All Chapters of My Hatred, My Soulmate : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

  SERENA’S POV The warmth still lingers between us—tender, quiet, and deeply comforting. I tug my shirt over my head and smooth my hair down with a soft exhale as Damon finishes buttoning his jeans. There's a softness in his gaze, a kind of afterglow that transcends the physical—it's emotional, magnetic, and hard to look away from. We don’t need to speak. The way he reaches over and intertwines our fingers says more than a thousand whispered words ever could. We’re wrapped in something real, something deeper than desire. As we step out of the room and descend the winding spiral staircase, the low hum of laughter and conversation rises to greet us. Down in the cozy living area, Luna, Ryan, and Brooke sit huddled around a rustic wooden table, a deck of cards splayed between them like a colorful puzzle. Luna’s fingers move with elegant flair, each shuffle deliber

SERENA'S POV The fear around me isn’t just thick—it’s suffocating, pressing into my chest with invisible hands, making it hard to breathe. It’s not panic. It’s worse. It’s the knowing kind—the kind that seeps into your bones when your body realizes you might not survive.Vampires pour into the room like a flood let loose. Their eyes burn with frenzy, fangs gleam wet with blood, and every last one of them is locked on me. I can feel their hunger like heat against my skin. My breath catches in my throat, shallow and useless. My legs refuse to move. Every muscle in my body screams to run, to fight, to do something—but I can’t even figure out where to go. There’s nowhere safe. No space left.“Hold the line!” Damon’s voice slices through the chaos like thunder cracking the sky.And then—just like that—they’re around me.Damon, Cassidy, Luna, Brooke, Ryan, Brian—they close ranks with the kind of coordination that only comes from shared survival. It’s instinctual. Protective. Fierce. They d

  SERENA'S POV  The pain is indescribable—beyond any human language's capacity to capture its essence.  It's not just in my head—it is my head in its entirety. It feels like someone's driving razor-sharp claws straight into the soft tissue of my brain, methodically twisting and shredding every coherent thought, every cherished memory, every fundamental shred of who I am at my core. I can't breathe through the agony. I can't form a single rational thought. I can barely maintain a sense that I exist at all. Isabella watches me with predatory intensity, her expression twisted into a sick, delighted smile that reveals too many teeth. Her glowing crimson eyes drink in my excruciating pain like it's an exquisite feast prepared solely for her consumption. There's unmistakable hunger there. Desperate, primal need. Something infinitely deeper and more disturbing

  DAMON'S POV  Everything is about to break apart—more catastrophic than anything I've ever lived through. And I've lived through hell itself, witnessed terrors that would cripple ordinary men, survived nightmares that still haunt my darkest hours. The one man I never wanted to see again—especially not like this—is already here. He's standing across the room, eyes locked on his daughter, and my blood runs cold, turning to ice in my veins. The fury in his presence is more than supernatural—it's nuclear, a detonation waiting to obliterate everything in its path. Serena's body trembles on the floor, convulsing, twitching violently like a marionette controlled by cruel, invisible strings. And I'm stuck in between them, yanked by panic that claws at my chest, not sure whether to keep my eyes on her tortured form or on him—the walking catastrophe who could end me with a glance.&n

  The dust hasn't even settled, still hanging thick in the air like a mourning shroud over what once stood proud and tall. Chunks of concrete lie like carcasses across the compound, jagged and lifeless; twisted steel rods jut from the ruins like broken bones piercing through torn flesh. Smoke curls up into the thick night sky, thick and slow, carrying the scent of destruction with it. And in the middle of this apocalyptic landscape stands Elder Mobius. Damon's father. His sharp eyes—cold as winter frost—sweep the wreckage, not with horror or concern, but with a calculating gaze that assesses value and loss. Like he's watching a fortune vanish before his eyes, each crumbled wall representing nothing but diminished assets. Not a word about Damon. Not a flicker of concern for his own flesh and blood. "What the hell happened here?" Mobius demands, voice laced with fury that rises like th