The entire Elite world buzzed with the news: Maika and Valco are getting engaged.
The announcement spread like wildfire, igniting gossip and speculation even in the deepest corners of the supernatural world—reaching all the way to Carl.
And the moment he heard it, everything inside him snapped.
No.
No, no, no.
Maika couldn't marry another. Not while she still walked the earth without remembering who she truly was. Not while their son—their flesh and blood, Caveen—waited for a mother who looked at him like a stranger.
Carl's chest tightened as if someone had reached inside and gripped his lungs. The days were slipping through his fingers. He had to act.
Even if it meant crossing a line.
Even if it meant taking her.
---
Three Days Later...
Maika felt like a porcelain doll being dragged across a chessboard. Meetings. Dresses. Florists. Guests. Invitations. Her mind was a whirlwind of to-do lists and expectations. The engagement was weeks away, yet her soul felt caged.
She needed air.
"Anne, I'm heading out. Take care of the errands today. I need to unwind—go to a salon, maybe get a massage. Something. Anything."
Anne, ever loyal, nodded and didn't question it.
By mid-morning, Maika was nestled in a luxurious spa, surrounded by the scent of lavender oil and gentle music.
Three blissful hours passed.
And then—darkness.
A hand. A prick. Her vision blurred. Her body folded like paper.
The world vanished.
---
She woke to silence.
A sharp pain stabbed behind her eyes as she stirred, her head heavy, her limbs sluggish.
"Ugh…" she groaned, barely recognizing her own voice.
It took minutes before she could sit up. And when she finally opened her eyes fully, her breath caught.
Where… am I?
The room was beyond opulent. Gold leaf shimmered across ivory walls. Velvet drapes framed tall windows that spilled golden sunlight onto marble floors. A chandelier of cascading crystals sparkled above her head like frozen stars.
She staggered to her feet, panic rising in her throat.
Pulling aside a curtain, she stared out the window—and nearly fell to her knees.
Ocean.
Endless. Blue. Majestic.
Islands dotted the horizon like emerald jewels, the sea lapping gently at golden shores. It was a paradise. And it terrified her.
She ran for the door, her bare feet thudding against the floor.
Empty.
The kitchen. The halls. The living room. Not a single soul.
She tore through the mansion like a trapped bird, bolting outside into the blinding sun. The beach stretched before her—gorgeous, silent, deserted. No boats. No planes. No hope.
Her legs carried her toward the trees, feet sinking into sand until she stumbled into the dense forest. And there—just beyond the palm-covered grove—a private runway.
A runway on a secret island.
No… this isn't just any place. It's owned.
By someone powerful.
The Carellos?
The Landons?
But not her father—his island was buried in Antarctica's snow.
This was a trap.
No escape. No explanation. Just her... and silence.
She wandered back, starving, weak. The sun dipped lower. The mansion loomed like a golden cage. Opening the pantry, she was surprised to find it stocked. Fruits. Vegetables. Even blood bags.
Blood.
She blinked.
Her throat… wasn't dry. Her fangs weren't aching. Her instincts—the ones that clawed at her in hunger—were silent.
She lifted her leg.
And saw it.
A silver anklet, elegant but humming with foreign energy.
A suppressant?
She grabbed a knife. Sliced at it. Yanked. Burned.
Nothing.
It wouldn't come off.
Tears threatened her eyes, but she shoved them back. Instead, she forced herself to eat, then crawled into the massive bed, pulling the silk sheets over her body like armor.
Sleep. Maybe when I wake up… this will all make sense.
---
The Next Morning
The sun greeted her like a jealous lover—warm, blinding, inescapable.
Clutching a cup of tea, Maika stepped onto the balcony. The world glittered before her. Golden cliffs. Turquoise sea. Forests that breathed with life.
And behind her… the palace.
Ivory columns rose toward the heavens. Arched balconies overlooked the kingdom of sand and sea. It was paradise carved by power.
But it felt like a coffin.
Still barefoot, she walked down to the beach. The sand clung to her feet like memories she couldn't name. The waves rolled in, lazy and soft, whispering stories she couldn't hear.
She breathed in.
And froze.
Footsteps.
From the forest.
A figure emerged—tall, commanding, broad shoulders cutting through the morning haze. Dressed in a white linen shirt and khakis, he looked casual. Almost… human.
But the moment their eyes met, her heart went still.
"Who... who are you?" she stammered, her voice barely above the wind. "What do you want? Why did you bring me here?"
The man raised his hands gently, as if trying not to startle a wounded animal.
"I'm Carl," he said softly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Maika backed away. Her hands trembled. Her mind screamed for answers.
"I don't know you. I don't trust you. Let me go!"
Carl's eyes held pain, deep and unspoken. He stepped forward—but not too close.
"You're safe here. I just… I needed to take you away for a little while."
Her breath hitched. "Why? What do you want from me?"
"I can't explain everything right now," he said quietly. "But I promise you're not a prisoner. I only wanted… to see you. One last time."
Maika blinked, confusion crashing into her like waves. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Carl pointed toward the mansion. "Staff will arrive soon. They'll care for you. Lunch is ready inside."
And just like that—he turned and walked away.
No chains. No threats. No answers.
Just a man... and the pieces of a past she didn't yet remember.
Maika stood rooted in the sand, her heart racing.
She had never felt more lost in her life.