Alex met Diego's hard gaze, unflinching, though his mind was already racing. The soft jazz music and the joyful chatter of nearby party guests faded away inside his mind, as if they didn't exist anymore. Diego emitted a dangerous vibe, but that didn't mean Alex would back down.

He nodded as if he accepted Diego's aggressive request, but he had no intention of obeying.

Fuck. A chill settled in Alex's bones, something rare and foreign. I have never felt fear like this—not in two hundred years. But Diego makes my skin crawl. Why?

Is it because of what Celeste has just told me? That Diego is much older, stronger? That was nothing but a warning, a plea not to engage, right? But now I see there is more to it, isn't there? Diego isn't just a powerful enemy. He is something else. Something worse than a vampire, maybe.

Celeste returned, her presence a cool balm in the charged atmosphere. Her hair swayed as she moved, her gaze flicking between the two men, reading the tension with practised ease.

"You don't need to do this, Diego," she murmured, quiet yet firm. "I'll handle him."

Diego's jaw tightened. "Are you sure?"

She smirked. "You know I can." Then, as if some private thought delighted her, she leaned in, lowering her voice just enough that Diego would catch it—but so would Alex. "I have an idea. Besides, you know Michael's orders."

"I don't give a fuck what that uptight archangel says," Diego replied in a bitter whisper close to her ear.

Alex's eyebrows lifted in amazement. Archangel? Whose name is Michael? Could he be the...? Oh, dear. A shudder ran through him. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed hard. A single bead of sweat trailed down his temple.

"Don't say that," she reprimanded him.

"He's a vampire. We should kill him like the rest of his species in the old-fashioned way now that the scroll is gone."

Diego knows about the scroll, too? Interesting.

"I have a better idea. Trust me. It's gonna be fun." She winked at him. "Watch and learn."

She then smirked back at Alex as if it were all a game to her.

Alex arched an eyebrow, his interest piqued, his wariness sharpening. What exactly is she planning?

His gaze flicked between them. They were close—too close for comfort. And yet they were not lovers. Celeste had told him she didn't love Diego. Alex believed her. But Diego? That was another matter entirely.

He exhaled sharply. They were hiding something. Something big, starting with what they were. But the mention of an archangel named Michael made that doubt suddenly vanish. Could they both be angels? She's good, but wicked and manipulative. And Diego's eyes are full of malice, and slit like a snake's. Not to mention that he just used the f-word. How could this be possible? Something's not right.

"Alex." Celeste's voice then was smooth, perfectly measured, slipping through the noise of the party as she approached him.

Alex forgot to fake a breath.

When she reached him, her expression was playful, her lips curling in quiet amusement.

His thighs tensed as he shifted his weight. There she goes again.

"I must admit," she said, voice clear enough for all the nearby guests to catch, "I truly enjoyed dancing with you." Then, with deliberate mischief lighting her eyes, she continued with a dramatic effect, "Almost as much as I'd love to reveal that we are, in fact, cousins."

The corner of his eye twitched. What is she talking about?

"I simply can't bear the burden of secrecy any longer. So, please, Alex—let's put an end to this before our closeness is terribly misunderstood. You wouldn't want that, would you, dear cousin?"

Alex went utterly still, frozen on the spot. What? Of all the ridiculous, mind-twisting games she could have played, this is what she comes up with? This is her brilliant plan?

She was toying with him—making a spectacle of him, again. She was enjoying every second of it. Her smirk deepened as whispers began to ripple through the guests around them. She'd made sure her words carried just far enough. She wanted an audience.

"What a shameless lie," Alex whispered harshly, just for her ears as he leaned forward to her. The tension in his shoulders made his already strong frame look even more imposing.

"No," Celeste countered, tilting her head with infuriating confidence, leaning a bit towards him as well. Her tempting, sweet scent travelled up his nostrils, earning him a couple of dilated pupils. "What's shameless is you dancing with me like you did. You earned this, Alex."

"But–" He barely managed to keep his voice down.

