Whenever the holidays rolled around, Helena would loan me out to her single girlfriends like a designer coat they couldn’t afford to buy themselves. The excuse was always wrapped in pretty, high-society altruism: “”Women supporting women, Ian. Just helping the girls survive their family interrogations.”” Her friends, naturally, were thrilled. Their families, however, were not. Some old-money matriarchs took one look at my mortality and background and practically hurled their silver service in my face. Others saw through the charade within ten minutes and had their security escort me down the driveway before dessert was even served. Every time I tried to draw a line, Helena would wrap her arms around my neck, her skin radiating a chilling, immortal cold, her voice like warm velvet against my collarbone. “”It’s just one dinner, sweetheart. When this season is over, and you are finally ready to receive my blood and share my eternity, we’ll finally set a date. Just you and me.”” So for five years, I never spent a single holiday with the woman I loved—the ancient, aristocratic creature who held my heart and my fragile mortality in her palm. This year, on Labor Day weekend, I took an open-handed slap across the cheek from an oil heiress’s drunken father. I drove back to the city with my face throbbing and my eyes stinging with humiliated tears, desperate to find Helena, desperate for the immortal comfort she always promised. I found her on the terrace of her penthouse, surrounded by her inner circle of powerful, centuries-old blood-kin and elite mortals. Through the cracked glass door, I heard someone laugh. “”Seriously, Helena? You really don’t care that the girls drag your human boyfriend home to play house?”” Helena tapped the ash off her cigarette, leaning back with a careless, amused tilt of her head, her crimson-flecked eyes catching the moonlight. “”Why would I care? Every time they haul him off for the weekend, it frees up my schedule to take Chase to the family estate.”” A chorus of snickers rose into the humid night air. “”God, Helena, you’re diabolical. Two birds with one stone. And if the mortal press ever catches wind of Chase, you can just say Ian stepped out on you first, his fragile human lifespan running out of its utility.”” My breath seized in my throat. My mind went blank, the cold reality settling over me like dirty snow. Two days later, she asked me to accompany another friend for a holiday dinner—Maeve Cornell. At the Cornell estate, Maeve’s mother looked at me across the mahogany dining table, slipped a vintage emerald signet ring off her own thumb, and handed it to me. It was an heirloom, she said gently, passed down only to the man who would marry into the Cornell name. In the past, I would have politely declined in private, terrified of crossing a line and angering Helena. This time, my hands shook for only two seconds before I slid the heavy gold band onto my finger. … When I pushed open the door to Helena’s penthouse after leaving the Cornell estate, she was lounging on the sectional, an expectant smile on her lips as if she had been counting down the minutes for my return. “”You’re back,”” she said, her tone smooth and patronizing. “”Rough night among the mortals?”” I felt nothing. No warmth, no relief. Around her, the rest of the pack was watching me with veiled smirks and darting eyes. “”Wait, he didn’t get slapped this time?”” someone murmured. “”I thought Maeve Cornell couldn’t stand people invading her personal space.”” “”Damn it,”” Chase groaned from the corner, leaning against the marble bar with a glass of scotch. “”I had fifty bucks on him getting kicked out before soup. Helena, your read was totally off.”” Helena didn’t look at Chase. She just let her gaze trail lazily over my unbruised face and unwrinkled collar. “”Fine,”” she said, taking a sip of wine. “”Consider it my loss.”” Her voice was weightless. But inside me, the temperature dropped to absolute zero. They were running a betting pool on me. They were sitting in this million-dollar living room, drinking vintage Burgundy, wagering on whether Maeve Cornell would humiliate me. There was no guilt in Helena’s eyes. No concern over whether I was bruised, shaken, or exhausted. Just the faint annoyance of someone who had lost a casual round of poker. