Look, I am not typically one to throw flowers at my own feet, but I have to admit: I looked absolutely, undeniably dope tonight.
I was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master bedroom of my new penthouse apartment, adjusting the cuffs of the tuxedo I had bought during yesterday's unhinged shopping madness. It was a midnight-blue, custom-tailored masterpiece of Italian silk and wool. The cut was so flawlessly precise it looked as if it had been poured directly onto my body, perfectly showcasing my newly enhanced, sculpted figure. The broadness of my shoulders, the narrow waist—it all fit with a lethal, sophisticated elegance. Paired with a crisp white shirt, a sleek black bowtie, and my strikingly vibrant eyes, I looked less like a formerly starving barista and more like a billionaire playboy with a very dark secret. Which, ironically, was exactly what I was now.
I was still standing there, totally lost in a narcissistic daze, deeply admiring my own flawless face and ripped physique, when the sharp buzzing of my phone shattered the quiet of the room.
I picked it up from the nightstand. It was Chloe.
"You didn't send me your new apartment location," she said. Her voice was flat, heavily displeased, entirely skipping over trivial human concepts like 'hello' or 'good evening.'
"Oops. My bad, I completely forgot to," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. "Wait, I'll send you the coordinates right now."
I quickly pulled the phone away from my ear, rapidly typing my new Arkum district address into the chat, feeling incredibly sheepish. With all the insane, reality-breaking stuff happening to me recently—dying twice, finding out I was an immortal glitch, inheriting twenty-nine billion dollars, and fighting magical terrorists in the street—I was becoming a lot more easily distracted.
Actually, no, let me be totally honest with myself: that's a blatant lie. I've always been a natural airhead.
"You got it?" I asked, putting the phone back to my ear.
"Yes. I'll be there in ten minutes," she said crisply, and then the line went dead.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and proceeded to continue my intense, highly critical appreciation of myself in the mirror until I heard a firm, authoritative knock echoing from my front door exactly ten minutes later. Vampires, apparently, were exceedingly punctual.
I walked through my spacious, pristine living room and pulled the heavy oak door open.
Chloe was standing in the hallway, and for a split second, my newly upgraded brain completely forgot how to send oxygen to my lungs. She was dressed in a stunning, form-fitting black evening gown that clung to her heavenly proportions like a second skin. The fabric had a subtle, dangerous shimmer to it, and a daring slit ran up her left leg. Her beautiful, raven-black hair was left unbound, floating freely in cascading waves down her back. She wore very minimal makeup—just a touch of dark red lipstick—but she didn't need it at all. She was terrifyingly, aggressively gorgeous.
As I stood there entranced by her appearance, I didn't fail to notice her immediate reaction to mine. When her glowing, predatory eyes swept over my midnight-blue tuxedo and my newly styled hair, she physically paused. She looked genuinely dazed for a brief, highly satisfying moment. A tiny flicker of surprise and something else entirely crossed her porcelain features before she quickly blinked it away, expertly returning to her usual, impenetrable cold facade.
"You're ready?" she asked, her tone strictly business.
"Yeah, let's go," I nodded, stepping out into the hall.
I pulled the door shut, locking it securely before following her down the sleek, carpeted hallway to the private elevator. We descended to the ground floor in silence, stepping out into the crisp night air where a massive, heavily armored luxury sedan—complete with tinted windows and a stoic, sunglass-wearing chauffeur—was waiting at the curb. We got into the cavernous backseat, the plush leather practically swallowing us whole, and soon we were smoothly gliding into the neon-lit veins of Nebula City's evening traffic.
We pulled up to the location right at 9 PM. Staring out the window at the towering, opulent monolith of glass, gold, and white marble, my mind raced.
The chauffeur opened the door, and we stepped out onto the red carpet flanking the entrance. The sheer wealth dripping from the place was staggering. Valets were rushing to park an endless parade of supercars and luxury limousines.
We passed through the towering glass doors into the massive, chandelier-lit lobby, completely bypassing the mortal reception desk. We were immediately directed by a nervous-looking human manager toward a private, gold-plated VIP elevator that led exclusively to the top floor—the grand penthouse ballroom where the party was taking place.
As the elevator doors slid shut, sealing us in a quiet, ascending box of mahogany and mirrors, I turned to Chloe.