"The way you danced with me before was... wicked." Her whisper was like a blade wrapped in silk. "I might've enjoyed it, but it was... too daring for our audience. Now, play along. And call me by my name, you idiot. No more 'Miss Torres' from now on." She winked at him.

Alex clenched his jaw. His patience was slipping through his fingers like sand. His breath came out in slow, deliberate inhales, as though counting down in his head. He whisper-yelled, "Stop this madness this instant!"

"Is a vampire begging a hunter to end his suffering?" she whispered, voice dripping with irony. Her smile was dazzling. "Tell me, Alex, does this lie sting more than a stake to the heart?"

"Celeste," he ground out, desperate now. His lips parted just enough to show the sharp edges of his teeth, his patience hanging by a thread. "We're not cousins. I hate lies. Stop this."

Her expression shifted—just slightly. For the briefest moment, the teasing edge faded, replaced by something quieter, something almost sincere. She leaned even closer to him and whispered, "You'll thank me for this tomorrow, when you realise that Diego is sparing you tonight because of what I'm about to do. Trust me. Let me handle this."

Then, just as smoothly as before, she switched back to her performance, voice carrying through the air like a well-rehearsed song.

"You must admit," she said lightly, using the same kind of louder, indiscreet voice as before, "that you dislike Diego's presence at this party, my dear cousin."

She stretched the last three words just enough to make Alex want to evaporate on the spot. Then she flashed him a syrupy, insufferable smile.

"But you know it's not your call. I can handle myself just fine, dear. You should trust what a woman can do and who she befriends." She put her hands on either side of her hips and puffed her chest, just like a proud superhero.

Alex exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. She had more nerve than he could possibly stomach. Reckless and infuriating theatrics.

Just when Alex thought the night couldn't get any worse, the universe decided to test his patience and endurance once more.

Hellen, who had only just returned from what was undoubtedly a secret yet scandalous rendezvous with Roger, suddenly materialised at Celeste's side—her parents flanking her. And judging by their expressions, they'd overheard every damn word.

Roger was there too, and while the Brooks family looked bewildered, he looked downright sceptical, with a raised eyebrow. His sharp frown cut through the dim party lights, and Alex could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

Of course, Roger knew better. Alex had no living relatives—Carl E.D. Masters had seen to that long ago when he turned him against his will.

"Forgive me, Celeste," Hellen said, eyes wide with curiosity, "but did I just hear you correctly? You and Alex are... cousins?"

Alex barely had time to react before Celeste, ever the performer, launched straight into her next act.

"Yes," she confirmed without hesitation, voice rich with practised regret. "Distant cousins, actually. I know I should have told you, but... well, Alex insisted we keep it a secret."

She sighed dramatically, casting him an imploring glance, as if he were the one orchestrating this ridiculous charade.

"I'm sorry, Hellen," Celeste added. "I just couldn't keep it in any longer."

Alex swore internally. She was relentless.

"Now, Alex, don't look at me like that," she scolded sweetly, making sure her tone carried just enough remorse to sound convincing. "You know this is absurd. We should have told them, at the very least. Hellen is my best friend, after all."

"Of course, you should have!" Mr Brooks interjected, looking mildly offended. "I can't believe it! If I had known, I would have invited you to dinner every day, Alex! Now I feel like I've been a terrible host! A disgrace, really!"

And just like that, Mr Brooks was off on one of his famously impassioned tangents. He lamented about hospitality, about lost opportunities, about the social obligations of good, upstanding gentlemen. Hellen, Celeste, and his wife Mia exchanged knowing smiles, clearly entertained by his usual theatrics.

Meanwhile, Alex stood there, trapped, forced to endure this lunacy while Celeste basked in her triumph.

At one point, he flicked a glance at her. She was already watching him, her smile sly and victorious. She tilted her head ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow in silent amusement. She had told Diego this would be fun.

And it was—for her.

I bet she's loving every second of this. This is nothing but a game for her.

