A firm knock echoed through the top floor of the sleek Valtore Enterprises building, a company known for its elite status and mysterious owner. The knock was steady, sharp, and echoed slightly across the glass-paneled hallway outside the imposing black double doors of the CEO's office.
Inside, Caden Valtore sat in a leather chair with his back to the door, the vast skyline of Virelia laid out like a glowing canvas behind him. The office was bathed in ambient gray and blue hues, minimalist yet rich in detail. The scent of aged leather and spice hung in the air, mixing with the sharp iron tang of his favorite brew—blood tea. He sipped from a black porcelain mug, savoring the warmth that ran down his throat.
The door creaked open slightly. "Boss, Ms. Vivienne is here to see you," came the voice of one of his assistants, polite but clearly cautious.
Caden didn't turn around. He smirked, eyes still fixed on the swirling city lights. "Let her in."
The door opened wider, and in stepped Vivienne LaRue, a vision in red. Her dress clung to every curve with precision, accentuating her figure without apology. She walked in with confidence, her heels clicking softly against the polished black marble floor. Her perfume, a delicate mix of vanilla and sandalwood, added a sultry weight to the atmosphere.
"Caden," she said, voice soft and almost sweet, lips painted a bold crimson.
He didn't move.
"What do you want?" he asked, voice cool, detached. The mug clicked gently against the desk as he placed it down.
Vivienne took a breath. "I'm here to see you. To speak with you."
He let out a low, amused exhale. "Why now?"
She stepped closer, hands clasped in front of her, and for the first time, the vulnerability beneath her model-perfect façade showed. "I'm sorry about what happened two years ago, Caden. I made mistakes. But I still love you. I don't want to keep pretending we don't matter. I don't want this separation."
His chair swiveled slowly. Caden finally faced her.
His features were sharp, unfairly beautiful, framed by his tousled black hair. His eyes, the shade of midnight, flickered with something darker—something ancient. The sight of him still made Vivienne's stomach flutter. Her breath hitched as his gaze slid down the length of her body, slow and appraising. He didn't speak.
Vivienne's throat tightened. "Say something."
His smile curved, wolfish and unreadable.
Then, without warning, he stood and crossed the room. One hand went to her cheek, tilting her face up, and when she didn't pull away, he kissed her. The kiss was slow at first, electric with years of longing and regret. Vivienne responded instantly, her fingers winding into his hair as she pressed her body against his. He lifted her easily, carrying her across the office and lowering her gently onto the black velvet couch that sat beneath a massive abstract painting of blood-red streaks on bone-white canvas.
She smiled up at him, eyes glassy with desire.
Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, but just as she began to undo them, Caden caught her wrist.
"Not right now," he said, voice velvet but firm. "I'm just thirsty."
Vivienne blinked. Before she could say a word, his lips brushed her neck. She shivered.
Then came the sharp pierce.
She gasped as his fangs sank into her skin. The pain flared quickly but melted into warmth. Her fingers dug into his back, seeking purchase as her eyes rolled back. Her own fangs ached in response, her eyes tinting red. But she didn't stop him.
Caden's hand slid into her long hair, holding her in place. His drinking was controlled, precise. He didn't drink for sustenance alone—he drank for power, for memory, for control.
Then the moment was shattered.
The doors burst open.
A sharp gasp followed.
Caden looked up, his lips tinged with blood, and met the wide-eyed stare of the last person he expected.
His grandmother.
Vivienne let out a startled noise and tried to cover herself, adjusting her dress quickly .
The sharp click of his grandmother's heels echoed as she exited the office, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. "I'll be waiting for you in the conference room."
Caden watched the door swing shut behind her with the same amused detachment he gave to most things in life. A sigh escaped his lips, though not from regret. No, he was far from finished.
Vivienne stirred beneath him, her hand pressed lightly against his shoulder. She thought it was over. But the moment her heartbeat slowed, a sharp pain surged through her neck again.
"Caden…" she gasped.
He wasn't done.
His fangs dug deeper, savoring the rush of her blood with the indulgence of a connoisseur. The rich, warm taste flowed over his tongue like velvet, tinged with the heady scent of her perfume and the salt of her skin. She gripped his shoulders, nails pressing into the fabric of his black dress shirt as her body trembled from the overwhelming sensation.
He finally pulled back, licking the corner of his lips as if reluctant to waste a drop. With a crooked smile, he leaned forward and kissed her again, this time slowly, lazily, as though her fear and confusion were nothing more than a delightful amuse-bouche to his appetite.
