The sun was gentle that morning, casting soft rays across the quiet suburb. Lysandra stood outside her new apartment, a straw hat atop her head and a small notebook tucked under her arm. Her plan for the day was simple: find suitable flowers for her little garden. Something bright. Something new.
She strolled toward the local plant store, tucked between a shop and an old bakery. The scent of soil, leaves, and blooming petals wrapped around her like a calming charm. She took her time, walking past rows of hibiscus, lilies, and white asters, trying to imagine which colors would match her future peace.
And then—
Her breath caught.
A familiar aura brushed against her skin like a breeze from another time. Protective. Warm. Comforting.
Kylan.
Her heart skipped as she turned toward the entrance. There he was—taller now, broader, but still with that same boyish smile and ocean-deep eyes. His presence hadn't changed. He always felt like a soft blanket in winter, someone she could always hide behind.
"Lys?" His brows lifted as he recognized her.
Her lips curved. "Kylan… I didn't expect to see you here."
"I should be saying that. You disappeared on your apartment." He smiled as he walked toward her. "You look... different. Softer."
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and shrugged. "I moved. Just wanted quiet."
"Coffee?" he asked gently, sensing she might need more than flower-picking today.
She nodded.
---
At the Coffee Shop
The place was cozy—wooden interiors, glass jars of biscuits on the counter, and faded love songs playing in the background. They sat by the window, coffee steaming between them.
Kylan stirred his drink. "Why did you really move out here? You always said you loved the city."
Lysandra looked down at her mug. "I just… needed air. The city was too loud."
He studied her silently. He knew she was lying. She always looked to the left when she told one.
Then his voice dropped, quiet but serious.
"Lys… have you been with him?"
Her eyes snapped up. "No," she whispered. "I haven't seen him."
A lie.
She knew it. And Kylan knew it.
Kylan leaned forward, reaching up to gently brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered as they skimmed the skin along the back of her neck. Her sundress had a low back, and she had forgotten how much it revealed.
His fingers stopped.
She froze.
A long silence passed between them.
Then his voice, calm but heavy: "He marked you."
Her entire body went still.
"As royal vampires do… to claim someone," he added. "And when I got close to you earlier, his scent—his magic—it flared. Even though he's not here, he's watching through that mark. He owns you, Lys."
Lysandra's breath hitched. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled her shawl to cover her back. Her eyes fell to her lap, and tears threatened to rise.
She clutched her chest, right where her heart hurt most.
"I saw him again," she said, voice hoarse. "He tormented me. Every time he comes… I can't think straight. I can't breathe."
Her hands tightened into fists.
"If you know a spell—any spell—that can stop me from loving him… then tell me. I would cast it in a heartbeat."
Kylan exhaled deeply, his expression softening.
"You don't need a spell," he said, taking her hands gently in his. "You need to stop running from your emotions. The more you push him away, the deeper you sink."
He looked at her with quiet honesty.
"Lysandra, you still love him. No mark made that happen. That feeling was always yours."
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "But I can't. He's marrying someone else. Madeline."
Kylan squeezed her hands, firm yet kind. "Then all the more reason to face him. Ask him to unmark you, if he truly plans to move on. That mark binds your soul to his. You won't find peace unless he releases you—or unless you understand what you really want."
Lysandra shook her head. "I don't know if I want freedom… or if I just want him to choose me."
"That's something only you can answer," Kylan whispered. "But running will never make that question go away."
She lowered her head again, struggling to breathe.
Kylan stood and walked around to her side of the table, kneeling gently beside her. He placed one hand over her clenched heart.
"You are not a loser for still feeling," he said softly. "And I'll always be here—no matter what you decide."
Lysandra nodded slowly.
She didn't speak. But the tear that slid down her cheek said everything.
The sun had dipped behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the towering black structure known as Vile Tower—a place few dared enter uninvited.
But Kylan wasn't just anyone.
His boots echoed through the dark marble halls as he ascended to the top floor, his aura tightly coiled around him. The guards glanced at him warily but made no move. They sensed his purpose. And perhaps, they too feared what would happen if he were stopped.
Without knocking, Kylan pushed open the door to Caveen's private quarters.
Inside, everything was still. The scent of aged books and dark wine lingered in the air. Caveen sat at his study table, bathed in warm amber light, dressed in a fitted black shirt with sleeves rolled up—casual, but regal. A leather-bound book rested beside a half-finished glass of red wine.
He didn't look up at first.
"Kylan," Caveen said with the faintest smirk, not even surprised. "To what do I owe this... theatrical entrance?"
"We need to talk," Kylan said firmly, his voice already edged with warning. "About Lysandra."
Caveen finally met his gaze—and the air between them thickened like a storm brewing in silence.
His smile faded. "What about her?"
Kylan didn't hesitate.
"Unmark her Caveen. Or should I say—Your Highness?" he bit out. "You're engaged. To Madeline. Why are you still claiming a woman you no longer have any right over?"
Caveen's jaw clenched as he slowly stood up, his eyes narrowing. "That is not for you to decide."
Kylan's voice rose, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "Then let her decide! Give her the choice to be free—give her the chance to be happy."
Silence fell for a long breath.
And then Caveen turned his back to him, walking to the bar cabinet where he poured another glass of wine. His hand trembled only slightly.
"Lysandra," he said slowly, "has no right to be happy… while I am alive."
Kylan stared at him, disbelieving.
"You're punishing her?"
Caveen didn't answer.
"You died once, and she gave up everything to bring you back," Kylan continued, voice cracking. "Even your unborn child—your future. And now you torment her every time she tries to live without you? Mark her without marrying her? Love her but chain her?"
He stepped forward, eyes blazing.
"She is not your toy, Caveen. She is not your shadow. If you do not intend to fight for her, then let her go."
Caveen finally turned, his expression cold as steel. "You think I don't know what she gave up? I feel it—every day. The blood that revived me still echoes her sorrow. She did not just sacrifice our child… she sacrificed us."
Kylan didn't waver. "Then honor that sacrifice."
Caveen's voice dropped, low and menacing. "And what—let you have her?"
"If she chooses me… then yes." Kylan said, eyes meeting his. "I'll wait. Even if it takes a hundred years. A thousand. I will wait until her heart forgets you. And I will never mark her unless she begs me to."
That struck deeper than Kylan expected.
A tense silence followed.
Then—
Crash.
Caveen hurled the wine glass across the room, shattering it against the wall. The crimson liquid splattered like blood down the obsidian stone.
"Get out."
Kylan didn't move.
Caveen's voice was a growl now, barely human. "GET. OUT. Before I kill you."
Kylan looked at him one last time. "I hope one day… you learn the difference between love and possession."
And with that, he turned and left, the door closing behind him like a final echo.
Caveen stood alone in the flickering light, shards of glass glittering at his feet, his chest heaving. He brought a trembling hand to his lips, where the memory of Lysandra's blood still lingered.
And the words returned to him.
She has no right to be happy while I'm alive.
Because if she ever did move on…
Then what was left of him would truly die.