INICIAR SESIÓNEl día antes de mi boda, fui temprano a nuestra catedral para familiarizarme con el lugar. Sin embargo, encontré a mi prometido y a mi hermanastra, Isabella, haciéndolo en el altar. Nuestro altar. Los atrapé en el acto. Él ni siquiera se disculpó y simplemente me echó a la tormenta. Me desplomé bajo la lluvia torrencial. Fue entonces cuando él me encontró. Alistair, el Príncipe Vampiro. Se movió como un dios en medio de la tormenta. Me sacó del barro y me dio un palacio. Le dijo al mundo que yo era su alma gemela. A quien había buscado durante siglos. Su única. Durante cinco años, su devoción me convirtió en la envidia del mundo sobrenatural. Pensé que yo era la única excepción en su vida eterna. Hasta que encontré su habitación secreta. Mis dedos rozaron un antiguo pergamino. Las letras estaban escritas con sangre. La primera línea era su nombre: «Isabella». Seguido, de puño y letra de Alistair decía: «Prioridad absoluta. Por encima de todo». Debajo había un registro de un sanador que nunca había visto. Era el registro de sanación de un vampiro sanador. La fecha era de la noche en que descubrí que estaba embarazada. La noche en que me atacaron los hombres lobo. Ese día, me trajeron de vuelta al castillo cubierta de sangre. Aun así, los sanadores nunca vinieron a buscarme. Desperté sola. El bebé se había ido. Nuestro hijo. Su sangre, mi sangre, se había ido. Y mi ropa estaba empapada con lo que quedaba de él. Limpié todo rastro. Cuando llegó a casa, me derrumbé en sus brazos. Pero nunca se lo dije. No podía soportar que sintiera el dolor que yo sentía. Ahora lo entendía. Esa misma noche, Isabella también había sido atacada por hombres lobo. Y la orden de Alistair a su consejo fue: —Envíen a todos los sanadores. Isabella es la prioridad. Mi corazón se detuvo. La desesperación era como un veneno corriendo en mis venas. —Si nunca fui yo... entonces puedes quedarte con tu eternidad. No quiero ser parte de ella.
Ver másValerie Calder was a young billionaire and a widow at thirty. She had inherited her aging husband's wealth after his death three years ago and had grown the empire tenfold, earning her the nickname 'Duchess.'
She was New York's most sought-after female because of her formidable beauty and her extreme wealth. But she wasn't looking for another husband. She was finally free from the entrapment called marriage, and wanted to enjoy her life as a single wealthy woman.
Valerie had just returned home from work on a Friday evening, with her P.A. Melissa, walking closely behind her. She was exhausted and needed rest. The whole week had been a roller coaster.
"God, I need a drink," Valerie muttered, dropping her designer bag on the counter and kicking off her heels.
Her maid, Clara, appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Good evening, Ms. Valerie. Dinner will be ready when you’re done with your... engagement tonight."
She nodded. "Perfect. Make sure it's still warm by midnight."
"Of course, Ms. Valerie. And I've drawn your bath already."
When Valerie had hectic weeks like this, there was only one thing that could make her relax: Sex.
As a norm for her on weekends, she already had a guy to contact. One of Melissa's jobs was making sure a suitable companion was available for her weekend relaxation.
She dragged her exhausted body to her bedroom. Her bubble bath had already been prepared by Clara as usual.
"Is he confirmed for tonight?" Valerie asked Melissa, unbuttoning her blouse.
Melissa nodded, checking her tablet. "Let me confirm again while you're in the bath."
"Perfect. I expect him to be here before I'm done."
Valerie entered her bathroom and sank into the scented bubbly water, closing her eyes as the tension began to melt away. Twenty minutes later, she stepped out of the bathtub, wrapping herself in a towel, only to find Melissa standing in the middle of her room and trembling.
"What's wrong? Where is he?" Valerie demanded.
Melissa swallowed hard. "There's been a... situation."
"What kind of situation?" Valerie's voice turned ice cold.
"He was in a minor accident. Nothing serious, but he can't make it tonight."
Valerie's face darkened. "Find someone else. Now."
"I've been trying," Melissa said, her voice shaking slightly. "What about one of your previous…"
Valerie silenced her with a glare so fierce that Melissa took a step back.
"You know better than that," Valerie said quietly. Everyone knew the Duchess never repeated her companions. After spending time with any guy, she lost interest almost immediately. It had never been heard that the Duchess entertained the same man twice.
"It's too late to arrange someone new," Melissa whispered. "I've tried everyone."
Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Then go home. You're done for the day."
"But I can keep trying…"
"Go. Home." She ordered.
After Melissa left, Valerie paced her bedroom, feeling restless and on edge. The week's stress still clung to her shoulders, and she needed release ASAP. After much thought, she decided to hit the club. Maybe she'd find someone suitable there.
She slipped into a red dress that hugged every curve, applied her makeup, and grabbed her car keys.
