitted it—not even to myself—but deep down, I’d always been that girl. The one who wanted the whole prince on the white horse type fantasy. And Gavin? Gavin delivered.

I was nervous. Astonished. Amazed. The palace shimmered with candlelight and laughter. The people were polite and special, the royals warm and witty with a surprisingly sharp sense of humor. The food was… well, I’m sure it was delicious. It looked divine. But I still hadn’t been cleared to eat by Cesare and wasn’t keen on a repeat performance of my projectile puke at Cesare’s ball, so I covertly disappeared things off my plate while sending death glares to Gavin, who sat beside me laughing and in animated conversation while eating like a famished mortal.

GRRRRR.

It rubbed me so wrong that he was turned after me but already fully restored. Meanwhile, I was over here still dodging delicious food like it was rat poison and playing Frogger with the sun—left, right, leap, regret.

He made it up to me with dancing. Beautiful, sweeping, ceremonial dancing. I felt like a queen. And while I was naturally hesitant to rush into anything, with each waltz, which each turn and swirl, I was more and more ready to pack my bags, move in with Gavin, and drag him straight to the abbey to slap a ring on it. Holy crap, what was that man doing to me? That didn’t even sound like me!

Might’ve been the wine talking. The one thing I could enjoy.

I blinked.

The memory faded.

I was at another black tie event now—the SAA awards in Del Sol Valley. The event of the year, where the stars of film, music, and television gathered like constellations in designer suits and gowns.

Gavin stood nearby, talking with Chase, Hailey, Colton, Maddie, Blaine, and Scarlett. All of them looked so high society. So polished. So impossibly radiant.

Sadly, reflections were also a thing that eluded me. But in the vampiric mirror at Leeora’s boutique, I couldn’t get enough of myself. I know how it sounds—and yes, I was uber-vain that day. I looked all sorts of hot and legit. Elegant. Upper-class. Like I belonged.

I still had no idea how I’d managed to get here.

But damn, was I here for it.

Then—

“So that’s her?!”

The shrieking voice tore me out of my lala-land like claws through silk.

A woman appeared. Middle-aged. Her clearly dyed hair in need of a refresh, grey roots peeking through. Wrinkles carved by years of sun. Dressed in upscale designer clothing, but now looking like an angry harpy.

“That trash is what you left me for?!” she snarled at Gavin, pointing openly at me.

Ahhh… I thought. I knew who that was.

Gavin moved fast, trying to pull her aside as heads turned in our direction. But she dug in her heels, pulling away from him.

“Bianca, please,” Gavin urged.

She wasn’t having it.

“Oh no, don’t you Bianca please me! You humiliated me! You turned yourself into a punchline—Botox, fillers, and whatever else you scraped off the clinic floor after tossing me aside like expired perfume! And for what? So you can prance through your second Spring with hussies half your age, partying like it’s 1999? Do you ever think—ever—how that might make our children feel?”

I stepped forward, calm but ready.

“Excuse me—”

“No, you don’t get to speak,” she snapped. “You think you’re special? You think you’re better than me because you have a babyface and a tight little ass? You’re just the flavor of today. The minute you show the first sign of aging, he’s out the door for the next Lolita!”

Ha, I thought, do I have news for you, lady.

Chase, Colton, Blaine, and Hailey moved in, trying to assist. Blaine held up his hands like he was approaching a wild animal. Hailey stood slightly behind Chase, arms crossed, watching Bianca like she was a particularly loud reality show contestant.

“Bianca, calm down, maybe we can—” Colton tried.

Bianca blinked at him. Then blinked again.

Her voice dropped an octave, sharp with disbelief. “Wait. Wait.”

She stepped closer, squinting at Colton’s face. At Chase’s. At Maddie, who had just entered with a drink and a radiant glow that didn’t match her birth certificate.

“You—” Bianca’s voice cracked. “You all look… young. Dio mio!”

Colton tried to speak, but Bianca steamrolled him.

“No. No no no. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell me you all turned yourselves again. Give me a gigantic break! You—you’re supposed to be aging! You’re supposed to be normal! What the hell is this, some eternal youth cult?! Che disastro!”

Heads turned. Cameras clicked. The room buzzed with tension.

Then her eyes snapped to Gavin.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and stunned. “Is that why you look younger too?”

Gavin didn’t answer.

Bianca’s eyes narrowed. “Answer me.”

He didn’t move.

She stepped forward, fast. Grabbed his chin, turned his face toward the light. Her fingers—manicured, trembling—slipped into his mouth like she was checking a toddler who’d swallowed a marble.

The room froze.

Gavin grimaced and pulled her hand away, firm but restrained. Then, without a word, he reached for a glass of something dark and rinsed his mouth like he’d just tasted betrayal.

Bianca jerked back like she’d touched fire.

“Ma che cavolo?!” she gasped, stumbling. “You turned again. You all turned again. And no one told me. You let me rot while you rewound the clock!”

Then she laughed—sharp, bitter, unhinged.

“You’re all freaks. Especially you, Gavin. You were born a freak. Che schifo! I should’ve known you’d crawl back to it the second I wasn’t looking. You couldn’t stand being mortal, could you? You couldn’t stand being normal.”