"Are there going to be a lot of supernaturals here tonight?" I asked, wanting to mentally prepare myself for the sheer concentration of monsters I was about to walk into.
"Yes," she answered, checking her reflection in the polished wood. "Except, of course, for the factions we vampires don't exactly get along with. The Lycans, the Fae, and the Angels."
"You mean basically everyone," I said deadpan.
"No, not everyone," she corrected, shooting me a dry look. "The Mages are coming, obviously, given the political ties. And several others, like the Monsters, or at least their high-ranking representatives stationed in the city."
Hearing that the Mages were going to be swarming the place immediately made my mind violently pivot to my freshly ignited feud with my second uncle and his magical wife. Surely they won't be here, right? They wouldn't be invited to a vampire lord's birthday party... right?
"Say, Chloe," I started tentatively, shifting my weight. "Do you happen to know a Mel Wade? And her son, Cole?"
Chloe frowned slightly, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drawing together. "Yes, I know them. Mel Wade is the only daughter of the Wade Clan. They are a faction made entirely of elite mages, and they have existed in the shadows for thousands of years. Cole is the sole heir of that clan due to his mother's bloodline, though I heard his father isn't a part of the supernatural world at all—he's just a mundane business mogul."
She paused, her expression souring even further as if she had just bitten into a lemon. "Cole is also Luke's absolute best friend."
Damn it! I mentally screamed, my internal monologue echoing with sheer, unadulterated frustration. What were the absolute odds of this?!
Actually, looking back on it, I suppose they were birds of the exact same entitled, psychotic feather, so it was perfectly normal that they were best friends. But it didn't make the pill any easier to swallow. My face darkened considerably. Now I had the distinct pleasure of knowing that two of the most annoying, murderous enemies currently occupying my hit list were BFFs.
"Why do you ask about them?" Chloe inquired, tilting her head with genuine curiosity. "Do you know them?"
"Yeah," I sighed heavily, running a hand through my styled hair. "I just discovered recently that Cole is my cousin."
Chloe's eyes widened a fraction. "I thought you told me you were an orphaned street rat from Coldstone?"
"I am!" I defended myself quickly. "But, apparently, I have this whole big, disgustingly wealthy family that I just got forcefully reunited with yesterday. In short, it's highly complicated, heavily magical, and deeply annoying."
She stayed quiet for a long moment, processing this massive lore drop, before asking softly, "Is it going to be an issue tonight?"
"I really, really hope not," I answered honestly.
DING.
The elevator chimed cheerfully, signaling that we had reached the penthouse floor. The golden doors slid smoothly open, revealing a short, velvet-lined corridor that opened up into a breathtakingly massive reception room.
As we stepped out of the elevator and approached the grand entrance, a man dressed in a flawless, traditional butler outfit suddenly stepped into our path. Before I could even ask what he was doing, Chloe swiftly looped her arm through mine, pressing herself close.
"Just roll with it," she whispered in my ear, her breath tickling my neck. "It's a strict part of the formal protocol."
The butler cleared his throat, standing tall at the threshold of the ballroom, and announced our arrival with a booming, magically amplified voice that echoed across the vast space.
"Miss Chloe A. Crimson, daughter of Lord Kol T. Crimson! And her boyfriend, Mr. Samsara Yu!"
The effect was instantaneous and absolutely suffocating.
All conversation in the sprawling, opulent room died in a microsecond. Every single pair of eyes—some glowing red, some entirely black, some slitted like reptiles—snapped entirely toward the entrance, fixing directly onto us as we walked into the reception room.
If you have ever wondered what it was like to be intensely stared at by a massive room full of ancient, apex supernatural beings, some of whom were literally older than written history... well, it was hard. My newly awakened, hyper-sensitive supernatural instincts were instantly overloaded. The sheer concentration of danger, bloodlust, and raw magical power in the air was so thick it felt like I was trying to walk at the bottom of the ocean. My body was screaming at me that I was surrounded by lethal predators.
But I forced my face into a mask of pure, untouchable ice. I kept my posture relaxed, my shoulders back, and with the devastatingly beautiful Chloe on my arm, I confidently blended into the crowd as the butler moved on to announce the next arriving guests.
