All Chapters of Stolen Identity, Forced Marriage: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

8 Chapters

Chapter 1

The blood-infused elixir I crafted won the top honor at the Nocturne's Gala, but my adopted sister stole it and claimed the credit.She thought she'd won glory, not realizing it was a vampire betrothal contract to the Prince Kaelan—rumored to be impotent, barbaric, and monstrous.When the proposal arrived, my archmage fiancé, to "protect" her, hastily bound himself to her with a blood-mark and took her to his bed.She returned, the fresh mark on her neck a badge of triumph. "Sister, your man is mine now. You turn twenty-five in three days. If no one claims you, the Matchmaking Registry will toss you to some aging, wife-beating rogue mercenary..."She was wrong. I always had a choice.I walked to my parents, who were scrambling to clean up her mess, and declared calmly."If she refuses to marry Kaelan Nocturne, then I will."...The words tasted like ash and iron on my tongue.My father, the proposal parchment from House Nocturne still clutched in his hand, went utterly still.My mother

Chapter 2

The next afternoon, I went to the Silvered Thread, a jeweler known for catering to the nocturnal aristocracy.I needed a reciprocal gift for the Prince’s bracelet. A token.I remembered the rumors: Kaelan Nocturne’s eyes were said to be the color of frost over a deep, poisoned well. A piercing, unsettling green.I found a pair of cufflinks. They were shaped like coiled serpents, their eyes tiny, flawless emeralds.A practical, respectful gift.As I paid and turned to leave, a familiar, sugary voice pierced the quiet of the shop.“Oh, Marcus! Look! Elara is such a stubborn one. She refused your generous offer just yesterday, and now she’s buying you such an expensive token. I could never be so… clever.”Liana was draped on Marcus’s arm. He looked at the velvet box in my hand, and a smug, triumphant grin spread across his face.“And here I thought you were above such games, Elara,” he drawled. “Trying to buy back my favor? So you don’t have to face the matching ledger?”It was then I rem

Chapter 3

I stared at my palms. The skin was blistered, angry red, already weeping. I started to laugh.It was a raw, broken sound in the tense silence.Marcus froze. “Why are you laughing?” he demanded, a thread of unease in his voice.I was laughing at the colossal, tragic joke of my own life. For years, I had contorted myself, swallowed insults, borne injustices, all to preserve the shallow, conditional affection of my parents and this man.And for what?Every time Liana performed her fragile maiden act, they believed her. Without question. Blood relations and childhood promises meant nothing against her practiced tears.I was the villain in their story. The envious sister. The obstacle.I clenched my fists, the fresh burns screaming in protest, the pain a sharp, clarifying focus. I looked up at Marcus, my eyes dry and hot.“No,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I will not apologize. I have done nothing wrong.”His jaw went slack. My defiance was a language he no longer understood.“Mar

Chapter 4

Two days later, I stood in my family’s foyer, the weight of the gown heavy on my shoulders. It was a masterpiece of black velvet and silver filigree, beautiful and severe.The room was filled with wedding gifts from the Prince’s allies—caskets of aged blood-wine, chests of moon-forged chalices, ancient tapestries depicting scenes from the Long Night. A fortune in grim splendor.My parents approached me, their steps hesitant. My mother wrung her hands.“Elara,” my father began, his voice low. “About Liana’s… confession. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. A moment of youthful rivalry. To demand she humiliate herself at your wedding… it’s so harsh. Can’t you find it in your heart to be merciful? To be the bigger person?”The last, fragile hope I’d clung to—that they might see me, just once, on this day—shattered into dust.I had made excuses for them. For the empty seat where a dowry chest should be. For the lack of any familial blessing. I’d told myself they were distracted, forgetful.B

Chapter 5

All heads turned.He stood in the arched doorway, a silhouette against the gloomy daylight. Then he stepped inside, and the room seemed to grow colder, darker.Prince Kaelan Nocturne.He was taller than I’d imagined, his presence an absolute weight. He wore severe black, his only adornment the silver serpent cufflinks at his wrists—the ones I had chosen. His hair was the color of a raven’s wing, his skin pale as moonlight. And his eyes… those frost-green eyes found mine, held for a heartbeat, then slid to Marcus.He walked to my side. Not quickly, but with a languid, predatory grace that made everyone else seem to be moving through water.Marcus’s gaze locked onto the cufflinks. His own face drained of color, confusion and dawning horror warring in his expression.“What… what did you call her?” Marcus sputtered, the branding iron slipping from his fingers to clatter on the floor. “You’re Kaelan. You’re here for Liana! To force her! Well, she’s bound to me! The mark is fresh! You can’t—

Chapter 6

He was waiting again.I saw the silhouette against the iron gates of the Nightfall Citadel from my window, a persistent, wretched stain on the manicured gravel path. Three days. He had been there for three days, a ghost haunting the edges of my new life.“He is a persistent cockroach,” Ebony’s voice was a low murmur from behind me, his presence a cold comfort against the evening chill seeping through the glass.“He is nothing,” I said, my fingers tightening on the velvet curtain. “Just dust.”But dust has a way of settling where it’s not wanted. I had finally had enough. I turned from the window and strode down the grand staircase, my heels clicking a sharp, angry rhythm on the black marble. I pushed through the heavy oak doors into the courtyard.The evening air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and distant rain. He was there, just as I’d seen him. Marcus. He looked like a ghost of the man I’d once foolishly given my loyalty to. His fine clothes hung loose on a frame

Chapter 7

The reaction was swift.Within a minute, angry red welts, like sunburn blisters, erupted on the hand holding the fruit. He didn’t stop. He kept eating, chewing, swallowing with a grim, desperate determination. His throat worked, his eyes streaming, fixed on me.His breathing hitched, turned to a wet, choking rasp. He began to convulse, his body seizing as the phototoxins hit his human system, now sensitized by his recent, brutal surgeries. He collapsed to the gravel, foam tinged with orange pulp flecking his lips.As the Citadel guards rushed forward and the human medics were called, they rolled him onto a stretcher. His head lolled toward me as they lifted him. His eyes found mine, glazed with pain.“I hurt… like you did…” he gasped, each word a struggle. “Now… a chance…?”He saw my face. He saw no softening, no pity. He saw me turn my back, my hand finding Ebony’s. We walked into the dark mouth of the citadel without a single backward glance.He was back in three days.The medics had

Chapter 8

Liora was making a spectacle, and she was good at it. She wailed, she clung, she declared her pregnancy to the silent, judging hall. The whispers began, sharp and disapproving, directed at the human making a scene among the ancient and powerful.The story spilled out in her hysterical cries. After Marcus severed ties with her—symbolized by him stealing her protective silver and holy water—her welcome in his household had vanished. My human parents, finally seeing her manipulative nature, had closed their doors to her pleas. She’d been destitute.Then, she’d realized she was pregnant.It was her last card. Her only leverage. Even as Marcus tried to pry her off, recoiling in disgust, she clung to him with a ferocity born of sheer survival. The child was her ticket back in.The scene was a grotesque comedy. Marcus’s own father, a man deeply concerned with human social standing, pushed through the crowd, his face purple with humiliation. He couldn’t strike a pregnant woman, even one like L

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