Hailey raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re certainly making a strong case for staying mortal and normal.”

Bianca spun toward her. “Oh shut up, Hailey. You look like a Botoxed Stepford wife with a vampire kink. What are you now, Chase’s eternal groupie? So desperate!”

Hailey didn’t flinch. “Better than being his eternal ex.”

Bianca’s voice rose, shrill and furious. “You’re all monsters! You think this is glamorous? You think this is fair? Gavin threw me out like garbage and now he’s living his second Spring nailing his way through gold digging hussies! You’re all disgusting!”

Maddie took a slow sip of her drink, then deadpanned, “You know, for someone who hates vampires, you sure spend a lot of time screaming at them in public. Considering you hate us and think we’re monsters, that’s pretty ballsy.”

Bianca whipped toward her. “Oh, shut up, Maddie. You’re just a glorified blow up doll with a trust fund!”

Maddie blinked. “You know what I also am? Still married.”

Then—

A flash.

Scarlett appeared beside her, eyes glowing, voice sharp as a blade.

“One more word,” she said, “I swear it.”

Bianca turned, furious. “Scarlett, you have to see this is not right. He’s mine not that cheap hoe’s and—”

That was as far as she got.

Scarlett moved with vampire speed, taking her outside in a blur of motion.

Blaine grinned, rushing after. “This, I gotta see! That’s my girl taking out the trash. Someoooone’s gonna get a spaaaanking …”

Silence fell. Gavin closed his eyes. Sighed. Then opened them, the weight of eternity flickering behind the green.

“I am so sorry,” he said, voice low.

I looked at him. Then at the crowd. The chaos. The echoes of Bianca’s shrieking still clinging to the velvet walls like bad perfume.

Then I smiled—just a little. “Don’t be. I’m starting to get used to dramatic moments. Very entertaining. And considering I’m technically over fifty and was just accused of being a babyfaced gold digger with a tight little ass…” I shrugged. “I mean, I can’t even really be mad.”

Gavin huffed a laugh. Then, with a glance toward the still-buzzing lounge, he slipped an arm around my waist and leaned in.

“Come on,” he murmured, lips brushing my temple. “Let’s give them something else to talk about.”

We stepped through the doors into the awards hall, his smile calm and practiced, mine just sharp enough to draw blood. The crowd parted like velvet curtains, and the chaos faded behind us—at least for now.

Accolades

The presenter had been rambling for over half an hour.

Bad jokes. Boring trivia. A voice so soporific it could’ve lulled the entire SAA audience into a coma. I’d tuned out somewhere around the third anecdote about a 1970s sitcom reunion and was now fully focused on surviving the evening without gouging my ears out.

I was seated at a round table with Gavin, Blaine, Scarlett, Chase, Hailey, Colton, and Maddie. The elite of film and music orbited us—dressed like gods and demigods, sipping champagne and pretending to care about the presenter’s latest pun.

Scarlett’s glass was half full, her eyes sharp. I leaned in.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I murmured.

She paused mid-sip, turned to me with a raised brow. “Hm?”

“Bianca.”

Scarlett laughed—a rich, unapologetic sound. Then she leaned closer, voice low and conspiratorial.

“Oh, don’t waste a thought on that bimbo. I never liked her. Told Blaine she wasn’t it. Told Gavin when he first dragged her into our lives. He was googoo gaga for her, still wet behind the ears—what were you, seventeen? I told him a hundred times to keep his weenie wrapped tight with that one. Those Auditores are a fertile bunch. But no, no, our little boy knew better, didn’t you.”

“Mom…” Gavin muttered, visibly cringing.

Scarlett waved him off. “Yeah, Bianca was older than him too. Had an agenda. Wanted out from under her controlling daddy and figured the fastest way was to marry rich. Gavin was her mark until she figured out he had fangs, which she abhorred. But she still liked to get herself a little something-something on the side. And while shopping for a suitable idiot to slap a ring on, she kept fucking my sweet gullible baby boy into oblivion. And he was there for it! She literally had fucked his brains out—there was no talking to him.”

“MOM! Please, I beg you…” Gavin jumped up.

Blaine stood too, shoved Gavin back into his chair, then plopped onto his lap like a deranged elf. Finger in his face.

“Sit your ass down, kid, and don’t interrupt your mother!”

Scarlett leaned over, Blaine followed, and they smooched audibly behind me—making both Gavin and me cringe so hard we nearly folded in half.

Gavin didn’t hesitate. He shoved Blaine off his lap with a grunt, sending him sideways into his own chair with a dramatic flail.

“Get off me, you lunatic!”

Blaine landed with a thud, adjusted his jacket like nothing happened, and grinned. “You’re welcome for the warmth, son.”

Scarlett raised her glass. “That’s family bonding, right there.”

She turned back to me. “Anyway. Gavin was naïve. Sweet. Gullible. Also a horny teen boy. She was dangling herself like low-hanging fruit and he was starving. Had to stick his business where it didn’t belong. Of course he got her pregnant—blissfully unaware, because she didn’t tell anyone. Daddy found out and married her off to the first rich boy who’d have her. Then that little bitch had the gall to send my heartbroken baby boy an invite to her wedding. Can you believe?!”

