Vivienne’s POV
Three days. That was how long it had been since Cassandra had taken the blame for Dominic—punishment I thought he deserved, yet somehow she ended up suffering for instead. And ever since that day, something inside me had felt fundamentally out of place.
My shoulder still throbbed from the gangster’s bite—human teeth, human rage—but my body healed far too quickly, unnervingly fast. I didn’t tell my father, or my so-called friends, or anyone in our tight-knit community. My mind felt noisy, on edge, like a storm trapped beneath my ribs. I barely recognized myself anymore.
So I drove to the Moon Monastery, hoping the stillness of that sacred retreat would bring clarity. The sky hung heavy with clouds as I parked outside the stone walls, the spires looming like watchtowers against the grey afternoon.
The moment I stepped out, gravel crunching beneath my boots, a strange smell drifted past—sage, pine, and something sour, something like rot.
“Child,” a frail voice rasped behind me.
I spun. An elderly woman stood by the gate, wrapped in a long ash-colored cloak. Her presence was unsettling—her aura didn’t match any kind of person I could categorize.
“Be careful,” she whispered, gripping my hand with fingers as cold as marble. “Light attracts hunger. Darkness has tasted you now. It won’t stop chasing.”
“What?” I snatched my hand back, irritation prickling across my scalp.
“Danger follows close,” she murmured, her eyes unfocused, as though watching something far beyond this world. “Listen, daughter of moonsilver… the shadows know what you are.”
Before I could question her, she turned and vanished into the trees, disappearing with unnatural ease.
Uneasy and annoyed at myself for feeling anything at all, I pushed it aside and climbed the monastery steps. My hand had barely brushed the old bronze door handle when something slammed against the back of my skull.
Everything went dark.
---
Pain dragged me back. Sharp rope burned against my wrists; my arms felt numb and slick with blood. A blindfold shielded me from the world, but the smell surrounding me—iron, sweat, musk—was unmistakable.
Someone’s nails tore across the skin of my torso. Then again. Then again. Ninety-nine times. Each rake felt like it stripped away more than flesh. It scraped away pride, sanity, the last of my breath.
“You shouldn’t have punished her,” a rough voice said, close enough that I could hear each breath. “She matters. You picked the wrong enemy.”
“Who… are you…” I forced out, tasting blood between my teeth.
He didn’t bother responding. Instead, I heard him dial a number.
“She’s finished,” he said. On the other end, a familiar voice replied, clear even through static: Leave her there.
Dominic.
It was Dominic.
No amount of blood loss or dizziness could have erased that voice. The man who once swore to protect me—who promised to place himself in front of any threat—had ordered this.
By the time they dumped me on the roadside like garbage, my clothes soaked red, consciousness slipped in and out like flickering light. But I crawled. God, I crawled until my legs could shift into a run. I flagged down a cab, ignoring the driver’s horrified gasp at my state.
“Hospital,” I growled. “Now.”
At the ER, surrounded by antiseptic and bright lights, I drifted in and out of awareness while nurses whispered nearby.
“Did you see that guy who brought the other injured girl? Gorgeous. He wouldn’t leave her side.”
“The one with the huge scratch across her back? Poor thing. Looks like she was mauled.”
The moment the words registered, I ripped the IV out of my arm and stumbled out into the hallway.
And there they were.
Dominic—holding Cassandra’s hand. Dominic—kissing her forehead. Dominic—looking at her like she was made of gold, not deception and blood.
I turned away before my legs collapsed beneath me, slipping out of the hospital unnoticed, my heart bleeding as freely as my skin.
---
The next day, he came. He stared at me, something like guilt flickering across his face, though I couldn’t tell if it was real or merely habit. I said nothing. I didn’t scream. I didn’t slap him, though I should have.
Before I could ask the millions of questions boiling inside me, my phone rang. My father.
That was never a good sign.
“You’re attending the art banquet tonight,” he barked. “Cassandra’s exhibition. The entire council will be present.”
“No.” My voice was ice. Why would he expect me there after what happened years ago? She was the reason I quit painting—the only thing that once brought me joy.
We used to be art students together. Until she stole my work, claimed it as her own, then accused me of plagiarism. No one believed me. Eventually, I walked away from the world of colors and canvases. I never touched a brush again.
“You will go,” my father snapped.
Before I could argue, Dominic stepped forward. “It’s about Cassandra’s exhibit?” he asked quietly. “Just… be there. For me.”
For her, he meant.
Still, I went. One last time.
---
The event took place in the Luna Gallery, moonlight pouring through the glass ceiling, lending the entire hall an ethereal shine. Cassandra stood at the center of attention, draped in a pale gown, basking in admiration.
I stayed in the shadows, wearing a deep crimson dress—one I used to wear while painting, though now it had faint stains I could never wash out.
No one approached me. No one acknowledged me. I was the invisible sister, the ruined one.
Cassandra raised her voice theatrically. “It’s such a tragedy that the Vale Alpha is… still unresponsive,” she lamented. “But I suppose I need someone stronger anyway. My father ended our engagement for a reason.”
And that “someone stronger” was soon supposed to be me.
My gaze drifted to the canvases lining the wall behind her—and my breath froze.
My art.
Not imitations.
Not replicas.
My original paintings.
The ones I had hidden in the attic years ago.
My brushstrokes. My colors. My soul.
She had stolen them.
My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, ready to confront her—
But a commotion erupted. Dominic’s Beta walked in carrying lavish gifts—designer supplies, dresses, jewelry, all adorned with shimmering moonstones—all for Cassandra. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. I felt like I was drowning.
I escaped to the balcony, lungs burning. She stole my artwork. She displayed them as if they were hers. And she dared to invite me just to humiliate me.
Cassandra followed, stepping onto the balcony with a sugary smile.
“Still alive?” she asked sweetly. “It’s a shame your mother isn’t.”
My blood iced.
Did she just—?
“Cassandra—”
Before I could finish, she poured wine down her own dress and screamed.
“Vivienne! Why would you do that?!”
I was so stunned I couldn’t even form words. Dominic appeared almost immediately, looking at me like I was the one who betrayed him.
“Enough!” he snapped.
Something inside me snapped with him.
I picked up my own glass, tightened my grip, and threw the wine into her face—this time deliberately.
“That was for mocking my mother, you venomous thief.”
Gasps echoed behind us as I stormed inside, heels striking like gunshots. Dominic caught up, grabbing my arm.
“Why do you always go after her?”
“You want the truth?” I spat. “She killed my mother. She framed me. She stole my art, my home, and now she’s stolen you. And you still defend her.”
He froze. “You’re lying.”
“Of course you think that.”
I tore my arm free. “Take whatever distance you want, Dominic. I’m done handing you excuses.”
---
Later that night, sitting in a cab, I saw Dominic’s car driving away with Cassandra. Instinct roared inside me.
“Follow them,” I told the driver.
They weren’t going home. They weren’t going for a casual walk. They were heading to the butterfly garden—her self-proclaimed dream spot. The place she once told me she wanted her future husband to prove his devotion, as if life was some fairytale she authored.
Through the glass panels, I watched.
Cassandra leaned in… and sank her teeth into his neck—not playful, not gentle. She bit him hard, like she was branding him. And Dominic—God—he didn’t resist. He tilted his head, welcoming her, eyes fluttering with something disturbingly intimate.
She didn’t let him return the gesture. She controlled the moment completely.
And he smiled, touching the wound she left on him.
“I’m yours,” he whispered.
