Semua Bab LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Setting: Old Elder Vampire Court --- A lavish but shadow-drenched meeting space in one of the Elders’ domains — ancient paintings. The room felt like it had been carved from the bones of the earth itself — cold, regal, and steeped in centuries of untold history. The walls were lined with towering paintings, their gilded frames tarnished with age. Each one older than the nations mortals thought eternal, depicting battles fought under eclipsed moons and coronations where the crowned wore fangs. A haunting stillness pressed in on all sides, punctuated only by the low flicker of candles that burned without ever seeming to melt. They cast restless shadows against the walls, distorting the faces in the portraits — as if even the painted figures were reluctant to witness the events unfolding in the room. A long table of obsidian ran the length of the room, its surface a dark mirror. Those who sat around it cast no true reflection, their images warped and thin — as though the glass k

The canvas in front of me seemed bigger than it had when I arrived. "Maybe because I was tensed," Its clean, white surface had that unnerving, almost taunting quality—like it knew the first mark would decide everything. Behind me, Rhea sat cross-legged in her folding chair, sipping coffee and eyeing the other contestants. she was smirking at something—a color choice, maybe, or the way someone in the far corner was already attacking their canvas like it had personally insulted them. She was relaxed. I wasn’t. My fingers curled around the handle of my brush, the bristles hovering just shy of the surface. The faint smell of turpentine mingled with the sharper scent of fresh paint, and somewhere behind me, a chair scraped against the polished wooden floor. None of it really reached me. The rest of the hall seemed to dissolve into muffled sounds, as if someone had placed glass walls between me and the world. Light tones, almost silvery, began to shape what might have been the curve

Rhea and I pushed through the apartment door, My arms felt like they’d been stitched to the straps of my tote bag. My feet were throbbing. The competition had been all adrenaline while it lasted, but now the crash hit hard. I wanted nothing more than to collapse face-first onto the couch and fall asleep. “Home sweet… slightly messy home,” Rhea groaned, kicking off her boots in the middle of the hallway. One landed near the shoe rack. The other… Well,.. The other flew across the room, landing only God knows where. The scent of tomato sauce and garlic drifted out from the kitchen, which meant only one thing: Elias was cooking. Sure enough, my brother appeared in the doorway, a wooden spoon in hand, and an apron over his T-shirt. He took one look at me, hair falling out of its bun, tote bag sliding off my shoulder, and grinned like he’d been expecting this exact state of me. “Well, well,” he said, leaning on the doorframe. “The prodigal artist returns. How’d it go? Did you win?

The scent of coffee drifted into Arabella’s half-dreams, pulling her awake. She heard a muffled squeal from the kitchen, followed by the thump of Rhea’s footsteps rushing down the hall. The next moment, her roommate burst in, eyes shining, phone glowing in her hand. ****************************************** “Bella! Wake up! “Arabella Vale, if you don’t sit up right now, I will personally dump my coffee on your face.” I groaned and shoved my head under my pillow. Arabella!” Rhea’s voice shot through the walls like a firework. “Wake up, you won’t believe this! You are not allowed to sleep through this. History is happening. The universe is speaking. Destiny is literally calling you!” I cracked one eye open, glaring at the blur of her silhouette against the morning light. “Rhea, if this is about another astrology meme, I swear—” “It’s not a meme!” she shrieked, bouncing onto the bed. My poor mattress sagged under her weight as she shoved her phone in my face. “Look! Read it

My stomach dropped the moment I saw them. A whole line of people scattered along the steps of the D’ARAGON Empire building, shifting nervously, adjusting blazers checking their phones. The sliding doors hissed open and shut with a mechanical sigh as more hopefuls arrived. A tall girl with copper curls adjusted her blazer like it was a suit of armor. A guy my age checked his reflection in the glass, mouthing possible answers. Another girl clutched a worn leather folder so tightly her knuckles blanched white. I froze on the edge of the sidewalk, my confidence shrinking by the second. The email had made it sound like I was… chosen. Like this interview was meant for me. But looking at the crowd, I realized the truth: I wasn’t special. I was one of many. I was about to back out—just turn and pretend I’d gotten lost—when a soft voice slipped beside me. “First time too?” I turned to find a girl with glossy black hair in a loose ponytail, clutching a coffee cup like it was the only