Vancouver's windows were slowly painted in amber as the city prepared for another night.
Alessia, seated at the small vanity table in her dressing room, stared at her phone with a mix of tension and longing.
The warm lights of the bar were still off, and silence was broken only by the distant echo of a double bass tuning.
Phone in hand, she typed slowly:
If you don't have plans tonight… come by where I work. I'd like you to be here. I'll be waiting.
She attached an address and pressed send—to Liam.
The reply came quickly.
Give me twenty minutes.
At those words, Alessia's heart gave a silent leap.
Her hand pressed against her chest as if to contain something slipping through her ribs.
She closed her eyes for a moment, surrendering to the strange blend of relief and fear.
It was so easy to be tempted by the illusion of a normal night—a human life—as if hers wasn't woven from secrets and shadows.
But for that instant, she wanted to believe it was possible.
She smiled, involuntarily, even if her reflection was still absent from the mirror.
Somewhere deep inside, she still clung to the impossible hope that one day she might see herself again—elegant, alive, and whole.
Even if the idea defied every law of her kind, a small ember of her human soul refused to die.
…
Liam left work with a lighter heart than he expected.
The sky had turned deep blue, and a cool wind threaded through the streets.
He walked toward a small flower shop, uncertain before the rows of color.
Roses? Too formal.
Sunflowers? Too cheerful.
In the end, he chose a mixed bouquet—wildflowers, lavender, a blue rose, a single white orchid.
Wrapped in dark paper. Elegant.
At the shop next door, he bought a box of black-and-gold chocolates—delicate, refined—as though this night might mean something more.
He didn't know why he felt so nervous, but something in him whispered that every gesture mattered.
The bar was hidden between two dimly lit stores, like a secret known only to creatures of the night.
A metal plaque read: "The Last Note."
Pushing open the door, Liam stepped into another world.
Low, golden lights bathed the room in warmth.
The air smelled of aged wood, red wine, and expensive perfume.
Soft jazz brushed the edges of hearing.
At the far end, a polished bar mirrored the neat rows of glasses like soldiers at attention.
A few patrons turned to look—eyes curious, then dismissive.
A couple of quiet laughs rippled through the murmur, private and cutting.
He felt those gazes like a chill against the back of his neck, but he didn't retreat.
Straightening his shoulders, he took two calm steps forward, pretending confidence he didn't feel.
Then, from behind the bar, Alessia appeared—dressed in fitted black leather pants, a sleeveless blouse, her lips a dark crimson against porcelain skin.
Her hair cascaded loose, and every movement she made was deliberate, hypnotic, like a melody only she knew.
"I thought you wouldn't come," she said, approaching him with a smile too gentle for the world she stood in.
He handed her the bouquet.
"I didn't know your favorites… but these felt right."
She brushed the petals with her fingers, as though touching another century—something distant and familiar.
The velvety texture stirred something deep within her, something long-buried: the feeling of being valued beyond bloodlines and politics.
Maybe love could exist beyond the instinct of her curse, she thought.
But the illusion withered, as old roses do.
Tonight, however, this bouquet felt different—hope disguised as fragility.
"Whatever you want tonight," she announced, loud enough for all to hear, "it's on me."
A few faces tensed.
Alessia met their eyes, cold and unyielding, until the whispers died away.
Liam sat at the bar.
A glass of wine for him, a tumbler of ice for her.
They talked—laughing, sharing small stories—and the world seemed to shrink until only that corner of light and shadow remained.
But then Alessia's expression shifted.
The door opened behind them.
Two figures entered—impeccably dressed.
A tall man with a strong jaw and slicked-back dark hair, moving with the confident air of someone used to control.
Beside him, a woman in a crimson dress, sharp-featured, trailing him like his living shadow.
Alessia froze. Liam saw it instantly.
"Who are they?" he asked.
She didn't answer. Her gaze stayed fixed on the man.
"Well, look at this…" the man drawled, voice dripping with arrogance. "Serving drinks now. And who's this? Your new company?"
Liam's jaw tightened. The tone made his stomach twist.
"Liam," Alessia murmured—almost pleading—"he's just… someone I knew. From before."
He nodded, though unease coiled in him.
He was about to speak when she touched his hand on the bar.
"Don't say anything. Please."
The woman in red smirked.
"Careful, darling. Pretty things tend to bite."
Liam frowned, confused but wary. He could feel malice thickening the air between them, though he didn't understand its source.
"You shouldn't be here," Alessia's voice turned cold steel. "I think it's clear you made your choice—her."
The man smiled faintly.
"Oh, still as charming as ever. Always so gracious with customers."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Alessia turned to Liam, her eyes now filled with urgency.
"You should go. I'll find you later—trust me, please."
He looked at her, then at the man now settling into a table like he owned the place.
Jealousy and confusion churned in him, heavy and bitter.
What was that look between them? Why did she seem so fragile in front of him?
For an instant, Liam felt the door to her world closing, leaving him outside.
He wanted to trust her—but he also needed to understand.
Still, he didn't make a scene.
He simply stood, gathered what dignity he had left, and walked toward the door.
Behind the bar, Alessia's hands trembled as she pretended to rearrange glasses.
The whispers resumed, then faded, leaving only silence again.
Outside, in the parking lot, Liam walked briskly toward his car.
"Liam!"
He turned. Alessia was there—breathless. She reached him, fingertips brushing his arm.
"I'm sorry… I didn't expect them. They're… unwelcome ghosts from my past. I'll explain everything, if you'll let me."
He tightened his jaw, arching a brow.
"If I'll let you?"
"Yes… if you stay close. Just give me a little time. Trust me, please."
He didn't answer.
He just looked at her one last time, then climbed into the car.
The engine roared to life, and the vehicle vanished into the night.
…
Alessia returned to the bar.
She walked straight to the staff restroom, locked the door, and stood before the mirror—empty, as always.
A promise broken, refusing to reflect the soul of the one who sought herself within it.
Inside her, tension mingled with a forbidden longing.
Every choice ahead felt like a crossroad where love could be either her salvation… or her final damnation.
"If I want something…" she whispered, pressing her forehead against the cold glass,
"…I'll have to break the rules. Or someone will pay the price."
Outside, the night pulsed on.
But inside her—
the chaos had only just begun.