"I'll be back," he whispered against her lips, his voice low and laced with cruel charm.
With that, he stood and walked toward a side door of his office. It opened to reveal a sleek, minimalistic room with obsidian tiles, a tailored row of suits, and an almost surgical sense of order. He stripped off the blood-stained shirt and replaced it with a crisp charcoal grey one, the fabric smooth beneath his fingers. Not a wrinkle dared to mar his appearance.
He turned to glance back at Vivienne, still lying dazed and breathless on the couch, and offered her one last smirk before stepping out.
The hallway to the conference room was hushed, the walls lined with abstract art and ambient golden lights that pulsed softly like the beat of a heart. When Caden entered, his grandmother stood at the window, her silhouette sharp against the vast cityscape of Virelia. Skyscrapers pierced the dusky sky, their lights glittering like stars.
Silence cloaked the room until she finally turned to face him. Her expression was carved from stone. Cold, regal, unbending.
He smirked.
"You always make such dramatic entrances, grandmother. Did you rehearse that line before bursting in?"
She ignored his sarcasm, her expression unreadable. "We both know distractions are the last thing we need right now," she said evenly. "It's time."
He sighed, dragging a hand through his perfectly styled midnight-black hair. His shirt clung to his lean figure, every button fastened with purpose, his cufflinks catching the light like daggers.
"Are you sure this is the only way?" he asked, staring out the window beside her.
"Yes."
The answer was simple, absolute.
His mind flicked back to childhood memories he had buried deep. His mother's absence had always been a silent wound, the mystery surrounding her disappearance a ghost that haunted every corridor of the Valtore estate. He was just a baby when she vanished, leaving behind only questions.
It was when he turned eight that the changes began. A strange sensation in his back, a burning itch that no medicine could ease. His grandmother had walked in on him screaming, clawing at his skin. And then, the mark appeared: a dragon, inked in shades of crimson and silver, glowing faintly like embers. It etched itself over days like it had a mind of its own.
With the mark came power. Reflexes sharper than blades, speed inhuman, senses heightened beyond mortal comprehension. They had consulted elders, doctors, historians. Nothing. No one had answers.
Until five years ago.
A prophetess appeared out of nowhere, her eyes white as snow, and told them the truth: Caden would find the answers only after marriage. The kind of marriage that would trigger something hidden, something dormant in his bloodline.
He had laughed then. Marriage? Him?
But his grandparents had been persistent, and their concern had started to gnaw at him. He respected them. Listened to them. Trusted only them.
So he returned to Virelia.
"Fine," he muttered now, his voice quiet, but not uncertain.
His grandmother's eyes lit with relief.
"I've arranged a dinner with the—"
"I'll only agree if she's worthy enough to be my wife," he interrupted, his voice dripping with indifference.
She didn't argue. Getting Caden to agree to anything was difficult enough.
Caden turned away from the window and poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the corner of the room. The crimson liquid swirled in the glass like garnet. It wasn't wine.
"I won't pretend to be some noble sacrifice," he added, sipping it slowly. "If this girl can't handle me at my worst, then she doesn't deserve me at my best."
His grandmother folded her arms. "This isn't about you."
"Everything is about me," he said smoothly, his smile both arrogant and unrepentant. "That's the point."
She narrowed her eyes but held her tongue.
Caden's gaze flicked to the file on the table near the window—a sleek folder bound in black leather. He picked it up and flipped through the pages. His eyes scanned the words: name, birthdate, academic record, family history.
Annalise.
He stared at the photo stapled to the top corner. Beautiful. Too beautiful.
"What's this? Another lamb for the slaughter?" he mused aloud, tossing the folder back onto the table.
"She's different," his grandmother replied, watching him closely. "Smart. Fierce. Not easily swayed."
Caden scoffed. "I don't need a sparring partner, Grandmother. I need someone who can follow the rules."
"No, you need someone who can break them," she replied. "Just like you."
He paused at that.
A shadow of a grin crossed his face. He loved a challenge. And if this girl was everything his grandmother said, maybe—just maybe—things would get interesting.
"Does she know what she's getting into?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp.
"Not yet."
"Good," he said, draining the glass and setting it down. "Surprises are the spice of life."
Outside, the city of Virelia pulsed with neon light and fog, a modern kingdom hiding ancient secrets. And somewhere out there, Annalise was about to be pulled into Caden Valtore's world.