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, turned, and made for the hallway. A hand suddenly caught my wrist, fingers digging into my skin with an inhuman, biting strength. It was Chase. “”Hold on,”” Chase said, his voice dropping into something sharp and alarmed. “”What the hell is that on your hand?”” His grip tightened, yanking my fingers upward into the track lighting. The room instantly died. The casual laughter dried up, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence. “”Is that… the Cornell emerald?”” Sabrina breathed, leaning forward from the couch. “”The one valued at nearly a million dollars?”” “”The heirloom ring reserved strictly for their future son-in-law?”” another voice whispered. “”What the hell is Maeve playing at?”” Even Helena’s careless posture stiffened. Her eyes locked onto the deep green stone on my finger, her brow knitting in sharp suspicion. Only then did I fully understand the lingering, enigmatic look Maeve had given me when I let her mother put the ring on my hand. “”Did you steal it?”” Chase suddenly snapped, his voice shrill. “”Or did you run some pathetic scam on them?”” The tension in Helena’s face visibly smoothed out at that suggestion. A look of tired, maternal condescension washed over her immortal features. “”Ian,”” she sighed, setting her wine glass down with a delicate click. “”I told you I was going to make you one of us eventually. You don’t need to resort to low-class theatrics just to save face.”” The rest of the room let out a collective breath, the mockery returning in full force. “”Right? For a second I thought the Cornells had lost their minds.”” “”Imagine thinking an old-money dynasty would actually look twice at a mortal scholarship charity case.”” “”Maeve probably offered it as a joke to see if he’d have the audacity to take it. And he did.”” The snide remarks washed over me like toxic rain. It had been like this from the very beginning—from the day Helena’s ancient family foundation plucked me out of rural poverty to pay for my tuition, right up until I became her live-in mortal pet. She had never explicitly treated me like dirt herself. But she had never once stopped the world from doing it to me. She had engineered it. Every plate of food thrown at my chest, every heavy crystal tumbler shattered against my shoes, every bitter family fight I had absorbed on behalf of her pampered, immortal socialite friends—it had all happened because she gave them permission. I used to tell myself she was helpless against the expectations of her bloodline and social class. I told myself she couldn’t shield a fragile human from everything. Until tonight. At the Cornell dinner, Maeve’s father had casually mentioned running into Helena at the Bradford estate earlier that week—introducing Chase to the board as her official fiancé. Mr. Cornell had even sounded mildly impressed. “”Helena’s got iron in her spine. Shut down every single whisper of dissent in the room.”” It was in that quiet dining room, listening to an old man praise Helena’s fierce protection of the man she actually wanted, that the illusion shattered. When an immortal truly loves someone, they pave the road for them. They take the hits. They silence the room. All that talk about “”family pressure”” and “”immortal preservation”” had never been real obstacles. They were just polite excuses for a lack of respect. I was never in her future. I was just the decoy she kept around to absorb the damage while she played with mortals and immortals alike. “”All right, that’s enough,”” Helena said, stubbing out her cigarette in the glass dish. It was the first time she had ever told her friends to stand down, but it wasn’t out of kindness. “”Ian, the Cornells are out of your league. Take the ring off. I’ll handle returning it to Maeve so you don’t embarrass yourself further.”” She reached for my hand. I pulled my arm back, covering the emerald with my other palm. Surprise flickered across Helena’s face. “”What? You’re refusing?”” “”I don’t feel well,”” I muttered, my stomach churning with sudden, violent nausea. “”I think I ate something bad.”” Helena studied me. For a second, her crimson gaze softened, and a memory flickered in my mind—a time, years ago, when a single whisper of a headache from me would make her cancel meetings just to sit by my bed with tea, her icy hand soothing my fevered brow. Then her lips curled into a faint, derisive smirk, shattering the ghost of that memory. “”Stomach too delicate for Cornell-grade catering?”” The blood drained from my cheeks. Helena stepped closer, pried my stiff fingers open, and slid the heavy gold ring off my finger without breaking a sweat. She tapped my cheek twice with the back of her manicured, ice-cold fingers. “”Go sleep it off.”” I don’t remember walking down the hall. I barely made it to the guest room before the nausea twisted into a jagged, blinding cramp in my abdomen. It doubled me over on the edge of the mattress, the pain so sharp I couldn’t even summon the strength to order an emergency pharmacy delivery on my phone. Minutes bled into an hour. The screen of my phone lit up on the nightstand, vibrating against the wood. It was Maeve. Her voice was quiet, cultured, and surprisingly