All Chapters of The Vampire King's Virgin Mistake : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I walk out of the room with Roland falling into step beside me. We do not speak as we make our way out of the house. There is nothing to say. Outside the night air is cool and crisp. We slide into the waiting car and slowly drive off. Roland waits until we have left the estate before speaking. “It was her. At the airport,” he says quietly. “But how is it possible she is that far along?" He continues "The timeline… it doesn’t fit.” I stare out the window. My mind is still in that room. Holding the fabric of her nightdress. Breathing in the impossible scent that clings to it like smoke after fire. Pureblood. And something else. Something that hums beneath my skin familiar and foreign all at once. I am not a man given to emotions. Control is what I understand. What I have cultivated for centuries. But right now everything is in chaos. Once again I have been denied my chance at an heir. I am not even sure that I can demand restitution here. The royals do not keep Sancta bo

Chris’s POV The lab hums around me. A symphony of beeps from monitors, the low whir of centrifuges, and the occasional click of keyboards as my team inputs data. I stare at the holographic display in front of me. The 3D model of a synthetic blood vessel rotating slowly its lattice structure glowing in soft blue light. It’s my latest prototype. Engineered conduit designed to mimic human veins, capable of storing and delivering blood at controlled temperatures without degradation. For our "particular clientele," as Father always calls them. It's not just innovation but survival. I lean back in my ergonomic chair rubbing the bridge of my nose. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows. They don't touch the darker ones in my mind. The Stratford legacy. It's always there. Lurking, like a shadow in the corner of every achievement. We own medical research centers across the globe. Cutting-edge facilities. Pushing boundaries in hematology, genetics, and bioengineering. On

Max’s POV “Thank you for finally meeting with us, Maximus.” Elias Rottadam’s image stabilizes at the center of the wall display, crisp and composed. The words are polite. The emphasis is not. “The meeting was rescheduled twice,” he adds. “We appreciate you making the time.” I do not respond immediately. The conference room at the Valencia Estate is quiet, glass walls darkened against the security lights outside. Six monitors face the table. Six Rottadam representatives - blooded, vetted, immaculately presented. First-Circle purebloods. Old money layered over older blood. Not royalty, but close enough to touch the crown without bleeding. “I met with the Council” I say at last. “Everything that needed to be said was said.” “And yet,” Elias replies smoothly, “Council decisions are rarely made without our input.” That, at least, is honest. The Rottadams are not rulers. They are mainly curators. Their genetic registry is the spine of pureblood society. Marriages approved or denied

Mandy’s POV The sound hits me all at once, so wrong my mind refuses it at first. For half a second my brain insists I heard wrong. Old equipment. My own pulse echoing back at me in the small, quiet room. The fire crackles softly to my left, steady, ordinary. A cruel contrast to what is happening beneath my palm. Not one rhythm. Not two. Three. Three distinct heartbeats, overlapping but separate. Each strong. Each undeniable. My grip tightens around the stethoscope without me meaning to. I adjust the angle, listening again, as if precision might correct the impossible. It doesn’t. I can still hear them. Steady. Insistent. Alive. Three heartbeats. Three. How is this possible? Everything about this pregnancy isn’t following protocol. Triplet gestation should be tearing her apart. Even Sancta physiology has limits. Multiple pureblood conceptions should destabilize the mother within weeks. Hemorrhage. Organ failure. Collapse. And she’s here. Breathing. Warm. I hear Grace aski

Chris’s POV I have not been home in over five years. Five years of running away from the inevitable. Five years away from my Rosebud. The estate grounds have not changed in all that time. Everything looks the same but it feels… different. The moment my feet hit the marble in our entryway, I feel the silence pressing in. No laughter is drifting from the sitting room. No light footsteps on the stairs. No voices calling my name because they heard the car and know it is me. A maid hurries forward, head bowed slightly. Respectfully. “Welcome home, Master Christopher.” Right behind her is another maid. At first I do not recognize her, and I am about to turn then I do. Betty, Rosa’s personal maid. I frown. Why is she in the general maid uniform? She freezes when she sees me. Her eyes flick over my face. Too fast. Too sharp. Then she drops into a stiff curtsy. “Sir.” That look is all wrong. “Betty,” I say, already moving toward her. “Where is Rosa?” Her hands tighten around the