Aret's POV
I was seated outside the crazy old lady's house, frozen. I couldn't move.
I never believed in rebirth… or anything remotely supernatural. But how did she know about the birthmark?
Maybe Dante had seen it and told her. Maybe this was all some elaborate, twisted setup to make me believe in his sick cult. That had to be it.
Maybe he wasn't even drinking real blood, just something made to look like it, to scare me. To break me.
The woman might be insane, but she was right about one thing: I couldn't escape. And even if by some miracle I did, a man like Dante with all his power and resources would find me. He'd drag me back. And who knew what he'd do to me once he did?
No. I had to be smart. I had to play the long game.
I'd make him think he'd gotten to me. That I was falling for him. That he was winning.
And while he basked in that illusion, I'd be gathering evidence. Real, damning evidence. Murder. Embezzlement. Fraud. Anything I could use to put him behind bars and be free of this nightmare.
But how… how the hell was I supposed to pretend to love the man I hated?
How do you fake adoration when your entire body burns with resentment?
I rose from the stone, wiping the tear streaks from my face with the back of my hand. My jaw tightened. No more crying.
I walked back toward the cottage Dante stayed in. It was quiet.
I glanced at the guard outside the door.
"Get me a maid," I said coldly.
He nodded and clicked the walkie-talkie on his belt, relaying the message, while I stepped inside.
I was starving. Weak, dizzy, and craving food. Anything that would keep both me and the little growing human in me alive. If I collapsed now, no one would care.
Dragging my feet, I made my way into the kitchen. It was mostly empty. I sighed.
I cracked some eggs. Sprinkled salt. Whisked like I wasn't seconds from blacking out. Pulled out a pan, lit the gas, and poured the mix in.
As the eggs sizzled, I heard the front door open and footsteps shuffle into the kitchen. A maid entered and bowed.
I retrieved the folded note I'd written while waiting for the eggs to cook.
"Get me this from the supermarket," I said flatly, handing it to her.
"There won't be a need to go to the supermarket," she replied politely. "Master gets everything delivered in bulk from the companies."
My brow arched. Ofcourse he did.
"Then get it for me," I said with a dismissive wave. She bowed again and left.
I munched down my sad excuse for brunch, if you could even call 1 p.m. breakfast, and waited. And when she returned with everything on the list, I knew exactly what I was about to do.
She offered to help but I shooed her away.
The next four hours were mine.
Food was the way to a man's heart, right?
Well, in this case… it would also be the path to his damnation.
I cooked like my life depended on it. Because it did. Barbecued ribs, yes, I actually grilled for a man I hate. Baked mac and cheese, bacon crisped to perfection, sweet cornbread warm enough to melt in your mouth, and peach cobbler that tasted like heaven.
It was a feast. The kind that could lower any man's guard.
For thirty minutes, I carefully arranged the dishes on the dining table.
And then, the front door opened.
Footsteps.
Dante walked in.
His eyes settled on the dining table as he stepped in, slowly closing the front door behind him.
"I made dinner," I said with a smile, one of those pouty, sweet ones that made me want to gag and chew off my own tongue. His gaze narrowed, wary.
"What kind of game are you playing, Arét?" His voice was low, measured. "You wanted me dead when I left this morning. What changed?"
I shrugged casually, playing it cool. "I spoke to the crazy old lady. She said we're soulmates or something just as ridiculous. And honestly?" I forced a laugh. "I don't want to fight this anymore. It's just a year, right? You're rich, I'll be comfortable, and I figure… why not enjoy it?"
He stared at me like he could tell I was lying. "So you're not going to fight me anymore?"
"I won't," I said with a light shrug, softening my voice just enough to sound sincere. "I'll enjoy it. That's all."
His eyes darkened."You do realize I'm a vampire, right? That poison won't work on me? And garlic? That's fairy-tale nonsense."
A smirk tugged at his lips, amusement lacing his words.
I laughed, soft and sugary as I stood up and walked toward him, "I know," I said, my voice dropping just slightly as I reached him. "In fact…"
I leaned in just a little closer.
"I want you to drink from me tonight."
Then I stepped back, bit my bottom lip in the most innocent way I could fake, and disappeared into the kitchen, before he could see the hate burning in my eyes.
When I had gotten myself under control, and made sure my face didn't scream I want you dead, I made my way back to the dining room.
He was already seated, his arms resting on the table, eyes scanning the dishes like he was trying to spot something wrong with it.
I slid into the seat across from him, carefully dished food onto two plates, and placed one in front of him. Then I dug into mine.
He didn't touch his plate immediately. He just watched me eat, silently studying me. Eventually, he picked up his fork and knife and sliced into the ribs. The moment the meat hit his tongue, he let out a low moan of satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut.
I hated how attractive that looked.
His hair was a mess, like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times today. His lips were slick from the sauce, plush and a little parted as he chewed.
They look so kissab—what the actual hell is wrong with me?
I jerked my eyes away the moment his lids lifted.
"This is so good," he said, a little laugh in his voice. "Didn't know you could cook this well, it's so good."
I shrugged, trying to stay composed. "Guess you didn't stalk me enough."
It slipped out before I could stop it, meaner than intended.
His gaze lingered on me as the silence stretched.
"Can I get a phone?" I asked, anything to distract him.
He shrugged, like it was nothing. "Sure."
That was too easy.
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Aren't you worried I might call 911? Or tell someone something? Or, I don't know... escape?"
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. A slow, humorless smile crept across his lips. "You can try."
Something about the calmness in his voice sent a chill through me.
"You really think I won't?"
"I think you'll do whatever gives you the illusion of control." He took another bite of the bacon, chewing slowly. "But you're here. Pretending to be cool with me so I could let my guard down. And that means deep down, you already know there's no real way out."
He had caught on to my game.
The sick, twisted psycho knew exactly what I was doing. And he was playing along.
The rest of the meal went by in strained silence. He didn't say another word, just calmly finished every bite.
When he pushed back his chair and stood up, I expected him to leave the mess for me. But instead, he began gathering the plates. What?
I watched in a stunned silence as he scraped leftovers into containers, placed them neatly in the fridge, and then started washing the dishes in the sink. Like a normal person.
He was anything but normal.
When he finally turned off the faucet and dried his hands, he walked back out. I was still sitting at the table, too shocked to move. His eyes flicked to me and that annoying grin slid onto his lips again.
"I'll have my bath," he said casually. "You should too. You smell like spice."
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "Which is sexy, by the way."
I clenched my fists beneath the table.
"But I'll be taking you up on your offer…" he added, eyes gleaming. "To drink from you. Since, as you saw, I didn't have any blood for dinner."
With a wink that made my skin crawl, he bent to pick up his black office bag lying at the foot of the dining table, and made his way up the stairs.