All Chapters of LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

52 Chapters

CHP-39 [MISPLACED RECOGNITION]

The elevator doors were just about to close when a hand slid in, stopping them with an effortless push. I startled, clutching my bag tighter, and looked up. A man stepped inside—tall, sharp in a gray suit His hair was dark, cut with precision, He moved with the kind of ease that made it obvious he was used to taking up space, used to people noticing when he entered a room. “Sorry,” he said, His voice was low. “It’s fine,” I murmured, shifting slightly, pretending to study the glowing numbers above the doors. For a beat, silence stretched between us. My pulse wouldn’t settle. Then, as if he could sense I was determined not to look at him, he shifted too, angling himself just enough that I couldn’t ignore the weight of his presence. “You’re new here,” he said finally. I blinked, turned. “Excuse me?” He smiled—small, knowing. “I’ve been in this building for three years. I know most faces by memory. Yours? Definitely not one of them.” I tried not to roll my eyes. “Mayb

Last Updated : 2025-09-04

CHP-40[MISPLACED RECOGNITION II]

By the time I got home, my nerves were strung so tightly, I thought I’d snap if I replayed one more second of Julian Cross’s voice in my head. The way he’d said my name—it had no right to stick the way it did, curling around my thoughts like ivy. I pushed open the door to the apartment, and the smell of butter and garlic hit me instantly. Rhea. Of course. She was standing barefoot in the kitchen in one of her oversized shirts, swaying to music as she stirred something in a pan. “There she is!” she called over her shoulder, her blonde curls bouncing as she spun dramatically with a wooden spoon in her hand like it was a mic. “Arabella Vale, back from the depths of corporate hell. Did you survive?” I laughed, dropping my bag by the couch. “Barely.” She narrowed her eyes as I kicked off my shoes. “That wasn’t convincing. Spill.” I groaned, heading straight for the fridge. “Spill what?” “You’ve got that look.” She wagged the spoon at me. “The look you get when something happened

Last Updated : 2025-09-05

CHP-41

con'td, --- Rhea was still grinning like the cat that swallowed a canary when she finally passed out on the pillows, face mask drying and glass of wine half-finished on the table. I tucked a blanket over her before slipping into my own room, and though exhaustion hummed in my bones, my mind wouldn’t settle. Julian Cross. His name had a way of replaying itself, like a lyric stuck on loop. I buried my face in the pillow, forcing myself to think of anything else—paintings, my grocery list, the stack of HR forms I still had to sign tomorrow. But inevitably, the elevator came back. His suit. His voice. The amused curve of his mouth when he said my name. It was infuriating. I barely knew him. And yet— I groaned into the pillow. This was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. --- The next day at work passed in a blur of emails, introductions, and hushed reminders from other interns about how important it was to “blend in.” No distractions. No drama. Definitely no… elevator encounters

Last Updated : 2025-09-08

CHP-42 [COFFEE AT DUSK]

The next day, all Arabella could think about was the buzzing reminder on her phone, even while at work. Tomorrow. 6. Don’t be late. Tomorrow had become today, and now six o’clock felt like it was breathing down her neck. She pushed open the apartment door, letting it click shut behind her, and dropped her bag by the couch, Rhea and Elias were not home. A quick glance at the clock on the wall made her groan. An hour. An hour to make herself presentable after the long drag of paperwork and screen glare, and an hour to convince herself that this was just coffee. just casual. Just… normal. She didn’t stop to think; she went straight to her room, flinging open the closet doors. A dress felt too formal. Jeans felt too careless. She wanted balance—something that said effortless without trying too hard. She tried one blouse, then another, discarding them in a growing pile on the bed. Finally, her hand stilled on a soft cream sweater that draped just right. Paired with dark jeans and bo

Last Updated : 2025-09-09

CHP-43[MISPLACED RECOGNITION III]

JULIAN CROSS --- Julian had learned long ago that temptation never announced itself. It slipped in quietly, disguised as something ordinary. A laugh. A glance. The subtle way a woman touched her hair without realizing Tonight, temptation had a name. Arabella Vale. He sat in his car outside her apartment building long after the engine should have cooled, long after common sense told him to drive away. But common sense had abandoned him the moment she slid into the passenger seat earlier, brushing his arm with nothing more than a hello. Now, even with the car empty, she was still here. Her perfume clung to the air like invisible fingerprints. Sweet at first inhale—something floral, fleeting—but beneath it lay a sharper note, almost metallic, alive in a way that made his throat burn. He pressed his fingers against the steering wheel until the leather groaned. Pathetic. He should not have let it get this far. She was human. Untouchable. And yet— Her laugh from earl