Scarlett had talked herself red-hot. She grabbed the champagne bottle, refilled her glass, then drank straight from the neck like it owed her rent.

“Oh, when I got wind of all that, I was done. But it gets better. About a year later, her baby’s barely old enough to look nothing like the supposed daddy—but exactly like our Gavin. One DNA test later, she was dumped and divorced so fast it broke records. Daddy Auditore senior, may he rest in pieces, wouldn’t take her back, which tells you everything you need to know about that family. Luckily it’s improved with the newer generations, but back when he was alive? Cringe.”

She grimaced, then continued.

“AG told Gavin about it and our sweet Loverboy here was on a mission. Knew that was his baby. We had no clue about any babies until he showed up at our home with them like a nightmare come true. I was this close to booting her and locking Gavin plus baby up—after a DNA test, mind you. But no—he insisted he loved her. Still makes me puke in triangles.”

“Oh, I am so with you on that,” Hailey laughed.

“Me too,” Maddie said. “I was shocked over and over again by the dumb shit Bianca spewed. Thought the Louvre was a skincare line. Came up to me once about something she saw on TikTok—some conspiracy crap—and she believed it. I forgot what it was about but it was dumb as hell.”

“I’ll never forget,” Hailey added. “She tried to tell us the moon wasn’t real, just a projection by the government. My daughter Iris overheard and handed Bianca her ass in installments. Iris has zero tolerance for dumbassery. It was brutal. Makes the Battle of Culloden sound like a family picnic.”

Scarlett groaned. “Oh, I remember that now. Goddamn is that bitch dull and stupid. I ended up taking care of another baby while Madam lay at the pool working on her image, taking selfies for her socials, like I was her nanny. Bitch parked her ass in MY home and treated me like a servant. I cannot count how many times I nearly sent her flying off the cliff with my boot print up her ass.”

Blaine snorted into his drink. Maddie was trying not to laugh. Chase raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Damn, Mom,” he chuckled. “You shouldn’t hold back your real feelings.”

Scarlett smirked. “No danger of that, Chasey. But lucky me—I ended up living with both of them for many, many years. ‘Just until we figure something out,’ I kept being told. Well, Jake grew bigger and then they made another baby. Three guesses who ended up taking care of that one too.”

“Holy shit, Letty, it wasn’t that bad…” Blaine said.

Scarlett turned on him. “What do you know about any of it?! You fucked off on tour half the time and were buried either in your studio or between my legs the rest of it!”

“Okay, now the party’s starting…” Colton snickered. And looking at him across the table, I could see Riordan in him. Restored to youth, fanged again, he was a spitting image of his father—just in modern. And with a potty mouth, apparently, something Riordan definitely did not have.

“Mom!” Gavin groaned. “We moved to Henfordshire just after Jake finished grade school in Brindleton Bay. That summer. Maeve was still little.”

Scarlett waved her hand. “Yeah, and before that you lived in Willow Creek, then Newcrest—or the other way around. I think even San Myshuno for a bit. Always a few months till Lady Lickmyass was ready for a new adventure. At our cost, of course.”

“And the way that girl dressed,” she added. “I routinely had to turn her around and work her over. Ask Maddie—she had to help many times.”

“Oh yes!” Maddie laughed. “Bianca had no concept of how to dress for what. I’ve seen more of her boobies than Gavin probably has.”

Hailey high-fived her. Gavin rubbed his temples. “Yes, ladies. Mistakes were made. They’ve been fixed.”

Scarlett sipped her champagne, satisfied. “Mm-hmm. Finally. Now you’ve got someone with a brain. Someone you can actually be seen in public with. I don’t care what Bianca screams—I fully endorse this.”

She patted Blaine’s thigh. “And Blaine does too, don’t ya babe?”

He grinned at me. “Yes Ma’am!”

“Oh jeeze,” Hailey laughed. “Now we’ve got Blaine trying to sound like Jackson.”

“Yee-fuckin’-haw!” Blaine bellowed, way too loud. People turned, saw it was Blaine, and resumed their business. His reputation paid off. He could probably get naked and no one would bat an eye.

I smiled, trying not to choke on my drink.

The presenter finally wrapped up his segment with a pun so bad it made Blaine groan audibly. Colton leaned over to Maddie and whispered something that made her snort into her wine.

Gavin leaned in, voice low, eyes flicking toward the chaos. “I’m so sorry.”

I looked at him, then at Scarlett—now critiquing someone’s shoes across the room with Hailey and Maddie.

“Don’t be,” I said, watching the madness unfold like a well-rehearsed opera. “I’m starting to enjoy the chaos.”

“Mom wasn’t all wrong,” Gavin said. “I hate to admit it, but after meeting you—especially at the ball at Cromwell Palace—I realize she was right all along. I noticed it years ago, all my brothers and sisters were having real partners, real matches, and Bianca and I just …. clashed, but we’d been together since I was so young. The thought of divorce was… terrifying.”

“And yet you’re hinting about marriage again,” I said. “Knowing we won’t just keel over one day and it will be over? If we were to get married, it’s literally forever or until we divorce.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he teased, imitating Blaine. I leaned in and kissed him before he could add the yeehaw.

The night was already memorable, but even more so when Chase and Colton performed their latest single—an emotionally charged anthem that had the room swaying like a cathedral choir in couture.