"Dear Lord!" Mr Brooks eventually exclaimed, as if he had stumbled upon the revelation of the century. "Now it all makes sense! To think, we assumed Alex's interest in Celeste was... well, something else entirely, something romantic. I'm sorry! I truly am! I let myself be swayed by rumours." He looked between them, clearly remorseful.

The guests around them started whispering similar comments.

Celeste waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, it's quite alright, Mr Brooks. Those rumours were unfounded. Alex has only ever looked out for me, that's all." Then, turning back to Alex with a saccharine smile, she added, "Isn't that right, coz?"

The way she emphasised the word sent a fresh wave of irritation down his spine.

When he hesitated, she winked, her expression full of unspoken warning.

Alex ground his teeth, forcing out the words, "Of course, Mr Brooks. I was just looking out for her. You have nothing to worry about."

Playing along tasted like swallowing glass. He was a straightforward, no-bullshit kind of man.

In the meantime, Diego's gaze and presence felt heavy and analytical, like that of a police investigator during the interrogation of a criminal.

When the Brooks family finally drifted away a few minutes later to say farewell to some guests who were leaving already, Alex let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

He had survived. Barely.

The party had begun to wind down, guests trickling out in pairs and small groups, murmuring their final words before slipping into the night. The air had cooled, heavy with the fading echoes of conversation and laughter.

Diego witnessed everything from a calculated distance, his arms crossed over his broad chest, silent and unreadable behind his dark glasses. He did not look pleased, but neither did he seem unsettled. If anything, he appeared patient.

Celeste said farewell to some guests and, coming to stand far too close to Alex, leaned in just enough for her breath to tickle his skin.

"I've won," she murmured, satisfaction curling around every syllable. "Now there's absolutely nothing you can do to make people believe that what Diego and I have isn't real."

Alex didn't flinch. He had already accepted that he'd lost this round the moment she spun her ridiculous cousin lie into existence. But he wasn't about to let her revel in it.

"That was never my objective tonight," he countered in a low voice.

Her amusement didn't waver. "Oh? And what, pray, was your objective?"

"Telling you the truth." He met her gaze steadily. "That I am what I am. That I'm not like the other vampires. That I know what you are... sort of."

She tilted her head, pretending to consider his words as if they weren't already known to her. "Ah yes, but I already knew that. Such a waste of time. You should always have a contingency plan, vampire renegade. Now, how about that deal we were about to seal?"

Her smile, sharp and knowing, enticed him.

Alex exhaled, barely having a moment to process before his gaze was drawn to Diego. He stood at the edge of the departing crowd, still as a statue, watching him through those infernal black lenses.

Then, slowly, when he made sure Celeste wasn't watching them, Diego mouthed three deliberate words: I will be watching you.

Alex swallowed hard.

"Why don't we wait for Diego to disappear?" he suggested.

She chuckled. "Fine."

A shrill, agonizing scream shattered the hum of the party, echoing off the walls like a banshee's wail. The voice was that of a middle-aged woman. Alex froze mid-step, his senses sharpening, his body coiled as the piercing sound stabbed through the calm.

Heads turned. Conversations cut short. Celeste's eyes darted toward him, alarm flaring bright in her glowing gaze.

"What's going on?!" she yelled.

Alex's stomach dropped. The sound wasn't unfamiliar. No. No. No. His breath hitched. If blood still pumped the way it once had, he would've gone pale.

Mrs Mia Brooks. The mayor's wife. Her voice trembled in his memory, now warped by pain and fear.

The guests scattered, rushing toward the source of the cry—toward the back garden. But Alex moved faster, driven by dread. He shoved through the French doors, his hand slamming the frame so hard it splintered. Celeste followed right on his heels, her pace lithe and determined, her breath sharp with anticipation.

The moonlight bathed them in silver as they tore across the dewy grass. His polished shoes crushed the gravel path and trampled the bed of white irises and delicate wildflowers without hesitation. Each step sounded like thunder in his ears.

God, no. Please, not her. Not Mrs Brooks!

