Annalise was still reeling. The sight of her father—Austin—stepping out of an Aston Martin in a tuxedo with a woman clinging to his arm like she'd won the damn lottery left her completely unmoored. The man who once couldn't afford a working phone now walked like he owned the carpet beneath his feet. What was this?
Before she could process her spiraling thoughts, a sharp voice broke the moment.
"First new journalist?" A woman in a sleek, ivory dress with a platinum press badge looked them over with a lifted brow. Her hair was pulled back in an unforgiving bun, and her shoes looked like they'd been stolen from the Devil Wears Prada's dressing room.
Anastasia grabbed Annalise's and Jason's hands, stepping forward confidently. "Yes, first tier."
The woman gave a nod that barely qualified as acknowledgment. "Follow me. Not all are going in. Consider yourselves fortunate."
They didn't need a second invitation.
Inside the opulent hall, chandeliers glittered like stars frozen mid-burst, and the air was thick with perfume, ambition, and quiet malice. Annalise barely had time to take it in before her eyes were pulled elsewhere.
A woman—an absolute vision in a midnight-blue satin dress—walked with feline grace toward a man at the center of attention.
Caden.
She didn't need anyone to tell her. That was him. Arrogant posture. Immaculate three-piece suit. A jawline carved by rebellion and money.
"I almost thought you weren't coming back," the woman purred. Vivienne, Annalise later learned, with curves sculpted by fate and a voice dipped in seduction.
Caden's lips curled into a faint smirk. "I never said I wouldn't. But changing my mind keeps things...interesting."
Vivienne's smile was slow and heated. "I'm glad you came."
But Caden's gaze drifted past her like she'd turned invisible. Vivienne's smile faltered as he walked away, toward a man approaching with a champagne glass and an irreverent grin.
"You sure you're picking a bride tonight?" Tristen asked, brushing a speck of lint from his tailored sleeve.
Caden scoffed. "Only if she understands I'd make a terrible husband. No love. No loyalty. Just dinner parties, shared headlines, and a divorce lawyer on standby."
Tristen gave a mock gasp. "Romantic, truly. And here I thought you believed in fairytales."
"I believe in contracts, Tris. Not fairytales."
Caden's eyes swept the room lazily, calculating. The kind of man who could shatter someone's world without raising his voice.
He wasn't looking for a wife. He was looking for an illusion. Someone to stand beside him in photographs, to play her part for a year, and then disappear—clean, quiet, and drama-free.
But even as he searched, he knew what he wanted was not in the room. He was still in love with Vivienne but he wouldn't chase her .
Vivienne had to make the first move. That's how it worked. He never chased.
Women chased him.
Meanwhile, Anastasia, Jason, and Annalise were ushered to a roped-off corner for the press.
"Record everything," Anastasia whispered, eyes gleaming. "This isn't just a gala. It's a political chessboard."
Caden was halfway to the refreshment table when a voice sliced through the chatter.
"Caden."
Mella.
He turned. She approached with practiced elegance, two people in tow—a woman in lace and her daughter, who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
"Meet Arula," Mella began proudly, gesturing to the daughter, her eyes scanning the crowd to ensure they were being watched. "She's—"
"I know her mother," Caden cut in, voice clipped. "And I'll save you the trouble, Mella. You won't be choosing my wife."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Like a drop of blood in shark-infested waters.
Mella's face tightened. "Caden," she warned.
He smiled, all teeth and venom. "Yes, mother?"
Tristen choked on his drink.
"You're impossible," Mella hissed.
"No. I'm inconvenient. There's a difference."
Before Mella could respond, Caden turned on his heel and cut across the floor, leaving her fuming in his wake.
He approached a random woman—a startled brunette holding her wine like a shield. "Dance with me."
The woman blinked. "Wh-what?"
"That wasn't a suggestion, sweetheart."
She blushed, fumbling with her glass as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Heads turned. Cameras flashed. Mella's glare could've melted marble.
Across the room, a voice called, deep and rich.
"Dragnov."
The older vampire turned, surprised. "Austin."
"What a pleasant surprise," Austin said, lips curved in a forced smile. "I heard about Caden's arrival. Thought I'd check in."
Dragnov arched a brow. "How odd"
Austin chuckled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was here because he had heard that his daughter would also be here .
Dragnov's voice dropped. "It's rare. A visitor without motive."
Austin said nothing. Just smiled harder.
---
Back near the press section, Annalise stood frozen. She hadn't spoken since seeing her father. Her hands were clammy. Her head swam.
"Annalise?" Anastasia nudged her. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm... I just need a bathroom break."
Before anyone could follow, she slipped away, heels clicking on the polished floor.
The bathroom was silent. Too silent. She pushed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, eyes closed. Breathe. Just breathe.
Her phone dinged.
But then—
A sound.
A soft, wet gurgle.
Whimpering.
Frowning, Annalise moved slowly toward the far stall. A metallic scent hit her nose—iron and something older. She pushed the door open.
She almost screamed.
A man—with glowing red eyes, fangs bared, was hunched over a woman's neck, draining her like wine from a bottle. His face was twisted in ecstasy. Her body slack.
He turned—eyes meeting hers.
Annalise bolted.
She didn't look back. Her scream was caught in her throat, tangled in fear. She darted down the corridor, eyes wide, breath ragged—
And slammed into someone.
Strong arms caught her before she could hit the floor.
"Careful," a low voice murmured. "You'll make people think you're running from me."
She looked up.
Caden.
His smirk faltered the moment he looked into her eyes.
Wide. Wild. Terrified.
"You saw something," he said, voice dropping.
Annalise couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
His hand brushed her cheek—mock-gentle. "You're shaking, princess . What's got you so scared?"
Her lips parted. "Vampire..."
Caden's smile deepened, like he'd just been handed a puzzle piece he wasn't expecting.
"Now that," he whispered, leaning closer, his breath brushing her ear, "sounds like a secret worth exploring."