"Clara," she called out as she walked toward the door. "I'm going out."
Clara peeked out from the kitchen. "But your dinner will be ready in…"
"Keep it warm. I'll eat when I get back."
********
The moment she stepped into Club Euphoria, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Whispers rippled through the room: "The Duchess... It's the Duchess..."
Valerie smiled slightly, used to this sort of recognition. The club manager practically sprinted across the floor to greet her.
"Ms. Valerie! What a pleasure!" He bowed slightly, gesturing toward the VIP section. "Your usual area is ready."
The VIP section overlooked the entire club, offering both privacy and a perfect view of everyone below. Valerie settled into the comfy couch.
"Bring me your finest champagne," she ordered, "and your finest men. I want to choose someone for the evening."
The manager nodded eagerly. "Right away, Ms. Valerie."
Twenty minutes later, six men stood before her, each one handsome in his own right. They lined up like soldiers awaiting inspection, eager to be chosen by the Duchess. They'd all heard rumors that she paid handsomely and was incredible company. Who wouldn't want to spend an evening with her?
Valerie sipped her champagne slowly, studying each man. One was too muscular. Another had eyes that reminded her of her late husband. A third kept glancing at his watch, none of them suited her taste.
"No," she said finally. "Take them back."
The manager looked stricken. "But these are our finest…"
"I said no." Valerie stood up abruptly. "I'm leaving."
She downed the rest of her champagne in one gulp. Maybe she'd book an appointment with a masseuse instead. Then she remembered - Melissa had already retired for the night.
"What an unlucky day," she muttered, making her way down the stairs. The crowd parted again, but this time Valerie barely noticed. She was too caught up in her frustration.
She stepped outside the club, reaching into her purse for her keys, as she walked towards her car.
And that's when it happened.
Two men appeared seemingly from nowhere, knife in hand. The taller one grabbed her arm while the shorter one yanked her purse away.
"Hey!" Valerie shouted, more surprised than scared.
But the men were already running down the street, disappearing into the shadows with her purse.
At first, Valerie didn't move. She was wealthy enough that losing a purse meant nothing. But then reality hit - her car keys were inside, along with her phone. She was literally stranded.
"Help!" she called out, looking around frantically. "Someone help me!"
The street was eerily empty. The club's bouncer had gone inside. No taxis cruised by. And for the first time in years, Valerie felt helpless.
Then she spotted him - a man at the corner, sitting on a motorcycle, and pressing his phone. Had he been there the whole time?
Anger surged through Valerie as she stormed toward him.
"You!" she snapped, pointing an accusing finger. "Did you see what just happened?"
The man didn't look up from his phone.
"Hey!" Valerie stepped closer. "I'm talking to you!"
Still nothing.
She nudged his shoulder hard. "Hey!"
That got his attention. He looked up, and for a split second, Valerie was caught off guard by the intensity of his green eyes.
"What the fuck is your problem, lady?" he growled.
Valerie flinched. No one had spoken to her like that in years - not since she became the Duchess.
"My problem?" she sputtered. "I just got robbed at knifepoint right in front of you, and you did nothing!”
"What exactly did you expect me to do?" he asked, turning back to his phone. "Chase down two armed men? I'm not Batman."
Valerie's mouth fell open in shock. "You could have called the police! You could have done something!"
He said nothing.
"I need help," Valerie said, trying to control her anger. "My car keys were in that purse. My phone too. I'm stranded."
"Not my problem," he muttered, not looking up.
"Look, I'll pay you," Valerie said desperately. "I need a ride home, or at least to use your phone."
Now he looked at her, a mocking smile on his face. "Do you know who I am?"
"No, and I don't care," she snapped. "Do you know who I am?" Valerie countered, drawing herself up to her full height.
“Someone who just got robbed?"
"I'm Valerie Calder. The Duchess." She said it like it should mean something to him.
His expression didn't change. He acted like he didn't give a fuck, like he truly had no idea who she was.
"Never heard of you," he said flatly.
Valerie was stunned. Everyone in New York knew who she was.
She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly aware of how absurd she must look - a woman in a designer dress and five-inch heels, stranded on a street corner, demanding respect from a stranger who clearly had no interest in giving it. "I... I can pay you. A lot. Just let me use your phone, or give me a ride home."
"Not interested," he said, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket.
"Please," Valerie said, hating the sound of begging in her voice. "I just need to call my assistant."
He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "Fine. You can use my phone. One call. Make it quick."
He handed her his phone, and she dialed Melissa's number immediately.
"Melissa? It's me. I've been robbed outside Club Euphoria. My purse, my keys, everything. I need you to come get me. Now."
She listened for a moment, then added, "Yes, right now. I don't care if you were sleeping. Twenty minutes."
She handed the phone back to the man. "Thank you," she said stiffly.
He took it, already swinging his leg over his motorcycle. "Your ride coming?"
"Yes. My assistant will be here in twenty minutes."