gentle. “”Helena just had a courier return the ring to me. Did you really want to give it back?”” I could barely draw enough breath to speak. “”Maeve…”” She caught the strain in my throat instantly. “”What’s wrong with you?”” “”Stomach… something I ate.”” There was a brief pause on the other end, the faint rustle of a coat, the quiet thud of a car door. “”Twenty minutes,”” Maeve said calmly. “”Go down to the lobby and get the package I send. We’ll talk after you’re on your feet.”” Tears tracked silently into the cotton of the pillow. I lay there, hollowed out by the sheer contrast of it all. Twenty minutes later, gripping the wall for support, I took the elevator downstairs. The penthouse floor was completely dark and quiet now; the party had dispersed. But as the elevator opened into the main vestibule, I froze. Helena was sitting on the low bench in the entryway, the harsh overhead lights cutting sharp shadows across her ageless, porcelain face. Between her fingers was a paper pharmacy bag. Sticking to the brown paper was a pale blue Post-it note, bearing elegant, unmistakable handwriting: “”Take care of yourself.”” Helena’s face was darker than I had ever seen it. “”What is this?”” she asked, her voice dangerously low. I stared at her. “”Who’s the little bitch you’re sleeping with, Ian? Having prescription anti-nausea meds sent directly to my private lobby?”” She balled up the bag and threw it straight into the metal trash chute beside the door. “”You can’t go five minutes without female attention? You’re a grown man—you can’t order your own damn medicine?”” “”It was just a favor,”” I rasped, leaning against the wall, my ribs aching from the cramps. “”I was sick.”” She could hand-feed Chase his organic vitamins, sweet-talking him into swallowing pills with fresh orange juice. But an acquaintance sending me stomach medicine was an unforgivable betrayal. To Helena, my exhaustion looked like defiance. Her temper, always simmering beneath her polished, immortal exterior, snapped. She reached for the heavy crystal ashtray on the console table and hurled it directly at my head. “”Crack.”” The blunt glass caught the edge of my temple. A sharp split opened against my skin, warm human blood immediately trickling down the side of my cheek. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t dodge. Part of it was that my body had simply given out. The other part was memory—the four weddings Helena had promised me over the last five years, and the four times she had cancelled them under the guise of “”immortal discretion.”” The first time, the venue supposedly double-booked; everyone called it bad luck. The second time, an elder of her coven passed away; the family stared at me like I was a harbinger of death, muttering that my fragile mortality brought a curse into their bloodline. The third and fourth times, coven politics and board emergencies got in the way. By then, the entire immortal social register knew the score. I wasn’t the future husband; I was the pet that couldn’t be shown off in daylight. When Helena’s friends dragged me to their family dinners, drunk immortals would corner me in the bathrooms, asking how much I charged for “”private services,”” shoving me against tile walls, testing how much a human body would tolerate before breaking. None of those weddings were ever going to happen. She never intended to turn a mortal into a vampire; she just wanted to keep me dangling on a string until I withered away. Helena blinked, staring at the blood dripping from my jawline. Her anger receded slightly, replaced by an uneasy hesitation. “”Why didn’t you move?”” Her voice dropped an octave, almost coaxing. “”Come here. Let me clean it up.”” Whenever I came back bruised from her friends’ houses, she would dress the cuts herself with sterile gauze and expensive balms. I used to think it was tenderness. I knew better now. She just couldn’t let me be seen looking like domestic evidence. I stepped around her outstretched hand, knelt by the wall, and fished the crumpled pharmacy bag out of the trash. Helena’s mouth opened to speak, but her phone buzzed sharply from her clutch. The screen lit up on speaker. “”Helena, babe? Don’t waste your breath on him. The table’s waiting for us at the club.”” My breath caught in my throat. My fingers trembled against the paper bag. “”You’ve had him on the line this whole time?”” I whispered. Helena’s jaw tightened. “”Yes.”” She hadn’t been waiting up out of suspicion. She had just been on her way out the door to spend the night with Chase. Chase’s voice drifted through the speaker again, whiny and demanding. Helena threw a troubled, calculating glance in my direction, lingered for a fraction of a second, and then turned on her heels and walked out the door. The