Moretti Manor.
A cliffside baroque fortress overlooking the Black Sea.
The sky was leaden. The clouds were heavy, as if harboring a secret. Beneath them, a large mansion seemed to float at the edge of the cliff—Moretti Manor. Baroque. Black stone. Carved with creatures not recounted in any legend.
This wasn't just a home; this was a creature made of stone.
As the car pulled up the cobbled path, Seraphina stared at it in disbelief.
"Is this where you're taking me?" she whispered, barely audible over the engine.
Lucien said nothing.
Instead, the car stopped right in front of the iron gates, rusted, twisted, and carved with ravens and snakes that seemed to move beneath the clouds.
And as they approached, the iron gates opened by themselves. No one opened them. No one walked.
As if the house knew—that someone had returned.
As Seraphina got out, the wind greeted her like a slap—cold, salty, fierce.
From the black sea at the foot of the cliff, she felt the pull of the water.
The ravens above circled the manor's tower, never leaving. As if waiting.
Her boots crunched on the gravel. The air was charged, as if there were static around, like lightning waiting to strike.
She pulled her coat tighter, but the cold wasn't from the wind. It was from within.
And with her first step onto the land of Moretti, the temperature dropped.
She noticed it immediately, she breathed, and fog came out of her mouth. She felt like she was inside a memory freezer.
Inside the manor. Upon opening the tall double doors, the almost deafening silence immediately greeted her.
The lighting was dim.
Candles burning in the darkness, but not giving off heat.
On the ceiling: a chandelier that looked like it was full of tears, swaying even without wind.
And the first thing she noticed?
All the mirrors were covered. Thick cloths. Velvet. Black. As if the house didn't want to see who she was now.
"Lucien…" she whispered. "Why bring me here?"
Lucien was silent at the edge of the hallway, near the antique grandfather clock that wasn't working.
It stared at the walls as if talking to someone they couldn't see.
"Lucien." Seraphina's voice was firmer now. "This place… it knows me."
Finally, Lucien spoke, but he didn't look at her.
"The house knew you before I did. And it remembers every scream."
The moment those words left his lips, something shifted. As if the house itself had awakened.
Seraphina looked around,
the paintings on the wall, the antique chairs, the wood carvings all seemed to breathe at the same time. Every corner seemed to have eyes.
And then she touched the wooden banister. A searing vision burned into her mind.
Blood. Torn velvet. Wedding dress soaked in red.
She was running. Barefoot. Down this very hallway.
This wasn't a dream. Nor a hallucination. This was memory. And it hurt.
Her hand jerked back.
She screamed, almost falling.
"Lucien, what the hell was that—?!"
Lucien turned to her now, his voice heavy.
"I didn't bring you here for safety."
She looked at him with betrayal in her eyes.
"Then what?"
Lucien hesitated. Then, barely a whisper: "I brought you because the house... chose you."
Everything fell silent. Even the wind seemed to pause outside. And then—something crashed.
A portrait suddenly fell from the wall. The impact shook the hallway.
The frame was broken. The canvas tore. Dust swirled in the air like ash from an old fire.
Seraphina flinched. Slowly, she turned. Behind the torn painting—hidden inside the wall—was a burned sigil.
The exact same one that once appeared beneath her skin.
The same mark from the chapel ruins.
The journal. The vision. The dagger.
The world stopped. Her feet moved on their own.
She approached, holding onto the wall to keep from falling. Her fingers hovered just inches from the sigil, still pulsing faintly as if alive.
Then, from behind her, Lucien whispered, his voice cracked with memory.
"Aria…"
She froze.
The name hit her like thunder. Her knees buckled slightly.
She didn't even ask how he knew that name. Because deep in her gut, she remembered it too.
Somewhere above them—from the second floor—a woman's scream echoed.
Not an echo of the past. It came from the present.
Moretti Manor, Off-Limits Wing.
2:57 AM.
The air in the manor was too quiet, but not peaceful. There was a sound beneath the silence. The walls seemed to be breathing.
When Seraphina woke up, she didn't immediately remember where she was.
The pillow, smelled of dust and memories. Her neck was sweaty. Her chest felt tight. And in her dream. Lucien. In front of her. Kneeling.
And slowly pressing his face to Seraphina's neck, not to kiss. But to bite.
She woke up gasping, her hand
on her neck, as if her heart was sobbing inside her chest.
And worse? She was already standing.
She was already in the manor hallway. She didn't know how.
Her mind was still asleep, but her body was already moving. And now she was in front of the forbidden wing.
The hallway was covered in cloth. There were charcoal colored curtains, dust in every corner, and at the end, a door.
It had a chain before. Now? There was none.
