a mystery

After finding out that I will live, the overwhelming tension begins to ease, but not completely. I'm back in your room now — alone.

My body sinking onto the cold velvet cushion by the window, the silence of the vampire estate now oddly comforting instead of terrifying. The flickering candlelight casts long shadows, like whispers on the walls. My fingers tremble, not out of fear anymore, but from sheer exhaustion — emotional, physical, mental.

The words Caden said echo in my mind: "You will live."Not you're free. Not you can go. … live.So what does that even mean?

Taking in a deep breath,

I stare at my reflection in the tall mirror — the same girl, but changed. There's something in my eyes now: survival, grit, the haunting weight of knowing my brush with death… and death blinked first.

The door creaked open softly, and I was startled—but only slightly. I was getting used to this place, or at least pretending to. A young woman stepped inside, wearing a deep burgundy uniform trimmed with lace. Her presence was quiet, almost ghostlike, but her eyes held a strange warmth.

"I was told you'd need some care," she said gently, her voice like calm rain tapping glass. "Young Master Caden sent me."

I didn't reply at first—just watched her with guarded eyes. She didn't flinch. Instead, she approached with a silver basin, a soft cloth, and a small bottle of something herbal. "Please step into the bathroom."

I nodded, leaving the soft, comfortable silk and walked into the majestic bathroom, sitting on a stool I found near the bathtub.

"I'm Lira, your maid," she continued, kneeling by your side. "I used to be where you are. Confused. Afraid. But it gets better… when you understand the rules."

She dipped the cloth into the warm water and wrung it out with practised care. You flinched when she touched your neck, but her touch was gentle, meticulous.

When she finished, she helped you into a soft, flowing gown the colour of moonlight. "Now," she said, standing straight, "you'll join the table tonight. Not with the others. Just him. A private dinner."

Your stomach twisted. Lira must have noticed.

"He won't hurt you," she said softly. "Not tonight. He wants you steady. Composed. Alive." She gave you a faint, knowing smile. "Besides… he likes the way you look when you challenge him."

I stood slowly, breath held.

Lira opened the door for you. "Come. You've already survived the worst part."

The grand hall was silent as I entered—too silent for a place that once felt alive with menace. Lira had left you at the doorway, giving only a whisper of advice: "Hold your ground. He respects strength."

Lira had vanished before I could ask any question, leaving me at the threshold dressed in a flowing gown the colour of moonlight. that whispered with every step.

You stepped in slowly.

The dinner table stretched beneath a chandelier dripping with crystal. Candlelight shimmered in blood-red glassware, and golden utensils lay beside plates of dark porcelain. But only two places were set.

Caden stood at the far end of the room, back turned, gazing at a massive oil painting—one that seemed to bleed shadows. He stood by the hearth, tall and still, staring into the dancing flames. He didn't turn when you entered.

He spoke without looking."I wasn't sure you'd come."

I paused in the doorway. "Did I have a choice?"

At that, he turned. Not quickly—slowly, deliberately, as though savouring your voice. His eyes found yours in the flickering light, the same deep, consuming crimson that once terrified you—but tonight, they seemed quieter. Watching.

"You always have a choice," he said, walking toward the table. "Just not always the one you want."

He chuckled—low, barely audible. "Confidence or survival instinct? I haven't decided which drives you more."

I sat when he gestured, hands folded tightly in my lap. The food was already there—an array of delicacies that didn't belong in this century. Roasted duck glazed with honeyed wine, fruits so ripe they glistened, a small silver goblet of something dark… not wine.

Caden didn't eat. Of course, he didn't. 

"Eat," he said gently, gesturing. "None of it will harm you."

I hesitated. Not because I thought the food was poisoned, but because I sensed that everything here had meaning. Symbolism. Control.

Still, I took a bite. Peach—only it wasn't. Sweet, but tinged with something floral and exotic. Not from here.

He sat across from you, elegantly still, fingertips steepled, gaze steady.

"You're not what I expected," he murmured.

"And what did you expect?"

He tilted his head, eyes glinting crimson-gold in the candlelight. "Screams. Pleas. People willing to sell their soul for one more day. You… didn't beg. You observed."

A flicker of chill ran down my spine.

"You're stronger than most who arrive here," he said. "You didn't scream when I approached you. You looked at me like I was still a man."

"I didn't think you were," I replied quietly.

His lips twitched into something close to amusement.

The silence stretched again—but not unbearably. It was thick with unspoken things, with curiosity, caution… and something else.

"You're wondering why I spared you," he said at last.

I didn't answer. Because yes—you were.

He leaned back in his chair, the candlelight casting sharp shadows across his sculpted features. "I don't spare people. I choose them. There's a difference."

"Why me?"

Caden studied me, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Because you aren't afraid of the right things."

He stood then, slowly walking around the table until he was just behind your chair. I didn't move. I wouldn't give him that.

"I haven't marked you yet," he said, voice close to your ear, "because I want your mind clear. I want you to remember this. Not as prey. But as… something else."

"I haven't marked you yet. Not because I don't want to…"He paused."…but because I want you to ask why I haven't."

You turned your head slightly. "So ask me." Your voice firm, in contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Caden stopped. For a moment, the air shifted—thicker, charged, like the moment before a storm.

"I could mark you now," he said, barely above a whisper. "And you wouldn't stop me."

I swallowed. "You're right. I wouldn't. But I'd never forgive you for it."

The pause that followed wasn't just silence—it was respect.

His fingers brushed my shoulder—light, fleeting. Not a threat, not yet.

"There's something inside you," he said finally, voice low. "I don't know what it is yet. But I'd rather unravel it slowly… than ruin it."

You met his gaze. It wasn't kindness in his eyes—it was fascination.

Then he stepped back.

"Finish your meal," he said, returning to his seat like nothing had passed between you. "You'll need your strength. There are rules you haven't learned yet."

And suddenly, I understood:I wasn't here as a prisoner.I was a mystery. And vampires live for centuries because they know how to savour them.