001

"Miss Amy, you look really lovely tonight."

"Wow, this dress is absolutely stunning on you."

"You totally steal the show."

Praises surrounded the beautifully dressed woman as camera flashes lit up the space. The diamond on her pink gown glinted like stars in the night sky. Every compliment was well deserved.

Her arm tightly linked with her brother-in-law's, Amy's eyes curved into a vibrant, crescent-moon shape. She waved her hand, the dazzling, gem-studded ring on her finger sparkling under the lights. "Thank you, thank you."

"Mr. Brooks, you look amazing too." A female reporter whispered, blushes blooming on her cheeks like ripe apples. Her eyes were filled with admiration as she gazed at the man in the sleek black suit. Dapper and muscular, his piercing blue eyes awakened a rush of heat in her entire body—her heart pounded, her skin tingled, and even her pussy felt the surge of warmth.

Their future children… what would they name them? Bruce and Brute? No, Brute wasn't a name. Bran, maybe? Or Brian?

"Thank you." Dylan Brooks nodded politely, his gaze calm and collected.

Amy's arm tightened around his, silently drawing his attention. He glanced down at her, his eyes soft with warmth and adoration. His voice was gentle and loving. "Yes, baby?"

"Nothing," Amy whispered, relaxing a little as she saw herself reflected in his eyes.

She had silently noted the reporter's face and identity. She made a mental note to ensure the woman was dealt with—perhaps fired.

How dare she covet her man right in front of her?

As the heiress to Wright Corps and the heir to Brooks Industries continued walking forward, every person they passed stopped to offer sincere praise.

The female reporter's longing eyes grew even more, like wildfire devouring things. She thought to herself that she, too, could be adored like that if she were the one standing beside him.

The other reporter beside her nudged her gently, his tone stern and filled with warning. "You'd better be careful. I heard Amy doesn't joke when it comes to her man."

"He's too handsome… what does she expect?" The female reporter snapped out of her daze, envy coloring her tone.

Who wouldn't want to be with the most handsome man in the world? Seductive, rich, and perfect in every way—he was every woman's dream.

How could someone like him belong to only one woman?

Good things ought to be shared.

The male reporter shook his head with pity, he could already predict the ending of this woman.

---

Inside a vast mansion, the lights were off. The television's blue glow illuminated a figure sitting rigidly on the couch in a white gown. Her back was straight, her hands clenched tightly on her lap. Slowly, her grip loosened, and she grabbed the remote, switching off the news channel.

"He will never be yours, Amy," came her calm, hoarse voice—a voice as steady as if she had declared a fact.

"Turn on the lights, Siri," she commanded.

The lights flicked on, revealing Quinn as she rose from the couch. Her figure was unhealthily thin, her face pale as paper. She looked fragile, as if she could collapse at any moment. Yet that wasn't the most shocking thing about her—it was the trail of blood that followed her.

Her white gown was completely soaked downward, and the elegant couch she had sat on was now stained with dark red.

But Quinn didn't seem to care about her bad condition. She walked steadily to her room, climbed into bed, and pulled the blanket over herself. Her eyes shut peacefully as though waiting for someone.

Exactly as the clock struck twelve, a sudden breeze swept through the surroundings. A figure leaped stealthily from one rooftop to another, his movements fluid and flawless. Then finally landed on the balcony. And before a second clock, he was already in the living room.

The metallic scent of blood immediately filled his nose, and his expression darkened. Alarmed, he followed the crimson trail leading to the master bedroom.

Without hesitation, he was at the door.

Gently, he opened it, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness.

He approached the bed and crouched beside it, his glowing gaze scanning her frail body.

"Quinn?" he whispered, his voice trembling with fear.

Her eyes remained shut. He called again, louder this time. "Quinn?!"

He reached out, touching her cheek. It was cold—not quite as cold as his own, but colder than it should have been.

Her long lashes trembled, and her green eyes fluttered open just barely. "You're here, my friend…"

"Y–yes, I am." His voice shook as he spoke. "What happened to you? Why is there so much blood? Do you need to go to the hospital? No, wait, I'll take you—"

"There's no need," Quinn interrupted calmly, a faint smile curling her lips. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not!" He tried to scoop her up.

"Would you like a drink instead?" she whispered, shifting in such a way that her slender neck were revealed before his eyes, and faint teeth marks were clearly visible.

His muscles tensed, and his fangs, which he'd been suppressing, made a ferocious appearance. His glowing red eyes were like those of a demon.

He turned his gaze away, his self-control reasserting itself with great effort.

Finally, he calmed down and looked back at her.

"What happened to you, Quinn?"

She chuckled softly, her hand reaching to touch his cheek, the real flesh hidden beneath the mask. Her fingers trailed down the curve of his high cheekbones and brushed against his eyes.

"I should have divorced him," she murmured, her voice tinged with regret.

"Quinn…"

"I wish I'd met you first," she continued. "I would have risked everything to be anything to you—friend, lover, adopted sibling… even your meal. That would have been better. Tell me, why didn't I meet you sooner? Why?"

She paused, her words lingering in the air before she shook her head.

"When we married, it was for family interests. We were forced together for the sake of business. I tried so hard for him. When no one else was there for him, I was. I endured so much… and he…"

Her voice broke, but she pressed on. "He forced himself on me. He… he violated me. I even bore his child, the monster's child."