Contos de Vampire sobre Plot Twists e Romances com Hypocrisy

The Clan Healer told me that without the vial of Progenitor's Blood, the Blood Blight afflicting me meant I had only seventy-two hours to live. But my husband, Miles, the new Duke of our world, gave the only vial of the precious cure to my adopted sister, Vivienne, the woman I had turned three years ago. "She's in agony from the rejection, Isolde. It's a pain you can't possibly understand." His tone was self-righteous, devoid of any concern for the patch of skin on my collarbone already turning to stone. I nodded, watching as the life-saving, dark red liquid slid down another woman's throat. I accomplished a great deal in the time I had left. As I signed the documents, the lawyer's hand trembled. "Are you certain you want to transfer everything, Your Grace? The territorial rights of a thousand-year-old clan..." I didn't hesitate. "Yes. To Vivienne." My adopted daughter, Lily, the girl I had risked everything to save, who was now forever frozen at the age of eight, cowered in Vivienne's arms, pointing at me and screaming, "Aunt Vivienne is my real mommy! You're the witch who turned us into monsters!" I offered no defense. "Yes, that's right. Be a good girl and listen to your new mother now." The Progenitor's Ring, the symbol of the clan's supreme authority, now rested on Vivienne's hand. "Oh, sister, you're too kind," she sobbed, her sobs a practiced performance. "I'll be sure to protect the family in your stead." I nodded. "You'll run things better than I ever did." I even signed away my control over the Elder Council, a council sustained by my own blood. For the first time in a century, a shadow of complex emotion crossed Miles's face. He stared at me,"Isolde, stop fighting. It's better this way. You need to rest." Yes. On my deathbed, I had finally become the perfect, submissive Isolde they always wanted. An Isolde who was about to turn to dust. The seventy-two-hour countdown had begun. I wondered, when I finally turned to ash,

I married my vampire husband ten years ago and gave him a half-blood heir, abandoning my career as a painter to become a full-time mother. Fortunately, my son inherited my talent. At just six years old, he held his first solo art exhibition, inspired by the theme "My Mother." But he never let me attend, and he never let me see his paintings. My husband said my presence would make Luke nervous---that I should stay home and do the housework as a good wife and mother, and wait for them to come back. I told myself he was just young and didn't know better, that he was only pushing back against my discipline, not truly rejecting me. Until the day I snuck into the gallery wearing a surgical mask pulled low. In the center of the crowd, my husband held our son's hand while tenderly pulling a woman in a red dress into his arms. He turned to the guests and announced: "This is Luke's mother---my wife." The three of them stood together, beaming with perfect happiness. And I---the one who'd stayed up all night setting up this exhibition---stood before the paintings while not a single person recognized me. That was when I finally understood. My seemingly gentle, caring vampire husband had long ago given our son a replacement mother. And I was nothing more than the human nanny who'd served her purpose by producing an heir.

Three days ago, my vampire fiancé, Clan Lord Raven Ashford, took his aide Vera on a private overnight trip to the southern border and gave her the seat reserved for his betrothed. He expected me to make a scene. I didn’t. I had stopped fighting a month ago. A year's worth of small surrenders had finally added up to something I could no longer ignore. He handed the border treaty I had negotiated myself to Vera, thinking I would appeal to the elders. Instead, I organized the handover documents and sent them over. He dismantled the territorial affairs I had managed for years, piece by piece, to pave Vera's way forward. I said nothing. I took the blame that was mine, accepted the cold looks, and let it all pass. At the banquet, he seated Vera beside him. He nodded more at her words than at mine. He thought I had finally accepted it, thought I was afraid to lose him. Then he came to me with offers. A manor in the south. Hunting grounds in the west. The family ring that should finally go on my finger. For the first time, he initiated these things himself, speaking as though granting me rewards. I asked for nothing. The dissolution papers he had already signed were buried among the documents he approved without reading. Those papers contained two declarations: the end of our betrothal and my departure from the clan. He never noticed. He still believed I was his betrothed, still waiting. I wasn't.