Underground

Night.

In an unassuming bar, the dim lighting mingled with a cacophony of noise.

The air throbbed with restless music, setting the stage for the night.

Young men and women crowded the dance floor, draping arms over each other as they moved wildly.

It was human nature unbound—greedy, indulgent, and utterly unrestrained.

Because the night had just begun.

"Mr. Green, what brings you to a place like this tonight?" A sultry beauty threw herself into Mason's arms.

Her red-polished nails glided into his coat without waiting for permission.

Mason's alluring peach-blossom eyes held a playful glimmer, his lips curving into a lazy smile.

He caught the woman's hand, his tone firm yet charming as he rejected her advances.

"Be good. Go entertain yourself for a while. Tonight's expenses are on me."

"Can I invite my friends too?" The woman pouted coquettishly, her smile sugary sweet.

Sliding his arm around her waist, Mason effortlessly hoisted her away.

His handsome face lit up with a wicked grin.

"Just make sure none of your 'friends' turn out to be men."

"Got it, Mr. Green," she giggled, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before happily leaving.

Not long after, two more women approached, trying their luck. Mason waved them off in the same casual manner.

Half an hour later, a fourth woman strolled into the private booth, her steps deliberate and measured.

Mason rubbed his temples, exasperated. "I'm sorry, beautiful, but tonight I'm keeping it clean. No indulgences."

The "woman" chuckled softly at his words but didn't leave. Instead, she sat beside Mason.

"Mr. Green, it's neither the first nor the fifteenth of the month. Why the sudden abstinence?"

The voice, though softened deliberately, carried a calm undertone with a hint of mischief.

"It's you?" Mason froze at the sound, leaning in closer to examine the "woman."

Indeed, the elegant and quiet face was unmistakable. It was Clerk.

Clerk cleared his throat, adjusting his voice even further. He picked up a glass, took a sip, and said nonchalantly,

"Who else would it be? Just you, the frivolous, wasteful playboy."

"I'm wasteful? And you're sharp-tongued. What's the difference? Careful, or you'll never get married," Mason retorted with a teasing grin.

Clerk shot him a cold glance, radiating disdain. "I'm straight, thank you."

Mason and Clerk had known each other for seven years, a friendship that began one year after Damon's car accident.

As a disciplinary commissioner for the Vampire Enforcement Agency (VEA), Clerk had been secretly investigating the defection of vampire hunters ever since he joined at the age of seventeen.

He suspected a covert collusion between human hunters and the Vampire Clan, aiming to incite chaos and spark a war between humans and vampires.

What's more, Clerk believed there was a powerful shadow organization operating within the human hunters, targeting the ancient and noble pureblood vampires for live experimentation.

The stakes were unimaginably high. If proven true, such actions could lead to catastrophic consequences.

Years ago, Clerk reported his suspicions to the VEA headquarters and requested approval to investigate.

However, his application was firmly rejected on the grounds of insufficient evidence.

Six years ago, following Damon's car accident, Clerk approached Mason with a "black invitation" in his capacity as a VEA commissioner.

He hoped Mason would work with him covertly to uncover the truth about the hunters' betrayal.

Mason, who had already sensed treachery during Zia's accident, agreed. His noble status often prevented him from launching open investigations, but with Clerk handling the official side, Mason could operate underground.

The two formed a partnership, sharing information from both official channels and the black market.

Together, they aimed to gather enough evidence to unmask the puppet masters pulling the strings.

Mason hadn't expected Clerk to align with his thoughts so seamlessly. Thus began their undercover operation.

According to Clerk's plan, Mason started creating distance between himself and Damon.

He intentionally clashed with Damon in public, making their rivalry seem genuine to outsiders.

The goal was to mislead the hidden enemies into lowering their guard around Damon, drawing them out into the open.

For example, Jay's test of Mason a month ago.

Or Jay's academic suppression of Damon earlier today.

Mason pieced the events together, certain that Jay was connected to the traitorous human hunters.

Yet, as Mason observed Clerk's current demeanor, he couldn't help but feel that his reaction was oddly subdued.

Clerk leaned back on the couch, an ice cube resting between his teeth.

He bit down thoughtfully, the faint crunch echoing his mood. "Let Jay, that sly old fox, dangle for now. Wait until he comes to you himself."

Mason swayed to the music, executing elegant steps in the open space of the private booth.

"Are you sure we should leave him hanging? If he slips away, all our efforts will be for nothing."

A year ago, Mason had started digging into Jay, following a trail of clues.

But Jay was cunning. His life was methodically structured, and his professional record spotless.

For a time, Mason had doubted himself, wondering if he'd falsely accused the soon-to-retire professor.

But, as they say, no one's secrets remain hidden forever.

