“My fiancé, an heir to the ancient Stephen bloodline whose veins ran with eternal, freezing night, kept a public ledger for me on his feed every single day. The first time I accompanied him to a high-stakes gala, my nerves got the better of me and I mispronounced an investor’s surname. He posted that I lacked the poise of a proper immortal’s consort. “”59 out of 100.”” When I stayed late at the office revising blueprints with a male colleague, he wrote that the future Mrs. Stephen ought to know her boundaries and maintain decorum. “”30 out of 100.”” When I was hospitalized with a burning fever—my fragile human body collapsing under the suffocating, ice-cold aura of his estate—and failed to answer his texts within ten minutes, he claimed I was too self-absorbed to care for a partner. “”44 out of 100.”” He promised that the day I earned a perfect score, we would walk down the aisle, and he would grant me the dark, endless eternity of his blood. But in seven years, I had never once reached a passing grade. I had wept. I had raged. But every time, Conrad would simply take my trembling, fever-warm hand in his—his own skin as cold as polished marble—smoothing down my hair with practiced, predatory tenderness. “”The Stephen family expects a certain caliber in the woman who runs its household and shares our eternity, Willa,”” he would say softly, his crimson-tinted eyes flashing in the dim light. “”I only hold you to these standards because I want you to be ready to stand by my side forever.”” I believed him. To prove I was worthy of his blood and his name, I studied etiquette, mastered corporate strategy, and buried myself in design theory. I shaved down every sharp edge of my personality, sanding myself raw until I fit the precise mold of his desires. Yet for seven long years, I remained a failure in his eyes. Until the daughter of his family’s housekeeper returned from abroad. Tina couldn’t decipher basic CAD blueprints, so Conrad guided her fingers over the tablet, his cold breath brushing her neck as he taught her line by line. Tina drank carelessly and threw her arms around male executives at networking mixers, and Conrad merely laughed, pulling her into his side while calling her refreshingly spontaneous. Tina forgot to reply to his messages until two in the morning, and Conrad was the one sending frantic texts, gently asking if she had made it home safe. I watched him award a perfect hundred to another woman for the very first time. Only then did the truth finally pierce through the fog: perfection wasn’t impossible to achieve. He had simply never intended to give it to me. So, later, I gave him a score of my own. “”Zero.”” A creature like that—no matter how handsome, no matter how eternal—wasn’t worth keeping. … When Conrad slid the withdrawal form across the mahogany coffee table, Tina was curled up on the opposite sofa, twirling a polished silver director’s badge between her manicured fingers. The official promotion results for the Head of Design position weren’t scheduled to be announced until tomorrow, yet the badge had already found its way into her lap. I looked down at the document. My name was already printed in clean black ink at the bottom. All it needed was my signature. Conrad leaned back against the cushions, his tone smooth, devoid of any weight, wrapped in the quiet, menacing elegance of his true nature. “”Tomorrow morning, I want you to step up at the all-hands meeting, formally withdraw your bid for Design Director, and endorse Tina as your successor.”” I didn’t reach for the pen. “”Why Tina?”” Tina smoothed the edges of the appointment letter, adopting a look of delicate embarrassment. “”Willa, honestly, I told him I didn’t want it. But Conrad insists that with my years overseas, I understand the global luxury market far better than someone who’s only worked domestically. Please don’t hold it against him. It’s just bad timing that I came back when I did.”” I turned my gaze straight to Conrad. “”She doesn’t even know our core structural aesthetic for this fiscal year. On what grounds is she more qualified than me?”” Conrad’s brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation tightening his jaw. “”Tina just arrived. Why do you always feel the need to use your experience to intimidate her? If she doesn’t know something, she can learn. You’ve had this platform for years, Willa. Stepping aside for her once isn’t going to kill you.”” A dry, bitter laugh caught in my throat. Over the past seven years, no matter how flawless my drafts were, Conrad always unearthed an imaginary flaw. Then, he would broadcast his scathing score to his private network—a circle that included his ancient family elders, our corporate peers, and mutual friends in both human and high-society circles. Every single post became an open invitation for public ridicule. “”Failing again? Looks like the title of Mrs. Stephen is still out of reach.”” “”Seven years and he still can’t train her. Conrad has the patience of a saint.”” Eventually, people began running side bets on whether I would ever break past sixty. Conrad read every cruel comment, yet he never once stepped in to defend me. Whenever the