The corridor leading to Annalise's room was silent—eerily so. The distant hum of the central air echoed through the mansion's thick walls, faintly disturbing the heavy stillness that had settled like dust. An ornate chandelier dangled above them, refracting soft amber light over the black marble floors, their polished surface gleaming like obsidian under firelight. Annalise walked beside her mother, Sabine, their footsteps muffled by the crimson Persian carpet that stretched endlessly down the hall like a tongue leading them into the belly of something ancient and watching.
They didn't speak, both too wary of encountering Wendy or—worse—Alessandra. Despite Sabine encouraging her daughter to socialize, Annalise had drawn the line.
"I'd rather spend time with you than fake-smile at Wendy," she had said, defiant but quietly. And Sabine had understood, nodding with a sad smile.
Inside Annalise's room, the air carried the scent of jasmine and old paper—a blend of her mother's perfume and the stack of well-worn novels on her bedside table. The walls were a delicate shade of dove grey, and heavy velvet drapes framed the towering arched windows. Golden embroidery danced along the edges of the cushions on the chaise longue, and the faint crackle of the fireplace offered warmth, though the chill in her chest remained unmoved.
Sabine had lowered herself onto the velvet settee beside the window, rubbing her hands together as if brushing off more than just cold. "I wonder how Aston came into so much wealth," she murmured suddenly, her voice barely louder than the fire's flicker. "It's only been a few years… He was never this powerful."
Annalise hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of her teacup. Her gaze dropped into the swirling amber liquid.
Maybe because he's now vampire. Maybe… maybe that's how.
The thought twisted in her stomach. Should she tell her mom what she suspected? That something about her father was beyond unnatural—beyond terrifying? No. She couldn't. It would only terrify Sabine. And what if she was wrong?
So instead, she tucked the thought away and forced a smile.
Later, after their meal of buttered asparagus, grilled trout, and warm citrus cakes, Annalise curled up beside her mother on the bed. The plush mattress seemed to melt around her, the soft rustle of the canopy overhead lulling her into stillness. Somewhere between her mother's gentle hums and the fire's dying breaths, Annalise dozed off.
She didn't know how long she had been asleep when she woke with a sharp gasp.
The room had shifted.
The warmth was gone. A cold draft whispered through the slightly open window, fluttering the corner of a curtain. The sky beyond was deep indigo, stars drowned beneath a heavy storm brewing in the distance. Annalise sat up quickly, her heart pounding.
Her mother was gone.
The silk sheets were cool where Sabine had been.
Sliding off the bed, Annalise padded barefoot across the floor and opened the door, stepping into the dim hallway. Her breath fogged slightly in the chilled air. Shadows danced across the marble from the sconces lining the corridor. She had barely taken a few steps when she saw Wendy approaching.
The blonde's heels clicked like gunshots against the stone, her frame elegant yet sharp, like glass ready to shatter someone.
"Do you know where my mom is?" Annalise asked, anxiety leaking into her voice.
Wendy's face twisted in disdain. "I have no idea where that dirty mother of yours is."
Annalise blinked. "What?"
She had seen the girl's glares across the dinner table, sharp and deliberate, but she had ignored them. Tolerated them. But this? This crossed a line.
"How dare you insult my mom?" Annalise snapped, her fists clenched. "I don't care how rich you are, you don't get to talk about her like that!"
Wendy was just about to fling a retort when Aston's voice cut through the tension.
"What's going on here?"
His sudden appearance was like a crack of thunder—quiet, but reverberating. He stood just a few feet away, perfectly poised, dressed in a crisp black shirt that molded to his frame. His eyes, empty and watchful, shifted between the two girls.
"Nothing, Papa," Wendy purred, then turned on her heel and walked away, her hair swaying like a lioness's tail.
Annalise didn't even look after her. Her chest was tight, her mind spinning.
"Where is my mom?" she asked.
Aston smiled—thin and flat. "Where she's supposed to be."
Annalise stared at him, her breath catching.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered, more to herself than him. " Why are you doing this?"
He stepped closer. "Good question. That's exactly what I've been waiting for."
Then he turned and walked down the hall.
Annalise hesitated—every instinct screamed not to follow—but her legs moved anyway.
They stopped at a room she had never entered before. The ornate door had intricate carvings, vines and thorns and roses twisted together in a haunting design. Aston opened it with a slow, deliberate motion.
Inside, the room was a mirrored replica of the mansion's opulence—gold moldings, plush furniture, velvet drapes, and a soft, haunting scent of vanilla and smoke. A gilded wardrobe stood at the far end.
"Sit," he commanded.
Her legs shook, but she obeyed, lowering herself into a velvet chair as the door clicked shut behind her. She felt like she was being lured into something she wouldn't return from.
Aston crossed the room and opened the wardrobe. Instead of shelves and clothing, a concealed panel slid back, revealing a hidden chamber.
Annalise stood abruptly.
Inside, in a sterile-looking space with white walls and humming machines, Sabine lay on a bed. She wore a hospital gown, an oxygen mask over her face. Her eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in a mechanical rhythm.
"What did you do to her?!" Annalise cried, lunging forward—but Aston's hand clamped around her arm.
"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," he said coldly.
"Let go of me!"
She yanked her hand free and spun on him, eyes blazing.
"What's wrong with you?! What have you done to my mother?"
"Hibernation," he said flatly, as if discussing the weather.
"Hibernation?! Are you insane?"
She raised her hand to slap him—but he caught her wrist.
A glint flickered in his gaze. "So fierce. I really like that."
"You're sick, why are so heartless," she whispered.
" Because I don't have a heart," he replied.
She stared at him.
Aston walked to a couch and sat with eerie grace, as though this was just another business meeting.
"I wasn't lying," he said. "I no longer have a heart."
Annalise froze.
Aston began unbuttoning his shirt. She turned toward her mother again, refusing to look—but then his voice called her name.
When she turned, her scream nearly broke free.
A deep, gaping cavity sat in the center of his chest—where a heart should be.
There was nothing there.
Just darkness. Emptiness. An impossible hole.
"How…?" she whispered, her hands trembling.
"You're the second person to see this. Not even Wendy knows."
He buttoned his shirt back up as if it meant nothing.
"I should be dead," he continued. "But I was revived. Not as a human. As a vampire. But not a full one. I have 14 months. Then I die—unless I get a heart transplant."
He smiled then, cruel and triumphant.
"And not just any heart. I need the heart of the heir to the Valtore Empire. His heart is… special. It can save me—and thousands more like me."
Annalise's mouth went dry. Her body felt frozen, her thoughts racing too fast to catch.
"You need Caden's heart?" she asked quietly.
Aston nodded. "And I need you to help me get it."
She looked at him then, her lips parting in disbelief.
"You're insane," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm not a murderer. I'm not killing someone just because you need a fucking heart!"
Aston's smile vanished.