"Great." He started the engine. "Good luck with that."
"Wait," Valerie said, suddenly nervous about being alone on the dark street. "You're just going to leave me here?"
"That was the deal. You got to make your call." He revved the engine. "Maybe next time bring a bodyguard, Duchess."
And with that, he drove off, leaving her standing alone on the sidewalk.
Valerie had never been more infuriated in her life. Not only had she been robbed, but she'd been dismissed and abandoned by some nobody on a motorcycle who didn't even recognize her name.
Punto de vista de SeraphinaJulian había estado en la sala de emergencia durante ya tres horas.Yo estaba sentada en un banco del pasillo, con las manos fuertemente entrelazadas, reviviendo una y otra vez el momento en que cayó.Ese hombre gentil que me protegió con su propio cuerpo sin dudar ni un segundo.—La cirugía fue un éxito —dijo el médico al salir de urgencias—. La hoja pasó a menos de una pulgada de su corazón. Ha tenido suerte. Se recuperará por completo, pero necesita descansar.Solté un largo suspiro tembloroso mientras las lágrimas corrían por mi rostro.—Gracias. Gracias, doctor.—Seraphina.La voz familiar vino repentinamente desde detrás de mí.Me giré con rigidez. Alistair estaba al final del pasillo.Parecía el fantasma de sí mismo. Demacrado, su rostro perfecto hundido y aún más pálido, sus ojos cruzados por una red de vasos sanguíneos rotos.—¿Cómo supiste que estaba aquí?—Hice que alguien siguiera la ambulancia —dijo, acercándose con cautela—. Tenía q
Punto de vista de Seraphina—Isabella, por favor, vete —dije. Mi voz estaba calmada, sin una sola ondulación de emoción.Julian percibió el peligro que impregnaba el ambiente de inmediato. Se colocó frente a mí.—Señora, no sé cuál es la historia entre ustedes, pero debo pedirle que no cause una escena en mi galería.—¿Historia? —Isabella soltó una risa aguda y chirriante—. ¡Ella me destruyó! ¡Mi estatus, mi vida, todo!Sus ojos brillaban con locura mientras estrujaba la revista entre las manos.—¡Mírenla ahora! —gritó Isabella, histérica—. ¡Un nuevo rostro, un nuevo nombre, viviendo esta vida glamurosa! ¡¿Por qué tú sí puedes ser feliz?!—Porque me lo gané —respondí, con la voz fría como el vidrio—. Con mis propias manos y mi talento. No con mentiras y traiciones.Eso la quebró.—¿Talento? —cacareó—. ¿De qué te sirve tu talento? Incluso Alistair… ¡Él me está cazando, por ti! ¡Maldita! ¿Crees que has ganado?—Isabella, ya fue suficiente.—¡No es suficiente! —se abalanzó sobr
Punto de vista de SeraphinaA la mañana siguiente, otro cuervo mensajero llegó. Pero esta vez, yo no lo había convocado.Abrí la ventana y tomé el pergamino, confundida.[Una última imagen. Considéralo una cortesía profesional.]En la parte inferior había una fotografía. En ella, Alistair estaba solo frente al altar de la iglesia gótica. Se veía desolado. Su espalda, antes siempre erguida, estaba ligeramente encorvada. Sus ojos afilados, ahora estaban vacíos.Miraba fijamente el lugar del altar donde el polvo dorado había desaparecido hacía tiempo. Como si estuviera esperando un milagro. Como si estuviera esperando que los muertos volvieran a alzarse ante él.Me quedé mirando la foto durante largo rato. No sentí nada.Su dolor no era mi problema.Arrojé la fotografía a la chimenea y observé cómo se convertía en cenizas. Luego me giré y tomé la tarjeta que Julian me había dado.La Galería Blackwood.Quizá había llegado el momento de vivir para mí misma.—Marcus —dije, bajando
Punto de vista de SeraphinaTres meses después.Me había asentado por completo en mi vida como Phoebe.Abrir la tienda a las siete de la mañana, devolverles nueva vida a pinturas antiguas. Cerrar a las nueve de la noche, regresar a mi pequeño apartamento en el piso de arriba para leer, beber té y dormir en paz.—Phoebe, ¿puedes ayudarme a pensar en algo? —Marcus estaba detrás del mostrador, mirando con abatimiento el libro de cuentas—. Las ventas han vuelto a bajar este mes.Dejé el pincel de restauración y me acerqué.—¿Qué ocurre?—Abrió una nueva galería en la calle de abajo, son todo cromo y lienzos austeros. Nos están dejando sin clientes —suspiró—. La gente quiere algo nuevo y llamativo, no antiguo y atemporal.Miré las cifras desalentadoras en el libro y sentí una punzada de compasión.Marcus era un anciano bondadoso. Me había acogido sin hacer preguntas, me había dado trabajo y un lugar donde vivir. No podía quedarme de brazos cruzados viendo fracasar su tienda.—Tal






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