humiliation burned too hot, he would merely cup my cheek with his freezing hand, offering that same patronizing calm: “”They’re just pushing you to improve. You should learn to take constructive criticism with grace.”” Over time, I became the premier punchline of our social circle. Yet here was Tina—utterly unqualified—and Conrad’s excuse for her was simply that “”she could learn.”” I picked up the withdrawal form and tore it in half, letting the pieces flutter onto the glass table. “”I won’t withdraw,”” I said, my voice steady. “”And I will not endorse anyone.”” Tears welled in Tina’s eyes on cue, spilling over her cheeks in dramatic streaks. “”Willa, if you resent me this much, forget it. I’ll tell the board tomorrow that I’m incompetent. That I don’t deserve to compete with you.”” She scrambled up, reaching down as if to gather the torn scraps of paper. But her elbow caught the ceramic mug on the edge of the table, overturning it. Dark, scalding coffee flooded across the blueprints I had spent three sleepless nights perfecting. Panic seized me. I lunged forward to salvage the drenched vellum. “”I’m so sorry! It was an accident!”” Tina cried, grabbing a fistful of napkins and smearing the wet ink across the page. The moment my fingertips brushed her sleeve, Tina gasped, tumbling backward onto the hardwood with an exaggerated thud, her elbow scraping against the base of the table. “”She was only trying to help you!”” Conrad roared, shooting up from the couch and sweeping Tina into his arms with unnatural, sweeping speed. “”What the hell is wrong with you, pushing her like that?”” He didn’t give me a fraction of a second to explain. His fingers clamped around my wrist like a vice of cold iron, dragging me across the marble floor toward the basement stairs. The sight of the heavy iron door sent a bolt of pure terror through my chest. “”Conrad, let go! You know I have claustrophobia!”” I struggled against his grip, my voice cracking. “”The fire when we were thirteen—my father died under that collapsed beam just so he could shove you out of the elevator! You know what dark, enclosed spaces do to me!”” His hand on the door latch hesitated. For one fleeting, pathetic second, I thought the memory of my father’s sacrifice—the human man who had given his life to protect the young vampire—had finally reached him. I grabbed his sleeve with both hands, pleading, “”Please, Conrad. Don’t do this…”” He looked down at me. His crimson eyes were cold stone. “”Your father saving my life doesn’t give you a free pass to hurt Tina.”” One by one, he pried my white-knuckled fingers from his coat, shoved me into the pitch-black basement, and stared through the narrowing gap. “”You come out when you’ve learned how to apologize.”” The heavy door slammed shut. The latch clicked into place, plunging me into suffocating darkness. My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. The walls seemed to pulse inward. Shaking violently, I fumbled through my pocket for my phone, desperate for a sliver of light. The screen illuminated my trembling hands, but the first thing that popped up was a fresh notification from Conrad’s feed. “”Willa acts out of petty jealousy, physically assaults a colleague, and shows zero remorse. Score: 0/100.”” The comment section lit up with familiar malice. “”Seven years and she couldn’t even keep a passing grade, now she’s down to zero?”” “”Conrad was never going to marry a mortal girl like that anyway.”” “”Can’t even tolerate Tina? She doesn’t belong anywhere near high society.”” Before I could lock the screen, the battery flashed red and died. Total, absolute darkness swallowed me whole. My fingernails scraped against the cold iron seams of the door. The air grew thin, my chest tightening until my knees buckled, and I crashed to the concrete floor, falling into unconsciousness. In the haze of my fevered delirium—intensified by the bone-chilling dampness of the basement—I tumbled backward through time to the year my father died. Conrad had looked like a boy of twelve, though he had already possessed the immortal blood. He had knelt before my father’s casket, weeping uncontrollably as he promised my mother: “”Mr. Howard gave his life for mine. I swear I will protect Willa forever.”” Yet year after year, he was the very person who threw me to the wolves. I don’t know how many hours passed. My body swung violently between freezing chills and blistering heat. By the time footsteps echoed on the stairs above, I didn’t even have the strength to lift my head. “”Have you realized what you did wrong?”” The iron door creaked open. Blinding light flooded my vision—a harsh contrast that made my eyes burn. I shielded my eyes on instinct, but my balance gave out, and I pitched forward. Conrad caught me by the shoulders. The moment his freezing palm brushed against my forehead, his expression shifted. “”Why are you burning up like this?”” He lifted me into his arms—effortless, as though I weighed nothing—and carried me up the stairs. Just as he set me down to call for a doctor, hurried footsteps came clattering down from the second floor. Tina ran into the living room, laptop clutched to her chest, her face