heavy deadbolt clicked shut behind her. I stood there for a long time, listening to the hum of the air conditioning. I dragged myself to the kitchen and pulled open the massive stainless-steel refrigerator. There wasn’t a single bottle of plain water inside. Every shelf was packed with cold-pressed juices, artisanal sodas, and gluten-free pastries—everything Chase loved. I turned on the sink, cupped my trembling hands beneath the faucet, and swallowed the pills with metallic tap water. It scraped down my dry throat like gravel, leaving behind a bitter, nauseating trail. I wondered how many immortals had been listening on that open phone line. How many of her friends were laughing right now. The phone rang in my pocket. It wasn’t Helena. It was my older brother, Connor. “”Did you cheat on her?”” Connor roared the second I picked up, his voice cracking with panic. “”Do you have any idea how many people are texting me right now, laughing at me?!”” “”Connor—”” “”Have you lost your damn mind?! Who paid my bail when I got wrapped up in that shady logistics scheme? Who’s paying for Mom’s clinical trial drugs?! You march yourself to Helena right now and get on your knees and apologize!”” “”I didn’t cheat,”” I whispered, my voice breaking. “”Connor, she’s the one stepping out on me. She’s bringing another man to her family estate.”” “”Then be grateful, you idiot!”” Connor snapped. “”She’s been more than generous to this family! So what if there’s a Chase—?”” He abruptly cut himself off. A terrible, icy shiver ran down my spine. “”You knew?”” My hand shook so violently the phone nearly slipped. “”Connor… you knew about Chase?”” I desperately wanted him to say it was a slip of the tongue. I wanted my own flesh and blood, the only family I had left, to tell me he hadn’t known. Instead, my brother scoffed, callous and impatient. “”If you already knew, why the hell aren’t you working harder to keep her happy? Look at your reputation out there, Ian! Everyone thinks you’re damaged goods. Who else is ever going to take you in? Cheating on an immortal patron now is suicide!”” Every word was a blade, twisted into the exact places I had tried to keep soft. “”Listen to me, Ian. Helena just set me up with an interview at an elite equity firm. And Mom’s specialized nursing fees went up twenty percent this month. Swallow your pride. Just take it.”” I couldn’t speak. A minute later, I opened my banking app, pulled up the train ticket I had secretly bought to visit our mother, and hit “”Refund””. Years ago, it had been Helena who walked into our destitute town, offering to pay my tuition, covering my mother’s hospital bills, showing me a tenderness I had never imagined existed. I thought it was grace. But grace from immortals like Helena always came with an itemized invoice paid in human soul. The first time she loaned me out to a friend was right after she used her influence to keep Connor out of prison. The day she agreed to fund my mother’s experimental oncology drugs was the exact day Chase moved into the guest suite. In Helena’s eyes, this was never a relationship. It was a transaction. My phone chimed with a text from Helena: “”You heard your brother. Stop acting like a martyr. You have to cover for Sabrina this afternoon at her family’s country club. Don’t embarrass me.”” I stared at the glowing screen, my vision blurring. That afternoon, Sabrina picked me up in her Porsche. Her family was predictably cold, greeting me with polite disdain, but at least no one threw a glass at me. When the lunch ended, I walked Sabrina back to her car, desperate to just go home and sleep off the lingering fever. Just as I reached for the door handle, a heavy hand grabbed the back of my collar and violently yanked me backward. “”You piece of trash! I’m Sabrina’s boyfriend!”” Before I could turn around, a fist slammed directly into my cheekbone. The world went black for a split second. I hit the gravel driveway hard. Through the ringing in my ears, I could hear Sabrina’s frantic, theatrical voice. “”Troy! What are you doing here?”” “”You’re having lunch with your side piece and you didn’t think I’d find out?!”” Sabrina didn’t explain. She didn’t say, “”Helena set this up.”” She didn’t tell him I was just a placeholder. She just stood there, clutching her designer bag, watching as Troy kicked me repeatedly in the ribs, his heavy boots knocking the wind out of my lungs. The cut on my temple ripped open again. Warm, sticky blood poured over my eyebrow, blinding my left eye. Through the red haze, I saw a familiar black Maybach idling near the clubhouse gates. Helena was standing beside it. For a single second, the sheer terror and fury on her face looked real—the raw concern I hadn’t seen in years. She took two hurried steps toward