Then Blaine won an award.

And man, he knew how to put on a show.

He had the crowd in tears talking about Chase, Colton, and their wives choosing the fangs again and going back on tour. People were crying over his sappy moments. Then he shocked everyone with a crude anecdote about how he got inspiration for a song on his upcoming album—yes, shameless plug right then and there, so Blaine—and then had people gasping for air from laughing so hard they nearly slid under their tables.

The presenter, poor soul, sweated through multiple attempts to get Blaine off stage. He tried subtle cues. Then not-so-subtle cues. Then finally walked up and tried to physically pry the microphone from Blaine’s hands.

Which, of course, ended in a kerfuffle, which came to a screeching halt when Blaine hollered into the microphone “Mommy, this man is touching me inappropriately!”

The crowd exploded. Laughter ricocheted off the chandeliers. Maddie nearly fell out of her chair. Colton was doubled over. Scarlett looked like she was about to spit champagne across the table.

The presenter gave up and retreated, defeated, while Blaine blew past every time limit like they were mere suggestions from a lesser species.

It was chaos. It was glorious. It was Blaine.

When the ceremony finally ended, we were ushered out in limousines—because appearances mattered, even when half the room had just witnessed Blaine scream about inappropriate touching into a microphone.

He squeezed in between Gavin and me, arms around both of us like we were his emotional support vampires. Then he planted a wet kiss on Gavin’s cheek and mine.

“Dad, come on…” Gavin groaned, wiping his face.

I grabbed Blaine’s jacket and wiped mine off with it, grinning devilishly.

“I really like you,” Blaine said, settling in. “You fit right in. I knew that with Hailey too. Chase and she were sixteen when they met, and I knew she was the one. I was right. You’re a good one too.”

He turned to Gavin, finger in his face. “Don’t blow it. I mean it.”

Gavin didn’t flinch. He reached up, calm and deliberate, and pressed his father’s hand down.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dad.”

Cesare’s Errands

The days that followed settled into the usual rhythm. Sort of.

Gavin’s ideas of our future together hovered in my mind like a glittering question mark. So did the prospect of moving back to Henfordshire. It had become home—the place my daughter was born, the place we were rudely torn from to come here. And now, just as this new life had started to feel comfortable, we were back at the edge of another life-altering decision.

And then, of course, my thoughts flicked to Alder.

I knew what he was guilty of. I knew what he’d helped us uncover. And I knew what it cost him.

I looked up from my desk at Cesare, peacefully writing with his quill, then at Riordan, buried in vampiric law for an impending court session. Even Caelan and Connell were in the far corner of the study, gesturing animatedly, Connell smirking and laughing like he’d just won a bet.

They were good people. Yes, even that awful Caelan. He was rough, sure—but when he thought no one was watching, especially with Rhiannon, his devotion was unmistakable. I’d recently learned that Connell brought his wife Emmy a single flower from every hunt he went on with the Coven Enforcers. Turning something gruesome and often deadly into something romantic.

The third time I saw it, I was so mesmerized I forgot I wasn’t invisible. Just stood there, gawking at their private moment like a creeper. Naturally, they saw me. I tried to evaporate on the spot, but Emmy—sweetheart that she is, and the reason their son Damon looks like an angel—just laughed and told me they didn’t mind. “It’s not a secret,” she said.

Connell winked at me and dropped the bomb: “I learned that from my father.”

Hear, hear. Creepy Caelan, the romantic? I was almost ready to believe in Santa again.

Something he’d told me before came to mind—when I’d bemoaned his grinch-like disposition to his face. “I’m not a hostess at an upscale restaurant. I’m a Coven Enforcer. People are supposed to fear me.”

Fair point. Riordan had already explained that the Enforcers were meant to be a deterrent. Their reputation alone kept most disturbances in check—even among other occult.

“Victoria!”

I blinked. My name had clearly been called more than once. Everyone in the room was looking at me.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Would you kindly attempt to be present and focused?” Riordan said in his best teacher voice. I stared blankly at him until he pointed at the record entries I was supposed to be writing.

I looked down.

A heart.

WTF?!

I wasn’t sure vampires could blush, but it sure felt like I was about to test the theory.

“Please start over,” Riordan said, “and kindly keep your head straight this time. I need the records to be flawless.”

I nodded, mortified.

“That’s why we don’t use women for such jobs,” Caelan muttered to Connell.

I crumpled the ruined paper into a ball and fired it at him, aiming for the back of his head. But just before it landed, he turned, caught it mid-air, and was suddenly in front of my desk, handing it back to me.

“You dropped this,” he snarled, grinning like a smug gargoyle.

When I didn’t take it, he flicked it at me with a glance that said, please don’t try fucking with me again.

It hit me square in the forehead.

I blinked. Then slowly raised my middle finger right in his face.

He didn’t miss a beat—returned the gesture with a smirk.

So I raised my other hand and flipped him off with both fingers, like a pissed-off saint blessing the damned.

“You two again. Always you two!” Cesare snapped. “I’m almost resigned to the fact that Caelan and Blaine cannot be left in a room alone, but I will not have a repeat here with you, Victoria. You needn’t be best friends, but I want you both to get along. Victoria is part of my administrative force. Caelan is the Commander of my Enforcers. Neither of you is going anywhere. Please arrange yourselves with that fact.”

