Chapter 1

My vampire lord said he didn't want children.

For six years, he handed me "our private vintage" every night, saying tenderly, "You're all I need."

Until our anniversary, when I followed the blood bond to find him—through the flower shop window, a six-year-old boy with raven-black hair rode on his shoulders calling him "Daddy."

He texted me: "Still tied up at the council, love." And I stood there watching him kiss another woman.

I pried open his study drawer. The medical report read: "Sanctified water compound—permanent fertility suppression."

Every glass of wine was poison. My barrenness was his design.

The family photos on the wall even included my parents' smiling faces.

Ten days until the Blood Moon Conclave. Before every Elder and every vampire of consequence, I'll show him what a thoroughly betrayed Lady can destroy.

……

My husband, Damien Ravencroft, is the Lord of House Sanguis—the oldest and most powerful vampire coven in the eastern territories. To anyone who knew us, we were the perfect match: a bonded pair, bound by blood oath on the night of my turning six years ago. For six years, I believed it too.

Until today—our sixth anniversary—when I discovered I'd been living a lie.

Outside "Crimson Petal" Floral Boutique, I watched him crouch down, letting a dark-haired little boy climb onto his shoulders. The child looked about six, with the same raven-black hair as Damien. Even through the glass, my heightened senses could detect the ancient bloodline flowing through that child—Ravencroft blood. Unmistakable.

"Higher, Daddy!" the boy shouted, laughing.

Daddy. The word hit me like a stake through the chest.

The gift box in my hand suddenly felt like it was burning my skin. Inside was an antique silver pocket watch I'd spent three months tracking down—a rare piece from the 1700s that had once belonged to Damien's sire. I'd meant to surprise him. Now it had become the cruelest witness.

Half an hour earlier, I'd gone to his company building, full of anticipation. His assistant had looked flustered the moment she saw me. "Mr. Ravencroft left two hours ago, Mrs. Ravencroft."

My smile froze as dread crept through me.

That morning when he'd left, he'd kissed me. His thumb had pressed against my jaw, his lips crushing down hard—possessive, hungry.

"Happy anniversary, darling." His voice had been low and velvet-smooth. "I'll be back as soon as I finish at the council meeting. You know I'd rather spend every moment with you."

His eyes had been so tender, his tone so sincere. Those words had wrapped around me like silk, easing the disappointment I'd felt about our dinner plans being postponed.

Standing at his empty office door, I pulled out my phone, clinging to one last thread of hope: Finished at the office? I'm already at the restaurant.

His reply came quickly: Still tied up, love. I wish I could fly to you right now, but the council needs me. I'm their Lord.

A sharp pain tore through my chest. If I hadn't been staring at his dark, empty office, I might still have believed him.

Lies. I'd never imagined Damien would lie to me. His response had been so natural, so flawless.

When I realized the man I trusted most might be living a double life, our supposedly unbreakable bond showed its first crack. I could feel the blood oath in my chest throbbing—that sacred contract sealed in shared blood now felt like chains.

I don't remember how I got back to my car. I slid into the driver's seat, staring at the gift box as tears spilled down my cheeks.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. As Lady of House Sanguis, the blood bond allowed me to sense Damien's location. I followed that invisible thread, a vague pull guiding me toward the western district.

Eventually, my car stopped in front of "Crimson Petal." My heart nearly stopped with it.

Damien's black Bentley was parked right there. Through the shop's glass window, I could see everything.

Vivienne Thorne, the florist. Damien had mentioned her before, calling her "a useful business contact." I'd only noticed his dismissive tone. I'd missed the flicker I should have caught in his eyes.

Damien was crouched on the floor beside a boy with that same raven-black hair, eyes shaped exactly like his. He wore a loving smile I had never seen before. They were playing with a toy castle set, the boy's laughter bright and clear.

"Daddy, look! The knight fits!"

Vivienne approached with a tray of fruit, selecting the reddest strawberry and bringing it to Damien's lips. Then she bent down, adjusting the boy's collar with practiced ease.

"Sebastian, don't get your clothes dirty. We still have a party later."

The boy's birthday. The same day as our anniversary.

My gaze drifted to the wall, covered in photographs—Damien, Vivienne, the boy. Birthday parties. Christmas gatherings. Summer picnics. Every picture told the story of a complete family. A story I had been excluded from entirely.

For six years, Damien had told me he didn't want children—that our kind lived so long, there was no rush, that he wanted us to enjoy each other first.

I had been so touched. I'd thought he was different from other vampire lords, that he valued me more than heirs and bloodlines.

And now there was a child calling him "Daddy." A boy carrying his blood.

Vivienne's voice drifted through the glass: "Will Seraphina find out?"

Damien bent to kiss her tenderly, his laugh edged with something that made my blood run cold: "Her? She's drunk on love. She believes everything I tell her."

"I told her we weren't ready for children, and she bought it completely." His tone carried that characteristic aristocratic arrogance. "When the time is right, I'll claim the bloodline must be preserved, then convince her to 'adopt' Sebastian as our heir."

The world went silent. This wasn't ordinary heartbreak—it was the collapse of everything. Six years of marriage, and I, Seraphina Ashford, Lady of House Sanguis, was nothing but convenient cover.

My phone lit up. A message from Damien: Might have to work through the night, love. Get some rest. I'll make it up to you tomorrow.

A little heart emoji followed the text.

What a masterful performance.

I could feel something shattering inside me—but something sharper was rising to take its place. The blood oath in my chest trembled violently, as though it, too, was protesting this betrayal.

If he had played me for a fool, I would tear him apart with an even better performance.

I opened my photo album. Wedding portraits. Blood-oath ceremony images. Last year's trip to Vienna. My finger swiped across the screen, deleting them one by one.

When the last photo vanished, I started the car and drove back to that house built on lies.

I would continue playing the naive wife kept in the dark. But something had changed forever. From this moment on, every smile would be carefully calculated revenge.