After dinner, Stella gently tucked Bella into bed, brushing a strand of hair from the little girl's peaceful face. Once Bella was settled, she quietly stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut with a soft click.
Rocco was already waiting in the living room, sprawled on the couch with a contemplative look on his face. Stella dropped onto the couch beside him, letting out a tired sigh.
"Your boss was at the restaurant," Rocco said casually, but there was an edge to his voice.
Stella frowned, turning to him. "What was he doing there?"
Rocco gave her a pointed look, tilting his head. "He came to meet your husband."
Stella's brows furrowed in confusion before realization hit. She groaned, throwing her head back against the couch.
"Let me guess," she muttered. "He thought you were my husband?"
Rocco smirked. "Bingo."
Stella cringed, making a disgusted face. "Ew. Gross. That's so disturbing."
Rocco chuckled, shaking his head. "I told him I wasn't. But then, he asked where your husband was."
Stella's expression hardened slightly. "And what did you tell him?"
Rocco leaned forward, watching her closely. "I told him the truth. That he's dead. But—" He paused, narrowing his eyes at her. "You told the whole world Simon is alive, didn't you?"
Stella stayed silent.
Rocco let out a disbelieving huff. "Stella. You told the world that Simon is alive?"
"What's wrong with that?" she shot back, arms crossed.
Rocco ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing's wrong, I just thought…" He hesitated, then exhaled. "Maybe you'd move on. Find someone new."
Stella's lips pressed into a thin line. "You're the one who said he could stay alive with me, remember?"
Rocco held her gaze, then finally nodded. "Yeah. I did."
A heavy silence stretched between them before Rocco changed the subject.
"How did Noami's transition go?"
Stella sighed. "She's handling it, but she's still… sensitive. Blake is still keeping her in Delour until she stabilizes."
Rocco nodded, leaning back against the couch. "That's probably for the best."
A comfortable silence settled between them after that. Eventually, Rocco stood, stretching. "Alright, I'm heading out. Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone."
Stella rolled her eyes. "No promises."
With a final glance at her, Rocco left.
Stella lingered in the living room for a while, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Then, finally, she got up, made her way to her room, and let sleep take over.
The next day, Stella stormed into Simon's office, her fury barely contained. She slammed the door shut behind her, her green eyes burning with rage.
"What the hell is your problem?" she snapped, striding toward his desk.
Simon opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could utter a word.
"Yeah, my husband is dead. And yeah, he will always be the one for me. So you better keep your antics in check," she seethed, her voice sharp and unwavering. "I am not one of your playthings, and I never will be."
She stepped closer, invading his space, her presence crackling with anger.
"No matter what happens, I will hate you," she continued, her voice steady with conviction. "And—" She suddenly stopped, a thought slamming into her like a freight train. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. What the hell were you doing in the black market?"
Simon exhaled, his expression unreadable. "I'm a vampire."
Stella let out a sharp scoff, shaking her head. "I don't believe you."
Before she could blink, Simon moved.
Faster than humanly possible, he had her pinned against the wall, his hands gripping the space beside her shoulders. His eyes blazed red, his fangs elongating as they gleamed in the dim light.
Stella's breath hitched.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she stared at the undeniable proof before her.
This isn't a coincidence.
There has to be something more.
Her mind raced, a desperate prayer forming in the back of her head.
Please be pureblooded. Please, please…
"How are you a vampire?" she whispered, locking eyes with him.
Simon's jaw clenched before he answered. "I was turned."
The words hit her like a knife to the gut.
Hope shattered inside her, splintering into pieces she couldn't pick up.
She had been foolish to think—just for a second—that maybe… just maybe…
"My girlfriend and I were happy," Simon continued, his voice low, almost distant. "Then we broke up. Not long after, I got into an accident… I died. And that's how I turned into a vampire."
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Then he said something that made her stomach drop.
"Every time I look at you, you remind me of her," Simon admitted. "But you're… a better version of her. And I can't help but look at you."
Stella felt something inside her crack.
Her lips parted slightly, her breath uneven.
This was not what she wanted.
Not at all.
"So you were human before?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
Simon exhaled deeply and nodded.
Stella inhaled sharply.
"But that doesn't change what you did to me," she said, her voice hardening again, her anger resurfacing like a raging storm.
"I know, and I'm sorry," Simon said, his voice unusually sincere. "I actually wanted to apologize for whatever I did. I was hoping we could at least be acquaintances—maybe even friends."
Stella frowned. Why?
Why the sudden interest in friendship?
Her mind raced, but then a thought struck her—maybe this was her chance. A chance to find out why he looked exactly like Simon. A chance to uncover how he had changed.
"Why?" she asked, her suspicion evident.
Simon's lips curled slightly. "You're smart," he said simply. "And I like smart people on my side, not against me."
Stella hesitated before giving a small nod.
"I'd like to leave now," she said.
Simon stepped aside without protest, and without looking back, Stella walked away—her thoughts more tangled than ever.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, and Stella's heartbeat faded into the distance, Simon's smirk stretched into something wicked.
He lingered by the window, watching the city writhe beneath him, the streets pulsing with fleeting, fragile life. His fingers drummed against the glass—patient, calculated, like a predator savoring the first scent of blood.
She had believed him. Swallowed the carefully spun lie without even choking on it.
The only truth he had given her was that he was a vampire.
Everything else—his past, his regrets, his so-called sincerity—was a fabrication. A story meant to pacify her, to make her let her guard down.
Telling her the truth would have been reckless. But giving her just enough to trust him? That was the first step in tightening the noose.
She had walked into the web willingly.
And now, she belonged to him.
A slow, dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and dangerous. The dim light cast eerie shadows over his sharp features, the red in his eyes gleaming like embers in the dark.
She didn't know.
She didn't understand.
He wasn't just weaving a plan.
He was orchestrating her downfall, her undoing—pulling her deeper into a fate she wouldn't escape from, even if she tried.
Even if she begged.
Simon ran his tongue over his fangs, hunger curling deep in his gut, but this wasn't about blood.
This was about possession.
And she was already his.
"Oh, little girl," he whispered darkly, his voice dripping with something cruel, something inevitable. "You have no idea what you've just walked into."