“Yes, Father,” Caelan said.

“Of course,” I echoed.

“Splendid. In order to help you both along with the progress, Victoria will accompany you on an errand I need you to do for me, Caelan.”

“Father, I am not an errand boy! Nor a babysitter!”

“I’m sorry, son, I didn’t catch that. It sounded like you were rejecting an order.”

“What? No, I… alright. What do you need me to do?”

“Much better. Please go see your daughter and fetch the items on this list. I’ve spoken to her recently—she said it wouldn’t be a problem to commission them. I also need you to pick up a few books from your dear Aunt Caterina. Her servants should have pulled them by now. Victoria will accompany you. Please introduce her to Caterina. Unless, of course, Riordan wishes to go in your stead…”

“I decidedly do not, thank you, Uncle.”

Something clicked in my brain.

Two surviving Vannucci siblings: Cesare and Caterina. Cesare was Riordan’s uncle, who raised him. But I’d noticed at several events that Riordan kept his distance from Caterina—who, logically, had to be his mother.

Oh boy.

Caelan folded the list and turned to me, nodding toward the door.

Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

Then he stepped closer. Too close.

I blinked. “Wait—are we porting right now?”

He didn’t answer. Just grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the kind of hug-like embrace that made my spine lock up.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t warm. It was the vampiric equivalent of being stuffed into a suitcase with someone you hate.

His arms were around me. Mine were somewhere near his ribs. Our faces were inches apart, both of us grimacing like we’d just bitten into a lemon.

Then the world folded.

We arrived at Leeora’s home first. He knocked, already stepping back like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

I adjusted my shirt, muttered something about personal space, and tried not to gag on the lingering scent of his cologne.

The welcome between father and daughter was warm. He hugged and kissed his daughter like a normal father would. I received a polite nod and a balmy welcome. She offered us coffee and told us some of the items on the list had to be made fresh and that it would take a while.

So we went on to Caterina’s home.

Ha. Home. That’s what I expected.

We arrived at an estate. Almost a palace. Not the elegant kind like Henfordshire or Windenburg—this place was not what I would call a home. It was a statement.

Holy shit.

Servants buzzed about. Caterina Dimitrescu herself looked like a painting—cute, very Italian, voice sweet as pie. I was relieved. Riordan was such a nice guy, and if he didn’t like someone, I was expecting a two-headed monster.

She welcomed us, then went off to fetch the books.

Caelan leaned in. “Don’t be fooled. She’s someone you wanna be very careful with. Piss her off and you’ll pay for it for a very long time.”

Wait. Caelan gossiping?

“Is that why Riordan avoids her?”

“No. He wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire. She abandoned him as a baby. My father raised him. She was a loose cannon—so bad that Father married her off to her current husband against her will. He worships the ground she walks on and somehow calmed her down. And she fell in love with him. They had three kids—grown and married. Twin daughters who are very much like her, and a son. That’s when she finally remembered she also had a grown son. But Riordan was over it.”

He sighed, while I tried to not have my eyeballs fall out. Jeeze.

“Father’s tried to get them to reconcile,” he added. “Caterina wants to. Riordan’s stubborn as hell.”

She returned with the books. Caelan made sure we didn’t linger by telling her we were in a rush. It was a lie, but she didn’t argue. Clearly, she wasn’t too comfortable around her creepy and deadly nephew either—and clearly unsure what to make of me.

We returned to Leeora’s. Her golden vampire husband was there now too, and I caught myself staring at him several times. Twice he caught me and smiled—like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I wanted to sink into the floor and die quietly.

Then came the task: I was supposed to fetch something from a store.

I blinked. Panicked. Sunlight and I were not friends. We were exes. Violent, bitter exes with restraining orders.

Leeora shot her father a puzzled glance.

“Doesn’t have full sun immunity yet,” he offered, like I was a defective appliance.

She nodded, left, then returned with a vial which she handed to me. It glowed faintly, like a bad omen.

“This will help,” she said. “Just small sips will keep you safe for several hours.”

I took it, eyeing the contents like they might bite me first. Declining was clearly not an option. So I sipped.

It tasted like what I imagine licking a forest floor would taste like—if someone spilled compost.

I gagged. Politely.

Then I was sent out to the shops with a list, like a little girl learning the value of money. Except I wasn’t little, I wasn’t learning, and the only value I cared about was not combusting in public.

But I didn’t just burst into sunlight like a bat out of hell. I tested it. Carefully. Slowly. Comically slow. First, I cracked the door open and stuck out a single finger. Nothing happened. I waited. Still nothing. I added a second finger. Then a whole hand. Still no sizzling, no smoke, no Victoria extra-crispy.

I stepped outside like I was defusing a bomb, eyes clamped shut just waiting for the pain. I looked like a vampire on probation—nervous, twitchy, and one false move away from bursting into flames.

But guess what? No pain. It worked.

My steps grew confident. By the third block, I was practically skipping through Ravenwood like a child seeing sunlight for the first time after a long rain. I even cooed at a squirrel. It ran away, but I counted it as a win. Mostly because I was either confined to indoors or out at night, neither offering an abundance of squirrel sightings.

