Elena's POV
Maybe it was because Vicky never gave him the reaction he was looking for that morning at breakfast — from then on James started coming around a lot more often.
At first, I felt a quiet, secret kind of happiness.
He'd send flowers to my apartment before I left for work. Or a short message saying we were attending some banquet together that evening.
Sometimes he would even drop by my studio and sit on the couch, leafing through my design sketches.
One day, he found a sketchbook on my shelf — the one with the wedding I had designed for myself. Swing. Alawn and fountain just out of view. Compared to those lavish vampire banquets, the design looked almost too simple.
I didn't want to put any pressure on him. I watched him carefully, said nothing, and quietly closed the sketchbook.
But James just stood there for a long time, silent.
"This wedding looks beautiful."
He was turned slightly to the side. The studio light cast a shadow down the line of his face.
"Thank you. It's a design I've been refining for years. James, the truth is, I've always — "
The truth is, I've always wanted to make it real with him.
I didn't finish the sentence. He turned his head just then, and we caught each other's eyes and shared a small smile.
I caught something soft in his eyes — and something faint, like anticipation.
But it didn't take long for me to realize something was wrong.
That evening, he was taking me to a dinner party hosted by another vampire family, and he sent over a dress ahead of time.
The dress had a clean cut. The color suited my skin. The waist and the neckline were finished beautifully — almost too refined to be something James had picked out himself.
He brushed his fingers along my cheek and told me I'd look better with my hair down.
I didn't think much of it. I changed into the dress, and when I came down the stairs, my steps felt lighter than usual.
I had James's arm in mine. I had just reached the foot of the staircase when I saw Vicky.
She was sitting not far away, leaning toward the man beside her in conversation, her fingers resting lightly on the rim of a wineglass, her long, wavy hair spilling down her back.
The dress she was wearing was wine-red too.
The cut, the silhouette, even the finish at the neckline — it was nearly identical to mine.
People were watching me. People were watching Vicky.
The looks they gave me were curious, with a faint trace of pity tucked underneath. Some raised their glasses to me with a smile and said Miss Elena was beautiful tonight.
Others lowered their voices as I passed and remarked, with a sigh, that it was a shame — still not quite right.
I knew what they meant.
The real tragedy wasn't the dress, but the undeniable fact that I wasn't Vicky
James heard them. He didn't say a word in my defense.
Only sometimes, when I couldn't quite hide the disappointment on my face, he'd offer me some perfunctory comment about not paying attention to those tedious people.
And I would always smile and say it was nothing.
I could endure it. I would wait for him to let go of Vicky.
By the end of the evening, something inside me had gone numb.
After that, it kept happening.
James started bringing me along to more and more events. Sometimes he would even make small, intimate gestures in front of everyone.
People started to think he was finally taking me seriously.
And sometimes, even I let myself believe it.
But every time that illusion started to take shape, some new detail would pull me back to reality.
The dresses he picked were always the kinds Vicky liked. The places he took me were places he had already been to with Vicky.
When he looked at me, he was looking at someone else.
Bit by bit, I couldn't keep lying to myself.
He just needed an outlet. Somewhere to breathe through what he had lost.
And I just happened to be there. Always.
