Iris's POV

By the time I got home, it was evening. The house was empty and eerily silent.

I walked in slowly, scanning the living room, seeing this place I'd lived in for ten years through an outsider's eyes for the first time. I laughed bitterly at myself---ten years as a nanny and I'd never even realized it.

Lucien didn't like having strangers around and refused to hire help, so I'd always been the one keeping everything spotless.

But today, the woman beside him had been wearing a flashy red dress dripping with jewelry, her hands smooth and delicate---hands that had clearly never touched a mop.

I'd maintained this home like a model showroom, day after day, year after year. Now I realized I'd been the only fool investing in it.

I looked up at the second floor. At the end of the hallway, the study door stood closed.

That was where Lucien handled his work---a room I'd barely entered in ten years. He always said it contained confidential company documents I shouldn't touch. I'd respected his boundaries. I didn't even clean it unless he was present.

But tonight, standing before the door, I didn't hesitate. I gripped the handle and pushed it open.

It was unlocked.

The desk drawers were neatly organized. The first held research materials. The second, contracts. When I pulled open the third, my fingers froze.

Inside lay several dark velvet boxes.

The kind used by high-end jewelers. I lifted one out, feeling the fine velvet beneath my fingertips. I slowly opened the lid, and the moment the light hit the stones, the brilliance nearly stung my eyes.

A complete set of ruby jewelry lay nestled in dark velvet---necklace, earrings, bracelet, and ring.

On the night of my twenty-eighth birthday, Lucien had come home late, claiming he'd been working overtime. He handed me a gift box, and I'd opened it with quiet hope---only to find a plain cotton apron, cream-colored with a small floral print.

Now, standing under the study lamp, looking at this jewelry worth a fortune, the version of me who'd been grateful for that apron felt like a punchline.

As I placed the velvet box back in the drawer, I noticed a letter underneath.

I unfolded the letter. The first line stopped my breath.

"To my beloved, Rebecca."

"Thank you for everything you've done for me and Luke over the years. You've given him joy, freedom, and love. Without you, we wouldn't have the happiness we have today."

Done for you?

I repeated the phrase in my mind, thinking of Luke convulsing with fever in my arms through the night while I held him without sleep.

I'd given up my career. Put away my brushes. Spent ten years revolving around the kitchen and the child.

Those memories pressed down on me like stones, one after another---while Lucien praised another woman's sacrifices.

Lucien had mentioned Rebecca before---a childhood friend, the girl next door. She'd supposedly been too busy to attend our wedding.

Perhaps she hadn't skipped it because she was busy.

I put the letter back and turned to the computer.

I tried a few passwords. All failed. Then I typed "Rebecca," and the screen unlocked instantly.

I opened the saved billing records. Jewelry, high-end restaurants, travel packages---the spending was enormous, consistent, stretching back years.

I scrolled page by page, while a parallel life played out in my mind: my discount clothes, my budgeting spreadsheets, my abandoned paints, the painting I'd sold---my most precious one. I dressed like a nanny.

I'd tried so hard not to be a burden, worked to keep him and Luke looking polished while I hid behind the groceries and the chores.

But these numbers told me he'd never been short on money. He'd simply never intended to share his wealth with his human wife.

When the front door clicked open downstairs, I closed the laptop and returned to the living room.

Lucien paused when he saw me standing in the dark room, expressionless.

Luke was draped across his father's arms, already drowsy. From the moment they walked in, my son hadn't looked at me once.

"Iris, sorry to keep you waiting. We got back late---the gallery hosted a celebration dinner. I know you like having dinner as a family, so I brought you a takeout box."

He set the container on the table. The packaging was elegant.

I'd seen ads for that restaurant---reservation-only, in the city center, outrageously expensive.

I looked up at him in silence. His expression was one of concern, as if he were the devoted husband trying to hold the family together, the long-suffering partner bracing for his wife's unreasonable complaints.

Luke, visibly restless, slid out of his father's arms and wandered off to play with his tablet.

In front of our son, Lucien performed the role of attentive husband, opening the container for me. "It's still warm. Eat up if you're hungry."

Inside was a half-eaten, blood-rare steak.

I'd never liked meat that undercooked. This was probably Luke's leftovers.

Iris's POV

A wave of exhaustion crashed over me. I couldn't keep playing the uncomplaining mother inside this web of lies.

My husband took off his coat, apparently waiting for me to take it and hang it up for him.

When I just stood there with my arms crossed, Lucien glanced at Luke with a look of helplessness.

Luke sighed, hung his head, and reluctantly walked over, stopping a couple of steps away.

