The wedding invitation sat on the kitchen counter like a cursed object—white and gold, elegant in every detail, as if mocking her with its perfection.
Lysandra stared at it.
Unblinking.
Unmoving.
The gold lettering spelled out names she couldn't bear to see side by side.
Caveen Aldrich Landon
Madeline Elise Vilmire
Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, but she stopped midway, as though the paper might burn her skin. She let her hand fall back to her lap and exhaled slowly, but it didn't steady her.
She had told Madeline it didn't matter. Told her that she belonged to Caveen's past and he to hers. That what they shared now was not love—but pure, unfiltered hate.
So why did it feel like her heart was cracking into pieces?
She stood up abruptly and walked to her mini garden—her haven, her escape. The air was fresh, the earth damp under her fingertips as she tried to lose herself in watering the herbs.
But her mind kept drifting back.
To his kiss.
To the night he stole her breath, her sanity—her peace.
To the way her body responded against her will.
She hated him.
Didn't she?
"Damn you, Caveen," she whispered, a sharp sob breaking from her throat. "Why can't you just leave me alone…"
Her hands clenched around the watering can as tears spilled from her eyes. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… silent grief. The kind that twisted deep in the chest and refused to let go.
The wind rustled the leaves around her, and she felt a presence. For a second—just a second—her body stiffened. Her instincts screamed.
He was near.
She spun around—but there was nothing there.
Just the echo of him in her memory. The ghost of his scent. Her own mind playing cruel tricks.
She sat down on the wooden bench beneath the vines and stared up at the cloudy sky.
"Maybe… maybe I did deserve it," she whispered.
Maybe it was karma.
She had buried the past.
But fate kept digging it back up.
And now, the invitation wasn't just a symbol of a wedding. It was a death sentence. A final nail in the coffin of a love she once believed would defy the stars.
Lysandra picked up the invitation and tore it in half.
Then into four.
Then into shreds, until only tiny pieces of gold and white fell like confetti across the floor.
Her eyes burned with tears.
Her heart—broke all over again.
"I will not cry for you again, Caveen Landon," she said through clenched teeth. "If you want to get married, then marry her. But don't ever come near me again."
And yet, deep inside her—
She knew he would.
He always did.
The moonlight spilled into Lysandra's apartment like a silent witness.
She stood by the window, watering a small pot of herbs in her mini garden. But she stopped mid-motion—her fingers tightening around the watering can.
She felt it.
His presence.
Before the knock even came, she turned toward the door. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, as though it had been waiting for this moment.
Caveen.
When he stepped inside, shadows clung to him like secrets. His eyes locked with hers—stormy, unreadable, haunting.
Lysandra took a breath, gathering every ounce of calm she had left. "It's good that you're here," she said softly. "I wanted to talk… peacefully, this time."
Caveen said nothing, but his eyes softened for a second.
Lysandra's lips trembled as she approached him. "Please," she whispered. "Unmark me."
His entire body stiffened.
She looked up at him, her voice growing steadier with the pain she had long carried.
"You're getting married soon. Your life will move forward. So let me go. Let me live a simple, quiet life without feeling your pull in every heartbeat. I'm tired, Caveen. I can't breathe with you inside my veins like this."
Her hands clenched at her sides. "Please, set me free."
But instead of replying, Caveen did something else.
He stepped forward.
Pulled her into his arms.
And held her as if it was the last thing anchoring him to the world.
The warmth of his embrace burned through her walls. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was louder than any words.
Then, slowly, he tilted her chin up.
And kissed her.
It wasn't anger this time.
It wasn't revenge.
It was sorrow. Longing. Desperation.
It was everything they never said and everything they could never fix.
Lysandra tried to resist—but her body betrayed her. Her hands slid up his chest, her lips responded to his, and the ache inside her unraveled like thread.
They moved through the apartment with aching slowness, shedding pain and clothing alike until they found themselves tangled in each other's arms in the sanctuary of her bed.
There was no war between them that night.
Only surrender.
Only the ghosts of the love they once had, rising and fading like smoke in the moonlight.
When it was over, Lysandra drifted into sleep with a fragile sigh, curled into Caveen's chest.
Caveen remained awake.
He stared at the ceiling, silent. Still.
And finally, after what felt like a century, he moved.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Then he whispered an incantation only royal born vampire could know, his hand brushing against the base of her neck.
The mark faded.
It disappeared with a soft shimmer, leaving only warm skin behind.
She was free.
And it broke him.
Caveen stood, quietly dressing himself, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
He walked to the door, glancing one last time at the woman sleeping soundly in the bed—the woman who once held his entire soul.
And with a voice raw from emotion, he whispered to the silence, "I'll never come back. Be happy… even if it's without me."
Then he left.
Without looking back.