pale. “”Conrad! The master files for the international design gala… they’re completely gone!”” Hearing her sob, Conrad’s hand froze over his phone. Tina glanced at me, hurriedly wiping away a tear as though trying to prevent a scene. “”Willa was locked downstairs the entire night. She wouldn’t know my password anyway. It must just be… an accident.”” The more she defended me, the more Conrad’s face hardened, driven by an instinctual desire to protect his chosen favorite. “”There was no one else in this house last night,”” he said, his voice dropping an octave into an icy register. “”Her jealousy is out of control. Who else would sabotage your work?”” He shoved me roughly onto the sofa, his fingers digging into my arm as he raised a hand to strike me. From behind the banister, Sugar—my little calico cat—darted out. She threw herself between us, arching her spine and hissing violently at Conrad, sensing the monster beneath his human guise. Tina shrieked, cowering behind Conrad’s back. “”Conrad, get it away from me! I’m terrified of cats!”” Without a second thought, Conrad swung his foot. The heavy kick landed squarely against Sugar’s small ribs. Her body flew through the air, crashing hard against the sharp wooden corner of the coffee table. A thin, dark line of crimson seeped into the pristine white wool rug. She twitched, trying desperately to drag herself toward me, before collapsing beside my outstretched fingers. The world went silent. I scrambled off the sofa onto the floor, pulling Sugar’s limp body into my chest, choking out her name over and over. “”Sugar… please, look at me. Sugar, wake up.”” A faint spasm ran through her tiny frame. Then, nothing. Sugar had been my mother’s final birthday gift to me after my father passed away. When she was small enough to sit in my palm, she would press her soft nose against my tears. And after my mother succumbed to illness, whenever Conrad’s public ratings kept me awake through the long, agonizing nights, Sugar was the only soul who curled beside my pillow, keeping me anchored to the earth. Now, her small body was still warm, but she would never nuzzle my hand again. “”Conrad, don’t be too angry with the cat,”” Tina murmured softly, peeking from behind him. “”She was only trying to protect Willa. And don’t blame Willa either… she’s sick. It’s not her fault she couldn’t keep her pet under control.”” Conrad cast a detached, disgusted look at the bloody rug. “”A stray that bites the hand that feeds it deserves whatever it gets.”” Without looking back, he took Tina’s hand and walked out the front door, leaving me in the silent, freezing room. He didn’t call a doctor. He didn’t ask if I could stand. On the table, my phone—plugged in by the housekeeper earlier—buzzed against the glass. I dragged my eyes to the screen. Another public update from Conrad. “”Willa steals work, unleashes a violent animal to attack guests, completely unrepentant. Score: 0/100.”” The comments below were a chorus of people urging him to call off the engagement with a mortal who couldn’t keep up. Not a single person asked what had actually happened. I sat on the freezing hardwood, cradling Sugar as the warmth slowly drained from her fur. And as her body went cold, the very last ember of love I held for the immortal monster named Conrad Stephen died along with her. … The day after I had Sugar cremated, Conrad called. The background was filled with the brassy music of a theme park and distant screams of laughter—sounds he didn’t even need to partake in, yet enjoyed with Tina. “”The downtown revitalization proposal for the Langford Group has to be finalized tonight,”” he commanded over the line. “”Hand it to Tina first thing tomorrow so she can lead the presentation.”” I looked at the thermometer beside my bed: 102.5. A dry laugh scraped my throat. “”I still have a fever.”” Conrad’s voice turned clipped and frosty. “”A fever isn’t an excuse for a mortal to shirk your responsibilities. This is Tina’s first major lead. You need to support her.”” Tina’s bright laughter floated through the receiver. “”Conrad, the coaster is boarding! Hurry up!”” “”Coming,”” Conrad replied, and hung up without another word. A dozen junior designers on my team had spent six grueling months pouring their souls into this bid. If I backed out now, Conrad would strip their bonuses to punish my defiance. I sat at my desk for fourteen straight hours, running structural simulations and redrawing elevations until the file was airtight. I arrived at the corporate boardroom twenty minutes before the pitch began. At the head of the conference table sat Everett Langford, the formidable head of the Langford Group, flipping through the dossier with an impassive face. Conrad and Tina sat opposite him. Conrad was leaning over Tina, sliding a straw into an iced matcha latte and handing it to her with an indulgent smile that he had never once bestowed upon me in seven years. Tina took a sip, flashing me a smug, triumphant smirk when Conrad wasn’t looking. My eyes fell on the silver director’s badge pinned to her lapel. I had bled for fourteen hours straight; she merely had to sit beside the immortal master of the house to