Mason uncovered a foreign account under Jay's name, holding an exorbitant sum—close to one billion.

It was far beyond Jay's legitimate earnings.

Having worked with Jay for years, Clerk knew the man to be meticulous and careful. Without solid evidence, he couldn't risk setting a trap for Mason to act on.

After careful deliberation, Clerk concluded, "I'll assign someone to keep an eye on Damon. For now, stay away from him to avoid arousing Jay's suspicion."

"Fine," Mason agreed readily, smirking. It had been six years since he distanced himself from Damon. During that time, Damon hadn't lost his shine—if anything, his value had only increased.

"If a meeting is necessary, I'll let you know. And…" Clerk hesitated, his expression turning serious.

Mason glanced at him. "And what?"

"Have you… made contact with a pureblood Vampire Clan?" Clerk finally voiced the question weighing on his mind.

Mason's graceful movements faltered, his steps pausing for a moment.

A faint shadow crossed his handsome face. "Are you joking? Do you think pureblood Vampire Clans are like pies in the sky, falling into people's laps?"

"Anything is possible. And if one did fall from the sky and hit someone's car, it wouldn't be that surprising," Clerk quipped.

Two days ago, Clerk had received surveillance footage from a café at Windy City University.

Though no pureblood Vampire Clan appeared in the video, the sound of a loud crash was unmistakable.

That same day, Mason was supposed to pick Clerk up from the university to attend a hunter conference, where they planned to exchange intel amidst the crowd.

But Mason had failed to show.

When they finally met in the underground parking lot, Mason had been inexplicably furious—so much so that he nearly fought Clerk and Shawn, despite knowing they were allies.

Clerk arched a delicate brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He suspected Mason's anger was tied to protecting that "drunken woman."

So… who was the woman? Could she have been a pureblood Vampire Clan?

Mason's face darkened visibly. He grabbed his coat and strode toward the exit.

Clerk raised an incredulous eyebrow, muttering to himself, "Leaving already? How dull."

A notification dinged on Clerk's phone, a new message appearing on the screen:

"If I ever meet someone I want to keep hidden in my heart, even if it means opposing the world, I will never let them go."

The message was signed: Mason.

"Haha. So, this kid's finally found someone he likes?" Clerk chuckled softly, tucking his phone away as he stood up.

Glancing at the now-empty booth, he grabbed his small leather handbag and strutted into the women's restroom in high heels.

Fifteen minutes later, a skylight opened in the restroom.

Clerk stood under the moonlight, heels in one hand as he carefully scaled the wall, climbing down a drainage pipe.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath.

Every time he went out, someone tailed him. Couldn't he just go home as a proper man for once?

8 PM

Damon drove into the underground parking lot of Solara Residences.

Elena had chosen this newly developed complex, where each floor housed only one unit, ensuring privacy and excellent security. It was, all things considered, a decent place.

Damon pulled out his keys and unlocked the door.

The apartment was dimly lit, its atmosphere somber.

Two wall lights in the entryway provided the only illumination.

The living room was eerily quiet, the silence so profound it felt almost tangible.

Closing the door behind him, Damon ventured further into the house.

He frowned slightly, opening doors to the guest room, study, and kitchen as he called out, "Elena? Elysia? Ronan?"

But the house remained silent. No one responded.

A faint unease prickled at Damon's mind. Had someone broken through the barrier and found this place?

Heart tightening, he pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

Creak!

As the door swung open, a bright light spilled through the gap, casting a pure and ancient glow across Damon's faintly worried face.

Inside, Elena and Ronan sat on the bed, their eyes glued to a chessboard between them.

The game was at its climax, the outcome balanced on a knife's edge.

Elysia crouched beside the bed, her hands clenched into fists, poised like a hunter ready to strike.

Suddenly, she lunged forward, snatching Ronan's last chess piece and holding it in her mouth.

Without giving Ronan a chance to react, she bolted.

At the same moment, Elena placed her "king" piece on the board, claiming the spot vacated by Ronan's piece.

Raising an eyebrow, she smirked and beckoned to Ronan. "Little Mochi, you've lost."

Ronan dashed out of the room, chasing after Elysia.

From the living room came Ronan's aggrieved shouts: "Elysia, give me back my king! Give it back!"

Elysia, darting through the room with the agility of a predator, leapt onto walls, ceilings, and the staircase.

Finally, she vaulted onto the grand chandelier in the living room, flipping herself up to perch on top.

She shook her hair dramatically, making no effort to climb down.

Ronan stood beneath the chandelier, staring up with a defeated look.

Damon, standing in the doorway, watched the entire shameless scene unfold.

A faint awkwardness crossed his stoic face.

In the world of the Vampire Clan, it seemed, survival of the fittest was the rule. Words like "cheating" simply didn't exist.