The town was beautiful in fall. The shops were small and interesting. I clutched the shopping list like it was a sacred scroll and hit two on my list. A few more stops left, I didn’t care—I was alive, upright, and not on fire.

The third shop was out of what I needed. I sighed, already bracing for the awkward return to Leeora with incomplete errands. The clerk, a young woman with a braid longer than my patience, looked apologetic.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “There’s a gentleman here—well-versed herbalist and healer. He might have what you’re looking for.” she pointed behind me.

I turned, curious.

He had his back to me, laughing with another man. They were standing near the tincture shelf, heads close, hands briefly touching. Then the other man leaned in and kissed him—soft, familiar, like it wasn’t the first time. He smiled, squeezed his hand, and left.

I stepped forward.

He turned.

Alder.

Of course.

He blinked, surprised. Then smiled. “Victoria.”

“You’re everywhere,” I said, trying not to sound breathless.

“I could say the same,” he replied, those chocolate brown eyes warm.

“Umm, that lady at the counter told me you could help me find some stuff they are out of? It’s for Leeora so I would rather not go back empty-handed.”

I held up the parchment Leeora had given me, squinting at the handwriting like it might bite me.

“I’m supposed to find… uh…” I frowned. “Aconitum lycoctonum? Mandragora officinarum? And something that looks like Belladonna nocturna but might actually say nocturnata? Or nocturnica? I don’t know, it’s smudged.”

Alder chuckled. “You mean yellow wolfsbane, true mandrake, and nightshade. And it’s nocturna, not nocturnica. That one’s fictional. I think it’s from a romance novel.”

I blinked. “Of course you know that.”

He smiled, then stepped closer and gently placed a hand on my back—familiar, warm, not possessive. Just enough to make me forget how cold the air was.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you.”

We stepped outside, the autumn air crisp and golden. Ravenwood’s cobbled street stretched ahead, lined with crooked shopfronts and ivy-draped balconies. We walked in silence for a bit, the kind that felt companionable but charged—like something unsaid was humming between us.

Alder didn’t rush. He let the quiet settle, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking toward the rooftops like he was checking for omens.

Then he glanced at me. “You’re out in the sun.”

I shrugged. “New potion. Leeora gave it to me. Tastes like compost and regret, but it works, obviously. No sizzling. No smoke. No Victoria extra-crispy.”

“What is it composed of?” he asked, slipping into his investigative mode as we turned up one of Ravenwood’s winding cobblestone streets. The stones were slick from last night’s rain, and the air smelled like moss and chimney smoke.

I shrugged again. “Alder, I didn’t stop to trade recipes. I was given a list, the potion, and sent to go shopping.”

He smiled, but there was a flicker of concern behind it. “I am intrigued. I’ll have to research that. Just in case your progress is slower than anticipated and you find yourself with vampiric hot flashes again.”

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the vial—small, dark glass, stoppered with something that looked suspiciously like bone wax.

Alder’s eyes lit up. Not dramatically. Just that subtle shift—like a scholar spotting a rare manuscript.

I handed it over as we walked.

He took it carefully, reverently, like it might bite him. Held it up to the light filtering through the trees. Tilted it. Swirled it once.

Then he uncorked it.

The smell hit instantly—earthy, bitter, with a hint of something metallic. Alder inhaled, slow and deliberate.

“Compost and regret,” he murmured. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Then, without asking, he dabbed a drop onto his fingertip and touched it to his tongue.

I blinked. “You’re tasting it?”

He nodded, grimacing. “I have to. Gotta get a sense of what’s in it. It’s far from delicious, but I’ve ingested worse.”

“Worse? Like what—licking a mangy cow’s butthole?”

He didn’t even flinch. “Can’t say I’ve done that. But there were lean years. And a few… experimental ones.”

I stared. “You experimented with things worse than this? You’re scaring me.”

He held up the vial like he had X-ray vision. “This tincture is in the top ten of more vile substances I have ever tasted. Maybe top five. I sincerely hope your sun immunity kicks in soon, because choosing between spontaneous combustion and drinking this swamp-flavored regret is not a choice I’d wish on anyone.”

He recorked it and handed it back, but his eyes lingered on me.

“I’d like to analyze it later,” he said. “Just a few drops. See how it interacts with hemoglobin and UV-reactive compounds. To figure out what it’s made of.”

I shrugged. “Sure Professor. Just don’t clone me or summon anything with tentacles.”

“No promises,” he said, stepping over a crooked stone as we reached the bend in the lane.

Then, halfway up the block, he stopped. Smirking.
I followed his gaze.
He pointed.
And there it was.

A Vespa.

Pale green. Vintage. The kind of thing you’d expect to see in a black-and-white film, parked outside a bakery in Tuscany.

I stared. “Oh, come on. You ride that?”

He patted the seat. “She’s reliable. Vintage. And charming. Like me. Sorry I don’t have helmets, considering we both aren’t really at danger I hope I will be forgiven.”

I snorted. “You want us to ride THAT? It’s ridiculous.”

“That too. Get on,” he smiled.

I did. Reluctantly. Then wrapped my arms around him, trying not to think about how good he smelled.