inherit the fruits of my labor. Everett turned to the final schematic. His fingers paused, his sharp, dark eyes lingering on the complex load-bearing calculations. A flicker of genuine interest crossed his features. He looked across the table, his gaze locking onto mine. “”Did you draft these structural modifications yourself?”” Before I could part my lips, Conrad cut in smoothly. “”Director Tina oversaw the entire concept. Willa simply assisted with the administrative compiling.”” Tina stood gracefully, extending a manicured hand toward Everett with a polished smile. “”Mr. Langford, I’m Tina, the lead on this project. We’re thrilled at the prospect of collaborating with you.”” For seven years, whenever Conrad stripped my name from a project, I stayed silent out of fear of being labeled petty or difficult. Seven years of silence had convinced him that everything I owned was his to hand over to Tina. Not today. I pushed back my chair, stood up, and connected my tablet directly to the central projection screen. Looking straight at Everett, I spoke with complete clarity. “”This proposal was drafted, calculated, and completed entirely by me.”” Tina’s outstretched hand froze in midair. Conrad’s face darkened instantly, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, vampiric chill. “”Willa, know your place.”” I ignored him entirely, opening the version history on the screen. “”From the initial massing model to the final seismic retrofitting, every single file contains a timestamp linked to my personal cryptographic key. If Director Tina truly authored this design, perhaps she can explain the core load-distribution logic on slide seven.”” The room fell dead silent. Every executive turned toward Tina. Everett leaned back, his deep voice slicing through the tension. “”Go ahead, Director Tina. Enlighten us.”” Tina bit her lip, clutching the folder as she walked toward the screen. But within two minutes, she was conflating non-load-bearing partitions with shear walls. Everett’s brow arched higher with every stumble. He fired three pointed technical questions in rapid succession. Tina stammered, her face turning crimson, throwing helpless, pleading looks at Conrad. Conrad’s jaw ticked. He gave me a sharp, threatening nod. “”Willa. Step in and clarify.”” I stood still, my hands resting at my sides, and said nothing. Everett glanced between me, Tina, and finally Conrad. The temperature in the room plummeted. He snapped the dossier shut. “”If the project lead cannot even articulate the foundational engineering of her own proposal, I question whether Stephen Enterprises has any genuine respect for this partnership.”” Everett stood, motioning to his aides to leave. The Stephen family had already sunk tens of millions into the preliminary acquisition. If this deal fell through, their upcoming public offering was dead in the water. Conrad’s composure shattered. He stepped forward, blocking Everett’s path with unnatural speed. “”Mr. Langford, please. This is an internal miscommunication. It won’t impact the execution.”” He threw a lethal glare at me, grabbing my wrist with his icy grip and yanking me roughly in front of Everett. “”Willa, apologize to Mr. Langford immediately. Finish the presentation.”” I didn’t budge. Conrad leaned down, his fingers digging into my bruised skin, his voice a venomous hiss in my ear: “”If you want to keep your job, you get on your knees and beg him for another chance.”” Tina hurried over with red eyes. “”Mr. Langford, please don’t be too hard on Willa. She only acted out because she was desperate to prove herself.”” Everett reached the doorway. His gaze dropped to Conrad’s hand clamped painfully around my wrist, his expression turning dangerously cold. He looked past Conrad, fixing his eyes on me. “”If you want to save this deal, be at the Penthouse Suite of the Grandview Hotel at ten tonight. Bring the files.”” Tina gasped softly, covering her mouth. “”Willa is Conrad’s fiancée. Meeting a male client alone in a hotel room in the dead of night… if word gets out, the press will tear her apart.”” Conrad’s brow furrowed, but not a single word of refusal left his lips. To a creature who viewed humans as commodities, trading convenience was second nature. Everett ignored them both, his eyes never leaving mine. “”You come up personally to brief me, and I’ll give your firm one more shot.”” … After Everett walked out, the conference room emptied quickly. I grabbed Conrad’s lapel, staring up at him with raw disbelief. “”I am not going to his hotel room.”” Conrad looked down at me with profound impatience. “”The Langford contract dictates our entire IPO. You don’t have the luxury of saying no.”” “”He told me to come to his suite at ten o’clock at night!”” My voice shook with fury. “”Do you have any idea what that implies?”” His gaze drifted past my shoulder, thoroughly dismissive. “”This is Tina’s debut project. I won’t let your petty tantrum destroy her reputation.”” Tears burned the backs of my eyes. “”I designed the damn thing! Tina is the one who embarrassed the company! Why am I the one paying the price?”” Conrad’s temper flared. “”If you hadn’t publicly humiliated her over a