The blood colored wax seal was broken, as if torn from the inside.
Seraphina hesitated.
She tried to pull herself away. But something seemed to be pulling at her chest. As if there was a voice inside the room. A voice she couldn't remember but loved.
She pushes the door open. Inside the room it was dark.
Only the dim light from the moonlight penetrated the broken window.
Black candles lined the room, almost extinguished.
The smell of voice, music, old and unforgettable love swirled in the air.
She steps inside.
There was a bed in the middle—the sheets, white but with dried blood. And in the corner, a cracked music box started to play.
A slow, haunting melody. And what was even more terrifying? She knew that song.
She didn't know why. But she felt that it was the song from their wedding night. The last night her heart was whole.
In the middle of the room, a coffin like mirror. Inside—a veil. A red wedding veil, slightly burned at the edge. She reaches toward it—hand trembling—then someone slams the door.
Lucien entered.
Every step was heavy. His gaze was angry.
His voice wasn't a shout, but sharper than a knife.
"I kept this room sealed so I wouldn't remember what I did to you." he said with restrained anger
Seraphina was stunned.
Only now did she see Lucien like this.
Not a vampire. Not a king. But a Man.
And Broken.
The form of a man carrying a heavy memory crumbled.
Lucien approached, slowly. As if swallowing his own ghost.
"The night I became a prince... was the night I stopped being human."
He closed his eyes tightly. "They gave me a choice: crown... or you. I stood in the tower. I heard you scream. I smelled the fire. And I did nothing."
Seraphina took a step back, her lips trembling. Something seemed to return to her heart. Not a memory but an emotion.
Anger.
Fear.
Loss.
Betrayal.
She gasped, "You watched me burn…?"
But before he could speak—The moonlight hits him.
Lucien staggers. His breath hitches.
And his eyes, glow blood red. His jaw clenches. Fangs descend.
He steps toward her—trembling, fighting it, but seemingly losing himself.
"Lucien…?" Seraphina whispered, her breath coming in gasps.
He didn't answer. Because the hunger had taken over. He lunges.
Moretti Manor, Stone Balcony
Overlooking the Sea. 5:04 AM
The sea breeze was cold, as if sobbing. Behind the clouds, the sun peeked at the world, but it seemed afraid to fully rise.
Mist swirled in the air, curling around the stone balustrades like smoke from a fire that never went out.
Seraphina stood at the edge, her hands resting on the marble pillars of the old terrace.
She took a deep breath. But the breath didn't calm her.
Behind her, footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Agitated.
It's Lucien.
Before she could even turn—He pins her. Not violently, but dangerously.
His arms caged her against the cold stone, and his chest was almost pounding against Seraphina's back.
His breathing? Ragged. His skin?
Burning. His eyes? A storm of blood and memory.
She felt it. The pull. Not just the hunger of the body. The hunger of memories.
The bond between them—the one that's been awakening piece by piece—was now clawing at his sanity.
His lips hovered near her neck. His fangs brushed her skin—too close.
"Lucien…" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
His hand trembled on her shoulder. He's holding back—but barely.
She slowly turned her head, not separating from him.
And she whispered softly. "If you're going to bite me… remember who I was to you."
For a split second, the world stopped. As if light had entered the midst of her darkness.
Lucien's jaw clenched. His grip loosened just a little.
He pulled back—enough to meet her gaze. And in that moment—His fangs grazed her skin. But instead of the bite.
He stopped.
His eyes widened.
And suddenly—He sobbed.
Not like a monster. Not like a predator. But like a man who remembered everything he tried to forget.
"You screamed my name until your throat bled…" His voice cracked. "and I turned away..."
Seraphina closed her eyes, the sting of betrayal rising—but deeper than pain was the weight of understanding.
Because in his grief, she saw her own. Then it happens.
The Blood Vow between them awakens fully.
The mark on her chest—the serpent circle—begins to burn.
She gasped, clutching it.
Lucien sees it too—and steps back, horrified.
The bond flared in the air like lightning crackling between their veins.
But something's wrong. Too much pain.
Too much darkness. Something rides the bond.
Something ancient. Not him. Not her.
Something older. And it enters.
Seraphina's head snapped back—eyes wide.
A cold wind rushed across the balcony, extinguishing the candles inside the manor one by one.
And then—She hears it.
A second voice inside her head. Whispering.
He wasn't the only one who betrayed you, Aria.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She turned, slowly, to look at the large antique mirror hanging behind them in the manor hallway—visible from the glass doors behind the terrace.
And for a split second—Lucien's reflection… is gone.
Gone.
As if he never existed.
As if the man holding her was someone else.
Or something else.