LOGIN> “Stay still, Little Thorn… I want to taste you slowly.” His voice was velvet and ruin. His mouth, a weapon. And I—fool that I was—leaned closer. Before death wore a suit and called itself a lover, I used to believe in beauty. Before the blood. Before the runes. Before I painted the image that killed my parents—I believed my art could save me. Now I know better. I was just weeks from graduating when the painting came to me like a fever. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t plan it. My hands moved, possessed, dragging symbols I’d never seen and a face I’d never forgotten—his. Eyes red as wine. A crown pierced with thorns. And a girl in the center… me. Offering herself. I signed it with a mark I didn’t recognize. I sold it to a stranger. And days later, my parents were dead—no wounds, no reason, just... gone. The police said stress. I say fate. Now I’m being hunted by a world I didn’t know existed. Vampires with ancient courts and older grudges. Symbols that whisper in my blood. And Lucien D’Aragon—the vampire who says I summoned him with my brushstroke. That I belong to him. He says I’m his prophecy. His ruin. His Little Thorn. But I’m not just prey. Something is waking in me. Something hungry. Something I was never meant to survive. If I give in, I lose everything. If I fight, I might finally learn the truth. About my art. About my bloodline. About what really happened that night. And why he keeps whispering that I was painted for ruin... but made for him.
View MoreScene Opening: --- Knock. Knock. Knock. “Come in, nitwit!” Lucien’s voice boomed through the marble halls, echoing off the high ceilings of the D’Aragon estate. The front door slammed with the kind of finality only Emilio could manage. Lucien, perched behind his desk like an unshakable statue, didn’t even glance up. He already knew who it was. The scent of cologne mixed with whiskey and cigarette smoke clung to him. He already knew the culprit. “Lucien, you insufferable hermit!” a familiar voice called, laughter trailing after it. “It’s me. Your older—wait, no, younger, good-looking, and infinitely charming brother, Emilio. In case you forgot who keeps you slightly sane.” Lucien didn’t lift his gaze. “I’m busy.” “Busy?” Emilio echoed, mock offense lacing his voice. He leaned on the edge of Lucien’s desk, staring at the scattered papers. “Let me guess. Torturing your subordinates? Plotting world domination? Or saying cruel letters to women who probably shouldn’t be in
WORK THE NEXT DAY: —–— I was hunched over my desk, the glow of my computer screen casting pale light across a stack of papers I was meant to organize hours ago, when Maya appeared at the edge of my desk. Her heels clicked softly against the tile as she leaned in, one hand on the divider. “Arabella,” she said, voice just loud enough to catch my attention without drawing the attention of the rest of the floor, “have you noticed Julien hasn’t been around lately?” I blinked, looking up. “Wait… Julien? “Yeah,” Maya said, leaning closer conspiratorially. “No one’s seen him for a while. It’s weird. I thought you might’ve noticed. You two were… you know, chatting last week, right?” I groaned softly and buried my face in my hands. “Oh, that. I didn’t even think about it. Honestly, I’ve been so wrapped up in reports and… everything else, I barely noticed.” Maya chuckled. “Typical. Always in your own little world. But it’s just strange — Julien’s never gone this long without someo
The apartment smelled faintly of lavender when I finally pushed the door open. The late afternoon light slanted across the living room, casting long shadows that stretched toward the kitchen, where the kettle was already whistling. “Hello?” I called, dropping my bag onto the small bench by the door. “Home early!” Rhea’s voice came from the couch. She was perched cross-legged, laptop balanced on her knees, headphones dangling around her neck, a mug of tea at her side. “Elias isn’t back yet. You’re lucky—it's just us.” I collapsed onto the sofa, letting out a long, dramatic sigh that Rhea immediately identified as “something big happened.” “You look like someone just fired a cannon in your chest,” she said, her eyes glittering with mischief. I laughed, flopping back against the cushions. “Close,” I admitted, tugging off my shoes. “I had to deliver a file to the CEO.” Rhea’s eyebrows shot up, and she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Lucien D’Aragon?” I groaned
Monday mornings always felt heavier than they had any right to be. The morning hit Aragon Enterprises with the usual operational velocity: inboxes exploding, printers choking on color jobs, and department heads moving with the kind of urgency that suggested someone, somewhere, had already messed up. They had. ****************************>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Coffee in hand, I was barely awake, scanning my inbox when Mr's Heidi’s voice cut through my morning haze. “Arabella,” she said, leaning over, her tone brisk but not unkind. “I need you to take this corrected file to the CEO. It’s urgent. I’ll explain later, but get it to him now.” I blinked, startled. “The CEO?” “Yes,” she said, eyes sharp and unreadable. “Go.” My pulse picked up slightly. A simple errand, she insisted— I had seen him once or twice from a distance, at meetings or in passing, but never directly. Never like this. I carried the folder like it was a live wire, its contents small but explosive eno


















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