the driveway. Then Chase leaned out of the passenger window, reached for her wrist, and whispered something in her ear. Helena stopped dead in her tracks. She stood there, her expression curdling into something complex, distant, and cold, watching Troy drive his boot into my stomach one last time. It wasn’t a hallucination. Because the Helena of my daydreams would have run to protect me. The real Helena just stood by her car, waiting for the spectacle to finish. Once Troy had exhausted himself, Sabrina dragged him away toward the clubhouse. Only then did Helena walk over. She didn’t say a word. She gripped my arm with her icy fingers and hauled me off the gravel, shoving me into the backseat of her car. She didn’t take me to an emergency room. She called a private concierge doctor to the penthouse, who stitched up my head under local anesthesia and taped my cracked ribs. I retreated into sleep like a wounded animal, using the darkness to escape the throbbing agony. In my feverish haze, I heard Sabrina’s voice drifting from the hallway outside my bedroom door. “”Helena, Troy really didn’t mean to go that far. Just tell me what the medical bills are, I’ll write a check.”” Helena’s voice was smooth, completely untroubled. “”Don’t worry about it. If you guys hadn’t taken him off my hands this weekend, I wouldn’t have had the cover to introduce Chase to my parents.”” “”Well, you know we’ve got your back,”” Sabrina chuckled. “”Anything for you and Chase.”” I pulled the pillow over my head, pressing down until the screams in my throat choked into silence. When I opened my eyes the next morning, Helena was sitting by my bed, looking pristine and gentle in a cream cashmere sweater, her skin untouched by time. “”Don’t worry,”” she whispered, leaning down until her ice-cold breath brushed my bruised ear. “”I won’t lend you out again until you’re completely healed. And once you’re better… we’ll finally get married and I’ll make you immortal.”” I stared at the ceiling. I didn’t ask the obvious question: “”Married to whom? Me, or Chase?”” The answer didn’t matter anymore, because before that mythical wedding could even be discussed, Maeve Cornell arrived at the Bradford estate. When the house manager announced her name, I was stunned. Helena’s promise of “”rest”” hadn’t even lasted forty-eight hours. Maeve didn’t mention my bruises. She simply opened the passenger door of her sedan and took me to a private dining club to have lunch with her parents. They were impeccably polite, treating me with a quiet, unforced dignity that felt so foreign it made my chest ache. After her parents left in their car, Maeve took my elbow, guiding me slowly toward the lobby. A familiar voice cut through the quiet marble foyer. “”Maeve? What a coincidence.”” Maeve paused, nodding respectfully. “”Mr. Bradford. Mrs. Bradford. I was just taking my boyfriend out for lunch with my family.”” Standing opposite us were Helena’s parents. And right behind them stood Helena and Chase. Helena’s face was ashen, her jaw clenched so tight the tendons in her neck were white. Mr. and Mrs. Bradford looked distinctly uncomfortable seeing me—clearly remembering the countless times they had sneered at me for being an unpolished mortal charity case. But in front of the Cornells, they had to maintain the mask of high-society civility. “”Is that so?”” Mr. Bradford chuckled awkwardly. “”Well, what timing. Helena is actually bringing her fiancé home for dinner today too. Why don’t you two join us?”” Maeve’s lips curved into a razor-thin smile. “”We’d love to.”” The color completely drained from Helena’s face. Unlike the delicate, mild flavors Maeve had ordered, the Bradford table was dominated by heavy, fire-roasted dishes smothered in hot peppers. I had chronic gastritis; I couldn’t handle spicy food. In the early years, Helena had eaten bland, human meals with me every single day. Then Chase arrived. And every menu in Helena’s life was rewritten to cater to Chase’s love for heavy spice. I pushed the red peppers around my plate with a fork. Maeve tilted her head, her gaze dropping to Helena’s right wrist. “”Miss Bradford, is that vintage woven bracelet from that artisan stall in Maine?”” It was. I had saved my human wages for three months to buy it for Helena’s twenty-second birthday. She had sworn she would wear it until it frayed to threads. Helena let out a sharp, cold laugh. “”Some cheap mortal junk,”” she said dismissively. “”If you like it so much, you can have it.”” “”No, thank you,”” Maeve said mildly. She picked up her chopsticks and set a piece of garlic-butter lobster onto my plate. Before my fork could touch it, Helena reached across the table, grabbed the entire platter of lobster, and dumped it upside down into the service bin beside the