"Mom, I'm sorry. We came home late."

I suddenly remembered how this had happened so many times before. I'd never asked the boy to apologize---I'd only wanted Lucien to step up as a father instead of spoiling him endlessly. But Lucien always "misread" the situation.

He used "don't upset your mother" as an excuse to scare Luke into controlling his diet and cutting back on blood. He used "your mother isn't satisfied" as leverage to push the boy harder with his studies and technique.

And he was the one who always swooped in afterward as the understanding, open-minded father.

Even though he rarely took care of Luke himself---even though I was the one up all night whenever Luke was sick---in our son's eyes, Lucien was always the good father.

Before, I'd told myself Lucien was just stressed from work and hadn't thought much of it.

But today, I'd seen how happy Luke was with his other mother.

If the three of them were the complete family---the model household---then there was no reason for me to keep playing the bad cop, making myself a nuisance.

"I'm not upset. Go get some rest."

Maybe it was the flatness in my voice, or the fact that I didn't reach out to pat his head the way I usually did.

My son---who normally flinched away from my touch---seemed unsettled.

He looked up at me, confused, his face a mirror of his father's.

Now, when I looked at Luke and Lucien, all I could see was the two of them with Rebecca.

The love I'd once felt for my husband and my child had been replaced by numb, aching hollowness.

"Luke, you must be tired too. Go to bed."

I turned away and poured myself a glass of water.

Father and son exchanged a glance---that familiar, conspiratorial look between them---and the sight left me cold.

Lucien put his hand on Luke's shoulder, ready to send the boy off to wash up and sleep. But Luke was still wired.

I saw the flash of crimson in Luke's eyes and knew immediately---too much rare steak had triggered his vampiric instincts.

Now all Luke wanted was more blood, his gaze fixed on the kitchen, on the refrigerator.

Inside it was the animal blood I'd stocked for Lucien.

"Daddy, can I have a drink before bed? Please?"

Lucien stiffened and refused instinctively, his tone sharp. "No. You've had too much rare steak today."

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. He paused, softened his voice.

"Why don't you ask your mom? If she says it's okay, then fine."

Lucien turned to me with a playful wink---still trying to charm me into being the villain.

I looked at Luke and smiled faintly.

I waited a beat, then said: "Go ahead and drink, if you want. Your father's right here watching you. I have no objections."

Iris's POV

Luke froze, his eyes slowly lighting up. Then he bolted toward the refrigerator like a gust of wind.

I didn't stop him. Didn't remind him to take it easy. I just stood there and watched the panic spreading across Lucien's face.

Luke was still young. He didn't understand what was truly good for him---he could be easily won over and controlled by any adult willing to indulge him.

Seeing that I had no intention of stepping in, Lucien visibly stiffened.

"Luke, wait." He finally spoke up.

Luke had already yanked open the refrigerator door. Cold air and the metallic scent of blood spilled out. He reached for a bottle of animal blood.

Lucien crossed the room in quick strides and caught his wrist.

"Not tonight," he said.

Luke froze, his expression shifting instantly---the look of him about to throw a tantrum.

"Why?"

But Lucien immediately glanced my way, eyes flickering with urgency and expectation. Still waiting for me to play the villain.

I stayed where I was, offering Luke nothing but a gentle smile. I didn't help.

I could guess what had happened. At the restaurant, neither Lucien nor Rebecca had restricted how much rare steak Luke consumed. That was why the boy was now craving blood this badly.

The air between us pulled taut, a wire about to snap. Only the two of us adults understood what we were really fighting over.

Lucien was silent for two seconds, his hand still on the refrigerator door, his voice going stiff. "Luke. Listen to me."

"No!" Luke's voice turned shrill. "You both said I could! Why can't I now?"

This time Lucien didn't back down. He took the bottle away and shut the door.

Luke went completely still.

He looked up at his father, and his eyes slowly reddened.

"You said if Mom agreed, I could!" Luke's voice pitched higher. "Mom said yes, and you still won't let me!"

For the first time in this household, Luke was lashing out at his father instead of me.

Lucien tried to pull the boy back, but Luke wrenched free of his grip.

His eyes were blazing red---his hybrid bloodline had been triggered, and his emotions were spiraling out of control.

"I hate you!"

Those words were aimed at Lucien.

The air seemed to freeze.

Lucien's face went dark.

He'd never been on the receiving end of Luke's defiance.

Because in the past, I'd absorbed every last drop of it.

He'd never had to be the one to say no to Luke.

Now it was finally his turn.