We navigated through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, the guests parting for us like the Red Sea, until we found a relatively quiet, secluded corner near a massive ice sculpture.
"Your father is not here yet," I noted, scanning the room and not spotting anyone who looked like a five-thousand-year-old vampire king. "Is he actually on board with what you are doing tonight?"
"Well, not exactly," Chloe admitted, delicately taking a flute of what looked suspiciously like blood-red champagne from a passing waiter. "But I did explicitly tell him that I wouldn't marry Luke even if he were the very last man left on earth."
"So, what will his reaction be when he finds out about me? The fake boyfriend crashing his party?" I asked suspiciously.
"Oh, he would kill you," she said softly, taking a calm sip of her drink.
I stared at her, my jaw slightly slacked. "And you didn't care to mention that tiny little detail when you hired me?!"
"Well, I did tell you that I specifically chose you because you have a stellar, proven track record of not staying dead," she countered smoothly, completely unbothered.
"I am really starting to think that it was not a good idea to jump on this deal for ten million bucks," I muttered darkly, crossing my arms over my chest.
"I heard that," she said, her glowing eyes locking onto mine.
"I know you did. I don't care," I pouted playfully, dropping the cold facade for a second.
She looked at my ridiculous antics, the sheer absurdity of me pouting in a room full of ancient monsters, and she suddenly smiled. It wasn't a smirk, or a cold, polite curve of the lips. It was a bright, genuine, breathtakingly beautiful smile. We stood there, looking at each other in the quiet corner, a strange, undeniable spark flickering between us.
But the moment was abruptly shattered. A heavy, absolute hush suddenly fell over the entire ballroom. Then, the frantic, buzzing whispers began to spread like wildfire.
We both turned our heads toward the grand entrance.
Three people had just stepped into the room.
The first was Luke, the psychotic, ruby-eyed bastard who had enthusiastically separated my head from my neck in a dirty alleyway just a few days ago. He looked as arrogant and punchable as ever in a dark suit.
Beside him stood a middle-aged man who exuded an aura of such staggering, intangible power that the very air around him seemed to warp and hum. He looked like a refined, thirty-year-old version of Luke, sporting a neatly trimmed, short beard and an expression of absolute, unchallenged authority.
"That is Luke's father," Chloe whispered, her voice tightening with tension. "Atticus White. The supreme head of the Magic Council in this city."
But it was the third person who truly captivated the attention of the room. Walking slightly behind them was a teenage girl.
"And that is his step-sister," Chloe continued softly. "Stella White. She is a half-demon, half-mage hybrid. She is actually the one who secretly called me during our first meeting to warn me that her brother was coming to the alley."
I looked at the girl in question. She had cascading, brilliant blonde hair, perfectly fair skin, and an exquisite, dangerously sharp facial structure. But what really drew the eye were her irises—they were a vivid, glowing purple. Combined with her incredibly mature, sexy curves, she commanded the room entirely. All in all, the three of them projected the absolute, terrifying image of an untouchable powerhouse family.
As I was busy observing them, Luke's glowing ruby eyes began scanning the crowd. He immediately found Chloe standing by the ice sculpture. A smug, victorious smile started to stretch across his face as he locked eyes with her.
But then, he seemed to smell something deeply unpleasant. His gaze shifted just a fraction to the right, landing squarely on me.
First, his expression contorted into one of absolute, profound confusion. His brain was visibly struggling with the impossible fact that the very same boy he had personally decapitated was currently standing in a tuxedo, holding his fiancée's arm. And then, the confusion rapidly melted away, completely consumed by an intense, boiling rage. His ruby eyes flared to a terrifying, glowing crimson.
Atticus White, sensing the sudden, violent agitation of his son, turned his head slightly to follow Luke's murderous gaze.
The moment the supreme head of the Magic Council laid his eyes on me, an unimaginably powerful, oppressive pressure physically descended upon my shoulders. It was a terrifying wave of magical energy, and I could instantly feel my entire being encased in a suffocating, freezing coldness.
As I stood there under the crushing glare of the city's most powerful mage and his psychopathic son, I maintained my cold, impassive smile. But inwardly, my brain had gone into full meltdown mode.
I should never have accepted this gig. I should never have accepted this gig. I should never have accepted this gig. I should never have accepted this gig...