Last Updated : 2025-09-11

CHP-44

When I slipped the key into the lock, I did it quietly, like I was sneaking into someone else’s house. The door creaked anyway—of course it did—and I froze, holding my breath, as if that could make me invisible. Three steps. That was all I managed before a voice came from the living room. “I heard you were going on a date.” My stomach plummeted. Elias. I turned my head slowly, and sure enough, there he was—half-slouched on the couch with a game controller in his hand, the TV glow reflecting in his eyes. He was grinning, which meant he’d been waiting for me. “And you’re back this late?” His brows rose in mock surprise. “How did it go?” Heat crept up my neck. “You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, kicking my shoes off and making a straight line for the kitchen. If I kept moving, maybe he’d let it slide. No such luck. “Don’t you dare downplay this,” another voice chimed in, sing-song and merciless. Rhea. Of course. She padded out of her room in pajama shorts and a t-shir

Last Updated : 2025-09-12

CHP-45[ HIM ]

When I walked into D’Aragon Enterprises the next morning, the first thing I noticed was how much heavier the air felt. Not tired-heavy, not stale from recycled vents or too much perfume drifting through the lobby, but charged. The kind of atmosphere that made people straighten their posture without realizing why. I wasn’t imagining it. Clusters of staff lingered longer than usual by the elevators, their voices pitched higher, their gestures sharper. Someone had spread the word already. A meeting. A big one. And not just any meeting. The CEO wanted to “see the old faces and new faces that ran his empire.” "LUCIEN D’ARAGON." I told myself I shouldn’t care. People like him lived galaxies away from people like me. I worked in one of the tucked-away creative wings, where pixels and deadlines mattered more than boardroom politics. My orbit wasn’t meant to brush against his. And yet my stomach tightened anyway. Maybe because my night had ended with Julian’s smile still burned behind

Last Updated : 2025-09-12

CHP-46 [THE SECOND RITE: THE CRESCENT OATH]

Setting : Old Elder Vampire Court --- The Elders gathered once more in the cavern, their faces hollowed by the flicker of flame, the echo of silence stretched taut between them. The first ritual had ended in nothing. Days passed. Weeks even. No mark. No prophecy stirring. No sign of Ysolde’s return in flesh or spirit. And so suspicion had spread like rot. Cassian’s gaze swept the circle, his voice cutting the tension like a blade: --- “It has been weeks,” He said, “And yet—the girl walks free of us. No mark. No oath. no sign that the prophecy has been sealed. Tell me, was our ritual a farce? Was our blood wasted?” Across from him, Seraphine lifted her chin with serpentine grace. “Not wasted,” she hissed. “But perhaps… resisted. The blood remembers what it chooses to remember. Perhaps the girl’s veins defy us.” Valerian tapped his clawed fingers against the armrest. If the mark did not appear, then it was not the prophecy that faltered. It was us.” “The first rit

Last Updated : 2025-09-15

CHP-47[THE COURT BETRAYED]

Setting: The Bone Orchard --- The field stretched endlessly under a starless sky, its earth cracked and pale as old scars. White trees clawed upward in jagged silhouettes, their bark not wood but bone—calcified remnants of the First Brood who defied Vaelros Seraxa. Each tree leaned as if in pain, branches frozen mid-scream, their roots burrowed deep into the soil where ancient blood still seeped. No Elder dared walk here, for the Orchard remembered betrayal. It remembered the Crown That Bleeds. And here, Seraphine came alone. She had already decided tonight. The debate had only given her permission to move faster. There were three obstacles: the covenant of the Elders, the Warded Vault, and the impossible truth that a Second Rite required more hands — not merely accomplices, but anchors: blood-pledges from those of the old line. She would not ask. She would take. First, the Vault. No one who sat in the high circle believed the Vault would be breached again. Over generatio

Last Updated : 2025-09-16

CHP-48 [THE HOLLOW VEIL FESTIVAL]

The city did not belong to mortals tonight. Its towers drowned in shadow, its avenues veiled in smoke, its silence broken only by music that was not meant for human ears. From the spires to the catacombs, the night stretched wide and black as silk—and within it, the vampire breeds emerged in their truest forms, cloaked not in disguise but in hunger. Once each century, the Hollow Veil was lifted. Once each century, the hidden clans were permitted to walk openly beneath the same moon, to bleed together, to drink together, to remember that all their lineages—fractured, bitter, estranged—were carved from the same wound. The streets glowed faintly with lanterns, filled with oils. >The Stryga breed: shrieked their laughter from rooftops, wings snapping as they swooped down to snatch goblets from passing hands. Their revels were violent graceless, but none dared stop them. The Hollow Veil festival permitted indulgence. >The Morrakai: pale as drowned corpses drifted barefoot through

Last Updated : 2025-09-22

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