The Twins Take the Stage
No one in the supernatural world talked about anything but the Vellaria twins.
Every VIP jet, luxury yacht, and enchanted portal seemed to converge on the glitter-strewn capital of A Country. The venue—an ancient coliseum gilded in titanium and holograms—hummed with power: runes pulsed beneath the marble, chandeliers floated like captive constellations, and levitating cameras beamed the spectacle to every corner of the globe.
Lord Valus and Lady Merrine appeared first, draped in midnight silks that shimmered like oil-slick stars. Their opening speech was short, almost brutal in its honesty.
> "We have bled for our throne," Valus said, voice rolling across the stadium like thunder.
"Now our heirs will build something worth that blood," Merrine added, eyes gleaming.
A hush fell as the twins emerged.
Malko—all rogue smirk and storm-gray eyes—walked like a king who already owned tomorrow.
Maika—quiet, poised, her gaze sharp enough to cut diamond—followed one step behind, yet somehow felt two steps ahead.
Matching charcoal suits hugged their frames; the Vellaria crest, a silver phoenix, glinted at each lapel. They stopped center-stage, the world holding its breath.
Malko spoke first—charming, theatrical, promising moonshot tech and iron-clad alliances.
Maika's turn came. Her voice was softer but carried farther. She spoke of strategy, renewable blood-bank logistics, cross-species healthcare. Vision, discipline, compassion. The three words burned into every listener's mind.
When she finished, even the hardest rival nodded. The future has fangs—and a plan.
---
Santossa, hundreds of miles away.
Carl Landon signed the last contract of the day, head pounding. The TV chattered in the background until Sean burst in, hair disheveled, remote in hand.
"Boss, you need to see this!"
Carl didn't look up. "Another Vellaria PR stunt?"
Sean jabbed the power button. The feed zoomed on Maika's profile.
Carl's pen slipped from his fingers.
Honey-brown hair, the tilt of her chin, those mournful eyes—
Aster.
The wife he'd buried three years ago.
"Impossible," he breathed.
Yet the resemblance was surgical. Not just looks—the micro-expressions, the way she folded her hands, even the tiny scar above her brow…
"Get me her number," Carl ordered, voice raw.
Sean nodded and vanished like smoke.
---
Night draped the Lycan manor in velvet shadows. Carl sat alone, phone screen glowing blue against his palm.
Just call.
If it's not her, you'll know.
He exhaled and pressed dial.
Ring… ring… ring—
"Hello?" A velvet, cautious voice.
"Maika," Carl said, every syllable a tremor. "This is Carl Landon."
Silence spread like frost.
"Mr. Landon?" she answered politely. "If this concerns clan business, please speak with my father."
"No—it's personal." His throat tightened. "I… thought you sounded familiar."
Another pause—longer, colder.
"I'm sorry. I believe you have the wrong person."
Click.
Call ended.
Carl stared at the dark screen, heartbeat ricocheting. No recognition in her tone. No warmth. But the voice… it was hers.
Amnesia? Vampire awakening side-effect? Or something darker?
There was only one path left: meet her—face-to-face—and watch her eyes.
Because Aster's eyes had once held his entire world.
---
Weeks blurred into headlines.
Maika and Malko launched a biotech startup that tripled in value overnight.
Maika's engagement to Lord Draco—Valus's fiercest royal guard—hit every gossip feed. A calculated alliance. Zero rumors of romance.
Carl saw through the move instantly. A cage built from etiquette and obligation.
And the wedding date? T.B.A.
Which meant one thing:
He still had a window—narrow, razor-sharp—to steal an audience before vows locked her away forever.
He began plotting: corporate galas, philanthropic summits, any neutral ground where Lycans and Vampires brushed shoulders without claws.
One invitation finally surfaced—a cross-species medical conference in neutral territory. Valus's new blood-bank initiative would debut; the Landon Group was a top donor.
Carl accepted before the ink dried.
---
Preparations & Promises
Two days before the conference, Carl stood on his balcony, city lights burning below. He thumbed a faded wedding band—the only relic of a life stolen by prophecy and fangs.
> If it is her… I'll burn every treaty to bring her home.
If it isn't… maybe I learn why fate sent a ghost wearing my wife's face.
Either way, he would walk into a ballroom filled with predators and hunt for truth.
Far away in A Country, Maika laced her engagement ring, gaze distant.
Something about the approaching summit made her pulse race—an echo, a memory, a life that wasn't hers. She shook it off, unaware that destiny, love, and war were barreling toward collision.