The ride was chaos and joy. The wind in my hair, the sun on my face, the streets of Mourningvale blurring past like a watercolor. I laughed. Out loud. Like a child. Like someone who hadn’t danced in a while.

By the time we reached his home—a crooked little gothic house tucked into the environment like stone mushroom—I was pumped up and grinning.

“You’re trouble,” I said, hopping off.

“So I have been told,” he replied, unlocking the door.

Inside, it smelled like herbs and old wood. Books lined every wall, some stacked sideways, others crammed into shelves that looked like they’d been carved by hand centuries ago. A clock chimed somewhere in the back—low, resonant, like it was keeping time for ghosts.

Alder moved with purpose, crossing the room to an apothecary cabinet that looked older than most countries. Its drawers were mismatched, some labeled in Latin, others in languages I couldn’t identify. He opened them one by one, murmuring to himself as he checked each item against the list Leeora had given me.

“Wolfsbane,” he said, plucking a dried bundle from a hook overhead and dropping it into a pouch. “Mandrake root—aged, not fresh. Good. Belladonna, powdered. Mugwort. Dried nightshade. And… ah, yes. Crushed obsidian. For the UV binding.”

He moved like a man in ritual—precise, reverent, but not theatrical. Just… practiced.

I wandered while he worked.

The walls were lined with dried herbs, twisted roots, and things that looked suspiciously like animal parts. Jars glinted in the firelight, filled with liquids in shades of the rainbow. One shelf held a row of leather-bound tomes, each sealed with a lock and etched warnings in different tongues. I touched one. The leather felt… very smooth and silky.

“These feel very old.”

“They’re older than most famous landmarks. And just so you know, I wouldn’t assume the binding came from anything you’d find grazing in a field. Full disclosure for the faint of heart.”

Yuck, I thought. But if I didn’t dwell on it, I’d be fine. -ish.

I pointed to different things and he explained—flowers, rare herbs, some fragrant and lovely.

Then I saw it.

Something leathery and shriveled, dangling from a hook like it was waiting to be smoked. I poked it. It gave a little. I sniffed it.

“Are those figs?” I asked.

Alder glanced over his shoulder, caught my expression, and grinned.

“Not even close. I wouldn’t touch if I were you.”

“What is it?”

“Testicles.”

My hand jerked away like I’d just fondled a venomous snake. “Oh my God. Ew. Whose? Please don’t say human.”

He shrugged. “Unclear, but from what I can tell I would lean that way. They were here when I moved in. Labeled ‘vital essence,’ which is usually code for something someone didn’t want to admit to harvesting.”

I wiped my hand on my coat like it was made of bleach. “Alder, that is disgusting! Why would you have someone’s balls on your wall?! Why would you not throw that nasty shit out?!”

He chuckled. “You’d be surprised how often human testicles come up in potion lore. Not exactly something you can grab at the corner store. I’ve seen recipes that call for things far worse—trust me.”

Then he winked. “And as a man quite attached to mine, I can only assume it takes more than a polite ask and pocket change to liberate someone from theirs. So they’re staying. Just in case.”

I smirked. “Well, I hope whoever lost them did so willingly or post-mortem. Because if someone came home ball-less and confused, your dubious wall decor might be the reason a relationship ended abruptly.”

He snorted.

I leaned in, mock-serious. “Also, if you ever get the urge to harvest a fresh pair, I suggest buying their owner dinner first. Consent and foreplay, Alder.”

He burst out laughing, nearly dropped the pouch.

“Noted,” he said, wiping his eyes. “No snipping without seduction.”

He handed me the pouch with Leeora’s missing items. “Here you go. Wolfsbane for the lady. And the rest of your list. Free of charge, with regards from the mage whose life you and she saved.”

I took it, thanked him, then hesitated. “Speaking of balls and seduction … Alder, the man at the shop…”

He glanced at me, closing up drawers he left open. “What about him?”

“Was he your partner?”

Alder paused. Then shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I told you—I’m bisexual. I don’t always know if something’s permanent or just joy for the moment.”

I nodded, absorbing that. “He made you laugh, you looked happy. And he seemed nice.”

“He is,” Alder said. “But I don’t tie myself down. Not anymore.”

There was a quiet between us. Not awkward. Just full.

Then he smiled. “Want to see something beautiful?”

“Okay.” I knew I should have said no and returned to Leeora’s, but I just really didn’t want to.

We walked through the winding streets, past moss-covered stone and crooked chimneys. Alder pointed out old buildings, whispered their histories like secrets. I listened, enchanted. This, walking with him, him showing me around, us teasing each other and laughing about shared anecdotes, it felt so cozy and familiar. Like a homecoming.

We turned a corner and heard music.

Soft at first. Then louder. Drums. Flutes. Laughter.

We stumbled into a celebration.

A clearing had been transformed—ribbons strung between trees, tables of food and drink, people dancing barefoot in the grass. Children ran with flower crowns. Elders clapped in rhythm.

Alder smiled. “It’s Samhain’s Echo. A daytime celebration held by witches to honor the thinning veil. Not the main ritual—just the joy part. The remembering.”

Before I could respond, someone grabbed my hand and pulled me into the circle. Alder followed, laughing. We danced. We spun. We forgot everything for a moment.

It was magic.