meaningless title, Langford wouldn’t have walked out! You caused the fire. You put it out.”” Seeing the tears spill down my face, his tone softened slightly, slipping back into that insidious, familiar routine. He patted my head gently with a hand that had taken the life of my cat. “”Secure this contract, Willa. The day it’s signed, we’ll get married.”” A hollow ache ripped through my ribs. For seven years, I had begged for that promise of eternity. And now, he was using it as a bounty—offering me marriage and his blood only as a reward for walking into another man’s bedroom. Seeing my hesitation, Conrad sneered. “”Stop flattering yourself. A man like Everett Langford has seen every kind of woman in the world. He’s not going to touch you.”” Two hours later, I stood outside the Grandview Penthouse, dressed in the low-cut, silk slip dress Conrad had personally shoved into my hands before practically pushing me into the elevator. “”If you don’t secure the signature tonight, don’t bother coming back.”” I took a breath and knocked. The heavy door swung open. Everett stood in the entryway, wearing an unbuttoned black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. I stepped inside. The lock engaged behind me with a crisp, heavy “”click””, and every muscle in my body seized. Everett studied my rigid posture, a faint smirk touching his lips as he stepped closer, towering over me until my spine hit the entryway wall. He raised an arm, bracing his hand flat against the wall beside my head, trapping me in the warmth of his shadow. “”Does Conrad know you’re here?”” I turned my face away, clutching the hem of the silk dress. “”Yes.”” “”Did he approve?”” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “”He sent me.”” Everett stared down at me for several long seconds. Slowly, the cynical amusement in his dark eyes vanished, replaced by an icy, razor-sharp disgust—not aimed at me, but at the immortal monster who had cast me aside. He dropped his arm, walked over to the leather armchair, and sat down. “”The door isn’t deadbolted,”” he said, tapping a finger against the glass table. “”You can leave whenever you want.”” I blinked, stunned. On the table lay the downtown development contract—and beside it, a signed offer letter for the position of Global Creative Director at the Langford Group’s overseas headquarters. “”I invited you tonight to see just how far Conrad Stephen would go,”” Everett said calmly. “”If he had refused in that boardroom—if he had shown an ounce of backbone to protect his partner—I might have considered working with Stephen Enterprises.”” He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “”Instead, he offered you up on a silver platter just to protect Tina’s vanity.”” He pushed the employment contract toward me. “”Is that the kind of creature you want to spend the rest of your life answering to?”” I stared at the paperwork, paralyzed. “”Walk away from him,”” Everett said, his voice quiet, carrying an undeniable gravity. “”Resign from Stephen Enterprises. A talent like yours belongs in a room where your voice isn’t suffocated.”” I didn’t reach for the pen. Everett didn’t push. Instead, he slid his phone across the table. “”Still clinging to hope? See for yourself.”” On the screen was a screenshot of Conrad’s feed, posted twenty minutes ago. “”Willa is used goods. Score: 0/100. A woman with no self-respect will never step foot into the Stephen family.”” The comments were a cesspool of vile congratulations. “”Finally saw through that gold-digger!”” “”Good riddance. Who’d want someone so desperate?”” “”Hey Conrad, if you’re done with her, pass her number my way. I’ve got a few projects she can pitch in private.”” My phone began to vibrate violently in my clutch. Notification after notification flashed on the screen—all from Conrad: “”Did Langford sign?”” “”Send me a photo of the signature immediately.”” “”Don’t blow this.”” Not a single word asking if I was safe. The last microscopic shred of hesitation evaporated into ash. I picked up the fountain pen, leaned over the table, and signed my name on the Langford contract in clean, bold strokes. “”I accept the position.”” Everett took the signed document, a rare look of genuine admiration softening his features. “”Flight leaves for London tomorrow at eight in the morning. Our international division needs a leader.”” I looked him in the eye. “”I won’t let you down.”” The next morning, the sun broke through the grey horizon as I arrived at the terminal, carrying a small velvet urn containing Sugar’s ashes in my bag. As the final boarding call echoed through the concourse, my phone buzzed frantically with incoming calls from Conrad. I didn’t answer a single one. His final text read: “”Did Everett sign the damn contract or not? Answer me!”” I opened the feed, navigated to his profile, and typed out my first and final rating for him: “”Conrad Stephen lacks integrity, vision, and basic human decency. Score: 0/100.”” “”As of today, I’m done with you.”” I hit post, removed the SIM card from my phone, snapped it cleanly in half, and walked through the boarding gate without looking back.” “
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