She wasn't his mother, but he'd always cherished her like she was. A gentler soul from his past—one of the few humans he still allowed himself to care about.

Masters, if this is your game—if you touched her—

He reached a dense hedge and didn't hesitate. With supernatural strength, he ripped the branches apart, his hands raw with urgency. But there was no body. No blood. Just a cheap, black phone.

"What?!" His breath came shallow and fast. He squatted down.

"A phone with a... recording?" Celeste asked, crouching beside him. Her golden hair caught the moonlight like silk, but her eyes were hard, sharp. Ready.

"A burner phone, I guess," Alex muttered, snatching it up and standing tall again, though his hands trembled slightly. The plastic felt too cold.

Diego and Roger reached them next, flanking their sides like loyal sentries. Behind them, the mayor, Hellen, and several guests gathered, their faces pale and confused.

"What's going on here?" Mr Brooks asked, voice tight with concern. "I thought I heard my wife screaming in pain. But... where is she?"

"I don't know," Alex said, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He tapped at the phone, trying to extract anything useful from it, his thumbs rough against the screen. "There's this strange recording, but no data. No ID, no contacts—nothing."

Then, the screen lit up. A notification.

"A message!" Celeste exclaimed, her voice rising with tension.

Before Alex could react, Mrs Brooks suddenly emerged from the crowd, stepping beside her husband with an innocent expression. Her dress was pristine. Not a single scratch on her.

"What's going on here? Why did you rush into the garden, honey?" she asked, blinking wide, seemingly unaware of the chaos.

Everyone froze as they stared at her.

The air went still.

Alex stared at her, heart pounding in the hollow space where it shouldn't. She's... safe? Then what the hell is going on?

He tapped the message open.

Do you like my AI-generated scam, Alex Walker?
I know what you've been up to—and more importantly, who you've been spending time with.

Each word sank like a weight into his gut. The others leaned in. Celeste was right beside him now, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. The heat of her presence steadied him. Barely.

Didn't you learn my first lesson, boy? No attachment to mortals. You'll never find joy again—not while I breathe. You refused me when I gave you godhood, and now you'll suffer.

His maker's voice echoed in his head, dark and velvet-slick. The reminder of betrayal, of years of torment. Of the chain still wrapped invisibly around his being.

Come back to me and repent for defying me, your maker, your superior, your god. If you show true remorse, I'll spare you and make you my right hand, as you were meant to be.
How can you prove that you regret defying me? Easy. Drain from blood and life every single person you've grown attached to.

Alex's grip on the phone tightened, the plastic creaking in protest.

No heavenly ally can save you. They're nothing to me now that the scroll is mine. Now, be a good boy... or else.

Celeste's breath was shallow beside him. Her voice broke the silence. "What does that mean? Or else... what?"

Alex shook his head. "You don't want to know," he whispered, the words barely making it out past the weight in his throat.

Roger stepped closer. "What does it say, man?"

Another message. It popped up before he could speak.

Look behind the rose bushes on your left.

The moment Alex read it, the smell hit him.

Copper. Sharp. Metallic.

Blood.

He turned his head slowly, horror blooming. Celeste mirrored the movement. Their steps toward the roses were slow, heavy. Dread wound around his spine.

They pushed the bushes apart.

Celeste gasped, covering her mouth with trembling fingers. Diego, Roger, and Hellen appeared at their side seconds later.

Alex's fists curled, his entire frame rigid.

Hellen screamed, clutching Roger like she might fall apart. He held her, his face hardening as he stared at the body on the ground.

Limp. Bloodless. Mouth frozen in a silent scream.

Mr Fontana.

Alex's jaw twitched as rage surged beneath his skin, icy and electric. Masters, you son of a bitch.

Hello, my sugar cubes!

Will Masters get what he wants from Alex?
Will Celeste keep messing with Alex? Or will they form a powerful alliance to defeat Masters?
Will Diego do something to prevent Alex from being near Celeste? Or will he see Alex's worth?

Stay tuned to know more!

XOXO

Mar