Real magic. I could feel it, like a buzz all around me. Intoxication, relaxing. Nice.

Then—

Like a sentinel of doom, Caelan appeared.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Alder saw him first. His smile faded.

I turned.

Caelan’s eyes locked onto mine.

And just like that, the veil between joy and reality snapped back into place.

I stopped and stepped out of the dance circle, Alder followed. Behind us the circle closed and resumed without us.

“Caelan, I can explain.”

“Save it for my father. Did you get everything?” I nodded, handing him the pouches from my pocket, which he slipped into a leather bag slung across his body. He stepped forward, shot Alder a glare, then grabbed me and without being able to say goodbye I was gone.

The port was sharp. No warning, no grace.

One moment I was in the clearing, dancing and laughing, Alder’s hand still warm in mine. The next—I was back in the castle. Forgotten Hollow. Cold stone. Candlelight. The scent of parchment and power.

Caelan released me from his grip like I was something he’d scraped off his boot.

I barely had time to catch my proverbial breath before he grabbed my arm and dragged me with into the study, shoving me through the door ahead of himself, so that I stumbled into the room.

Cesare looked up from his desk, quill poised mid-sentence. Riordan was nearby, cataloging something spread in piles across his desk. Both turned as we entered.

“All items retrieved,” Caelan said, voice clipped. “Leeora confirmed the commissions. Caterina’s books were handed over without incident.” He pulled off the leather bag and dropped it on one side of Cesare’s desk.

Cesare nodded once, still writing.

“However,” Caelan continued, “I had to go looking for Victoria again. She was not where she was supposed to be.”

Cesare’s quill paused.

Riordan stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing.

Caelan folded his arms. “Surprise, surprise—when I finally tracked her down, she was dancing in circles with Alder and a group of magickfolk. In daylight. At a witch celebration.”

Cesare looked up.
His expression needed no words.
Riordan stared at me, concern etched across his face.

I stepped forward. “I ran into him. It wasn’t planned; I didn’t seek him out. The last shop was out of things on the list, he just happened to be there shopping too, the shop clerk told me to ask him for it. I did, and he had the missing ingredients at his home, obviously, nobody runs around with an array of herbs and potions, I was so not gonna show up without it, so I went, he gave it all to me, free of charge, mind you, then he offered to show me the festival. It was nothing—just interesting to see.”

Cesare set his quill down with deliberate grace.

“I tasked you with an errand, Victoria. Not sent you to a festivity for a lovely circle dance.”

I swallowed.

“Magickfolk and vampires are enemies,” he continued, voice calm but cutting. “With very few exceptions to confirm that rule. Leeora is one. Alder is not. He and I had a deal. We both fulfilled our ends. That is where the connection begins—and ends.”

His gaze sharpened, sovereign and cold.

“He is not our friend. Nor yours. Not in your current state of being. You are no longer mortal. You are vampire. He is mage. You are not friends.”

The words landed like verdicts.

“The only way the different occults can ever be civil is if there are blood ties. There are none between you and him. Therefore, he is an enemy. I cannot put it any simpler than that.”

I opened my mouth, but he raised a hand—elegant, final.

“You are still at fledgling level. Not sufficient enough to argue with me about this, nor to roam alone. That is why you reside here in Forgotten Hollow—under our protection, under our guidance. Not on your own. Not with Gavin. Who, I assure you, would not enjoy knowing that every time you are left to your own devices, you end up in Alder’s orbit.”

I flushed. “It wasn’t like that—it was platonic. Don’t make it sound dirty.”

Cesare stood.

The room shifted with him.

“Since you seem so eager to make connections with the other occult,” he said, voice smooth but glacial, “I have a new assignment for you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You will begin training as our diplomatic liaison between the Vannucci coven and other occult factions.”

The silence cracked.

Riordan dropped his pen.

“No,” he said, stepping forward. “Uncle, she isn’t ready. She’s nowhere near ready for that kind of responsibility.”

His voice was calm, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable—like a blade sheathed but trembling.

Cesare didn’t flinch. “She clearly thinks she is. She clearly believes she knows what is and isn’t dangerous better than we do. So let’s put her bravery and convictions to the test. At the end of the day, one of us shall walk away the wiser.”

He turned to me, gaze unreadable.
“So let her make her own experiences.”

The room fell silent.

I stood there, stunned.

And somewhere deep inside, a flicker of something—fear, excitement, maybe both—began to burn. This wasn’t a promotion. This wasn’t trust.

This was a test. Or another lesson.
And it felt a lot like punishment dressed in ceremonial verbiage.

🪶Disclaimer: 🪶 This is a fictional narrative. All characters, events, and settings are entirely imagined—though loosely inspired by a heavily modded save in The Sims 4, extensively customized to behave and appear as realistically as feasible, with enhanced visuals, nuanced social dynamics, and detailed world-building that mirror real human complexity.

If you’re a Simmer, you might recognize the location names and emotional beats. If you’re not, you’ll still find your way—no prior knowledge required. Everything you need to know lives inside this blog.

This story is for anyone who’s ever rebuilt their life from the ashes and dared to write new chapters. For those who crave storylines that think outside the usual boxes—and for anyone who knows that sometimes, the most powerful myths are the ones we make ourselves.