waiter. “”Too greasy,”” Helena said, her crimson eyes boring into me like ice picks. “”Have the kitchen remake it.”” The table froze. The silence was suffocating. Maeve rested her chin in her hand, smiling across the linen. “”It almost feels like Miss Bradford has a personal issue with my boyfriend.”” Helena’s eyes turned pitch-black. “”Hardly. I don’t even know him.”” Mr. Bradford cleared his throat, sweating through his collar. “”Indeed! Maeve, you must bring your partner to Helena and Chase’s wedding next month.”” I chewed my dry rice. It tasted like ash. Yet inside, a strange, crystalline calm settled over me. The pain, the humiliation, the bitter grief—they had all receded behind a thick, impenetrable wall. When lunch ended, Maeve moved to walk me to her car, but Helena came striding across the valet lot, her face twisted in rage. “”Maeve! Don’t let this mortal con artist play you!”” Helena snapped, her voice dripping with venom. “”You can’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumors about him sleeping around with whoever pays him attention.”” She had no idea that the “”other woman”” she had been cursing was the very person standing in front of her. Maeve opened her mouth to speak, but I reached out and gently caught her wrist. “”Wait in the car,”” I said quietly. Maeve looked at me, saw the resolve in my eyes, and nodded, stepping inside. I turned back to Helena. “”Helena,”” I said, my voice dead and steady. “”Aren’t you the one getting married to someone else?”” Helena flinched, then doubled down, her brows pulling tight. “”I was doing that to placate my coven elders! You know that!”” The same lie. The same hollow excuse she had used to ship me off to her friends while she paraded Chase around her family estate. I looked at her and felt nothing. Helena stepped closer, her eyes glittering with cruel, possessive instinct. “”You really think you can climb into the Cornell family? Even if Maeve were slumming it with a human, Chase is ten times cleaner, ten times more respectable than you will ever be.”” She leaned in, whispering, “”Ian, stop daydreaming. You’re fragile, aging, and damaged goods.”” I nodded slowly. “”You were the one who told me to go with her, Helena.”” Helena looked like she had been struck by a silver stake. Her jaw worked soundlessly for three seconds before she spat, “”Fine. Have it your way.”” Three days later, my brother called, his voice shrill with hysteria. “”What the hell did you do?! The Bradford Foundation just cut off Mom’s targeted cancer therapy! They cancelled her clinic account!”” My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone. I called Helena. Once. Twice. Ten times. Straight to voicemail. Twenty minutes later, Connor called back, weeping uncontrollably. “”Mom’s in the ICU! Her vitals are tanking! Ian, you go to Helena right now! You crawl on your knees, you beg her, you do whatever she wants!”” I redialed Helena’s number. On the fiftieth ring, someone finally picked up. It was Chase. “”Sorry,”” Chase drawled, the sound of ocean waves and laughter in the background. “”Helena flew us out to Cabo for the weekend. She’s not taking work calls.”” “”Chase, please,”” I sobbed, the last shred of my pride turning to dust. “”Put Helena on the phone. I’m begging you… please, Chase, my mother is dying…”” The line went dead. … In Cabo, Chase casually tossed the phone into his beach tote, turning around to find Helena walking up from the villa with a glass of chilled, iron-rich red wine. “”Who was that?”” she asked, brushing a strand of dark hair from her forehead. “”Just the office,”” Chase smiled, his posture completely relaxed. “”You said no work this weekend, remember?”” Helena nodded, but an uneasy, cold prickle tightened at the base of her neck. Still, Chase kept the tote tucked close to his side. It wasn’t until an hour later, when Chase went down to the surf to jet-ski, that Helena finally reached into the bag and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up. Two hundred and forty missed calls. All from Ian. Her inbox was an endless scroll of terror. “”Helena, I’m sorry, I was wrong. Please don’t touch my mother’s medicine.”” “”Helena, I’m begging you. I’ll do whatever you want. Lend me out to whoever you want. Let them hit me. Just don’t stop the drugs.”” “”Helena, please pick up. She’s going into cardiac arrest.”” The timestamps marched down the screen, Helena’s immortal heart—dormant for centuries—suddenly hammering against her ribs with terrifying speed. Then, three hours ago, the messages had completely stopped. At the very bottom of the screen sat a single, unread text. It wasn’t from Ian. It was from Maeve Cornell. “”Thank you for letting him go, Miss Bradford.””
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