I materialized at the gates of Versta Keep.

I still had a few things to retrieve from his home.

Looking at the ancient, imposing keep, I thought of my own family, the Vances. Our fall from grace began with my father. Once-powerful blood nobility, we backed the wrong side in the political upheaval that swept through our world. Our assets were seized, our titles stripped, and our family scattered.

In my past life, I was naive enough to think marrying Mortlock would save us. I thought becoming the mate to the Prince of House Versta would restore our name and honor.

How wrong I was then, how clear it all seems now.

Just as I stepped through the main doors, I saw Isabella nestled in Mortlock's arms, murmuring pitifully while he gently stroked her back.

In my last life, seeing them like this would have felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I would have been jealous, furious, heartbroken.

But now, looking at them, my heart was still.

I heard Isabella's soft sobs. "Will Grace be angry with me for interrupting your bonding? I know I shouldn't be living here, but it's so dangerous outside, and I'm so scared..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mortlock's voice was firm. "I owe you. Grace will have to understand. Your safety is more important to me than any ritual."

A smirk touched my lips. I let out a loud, deliberate cough to announce my presence.

They both turned. Mortlock awkwardly let go of Isabella. A flash of triumph crossed her face before she replaced it with a look of fear.

"Grace, you're back." Mortlock cleared his throat. "I was just checking on Isabella. She wasn't feeling well."

I didn’t say a word. My gaze swept over Isabella and landed on the necklace around her throat. It was the Versta family heirloom, a ruby necklace that only the Prince's official mate was worthy of wearing. I'd never once worn it in my past life.

Isabella noticed my stare and touched her neck, her expression all innocence. "Oh, this… I just thought it was pretty and wanted to try it on. I'll take it off right now."

She made a slow, deliberate show of reaching for the clasp, her eyes fixed on Mortlock.

"Grace," Mortlock said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Don't fuss over such small things. She just likes pretty things."

"Don't take it off," I said calmly. "It suits you."

Both of them stared at me, clearly not expecting that reaction.

"You… you don't mind?" Isabella asked, testing me.

"Why would I mind?" I smiled. "You both think it suits you, right? Then keep it."

Mortlock’s brow furrowed. "Grace, you don't have to play these strange games with me. I told you, Isabella is just like a sister."

"If you're so concerned about a necklace, I have a surprise for you," he said. He walked to a nearby sofa and picked up an exquisite box.

"Remember that vintage wedding dress you had your eye on? I had it brought in from Paris." He raised an eyebrow, a slight smile on his face. "You can try it on tonight."

It was the dress I had once dreamed of—19th-century French court style, made of the finest silk and lace.

But now…

"Let Isabella try it on," I said, my voice still flat. "We're about the same size, aren't we?"

The color drained from Mortlock’s face, replaced by anger. "Grace? What is the meaning of this? I had this made for you!"

I turned to leave, tossing a final comment over my shoulder. "I'm busy. I'm sure Isabella won't mind trying it on for me."

After all, the vampire bride who would eventually wear that dress wouldn't be me.

Mortlock let out a bitter laugh. He shoved the dress into Isabella’s arms and said loudly, "Fine, have it your way! Isabella, it's yours."

Isabella gasped, a mix of surprise and coyness in her voice. "If I wear this, won't I look just like the Prince's bride…?"

I didn't stay to hear the rest.

I went to my room and started packing the few things that were mine.

Back in my room, I pulled a folded piece of parchment from my dress. It was the exploration permit I’d just secured for the Aethel Ruins.

The Aethel Ruins—the legendary burial grounds of the ancient vampire dynasties. Countless crystals of power lay buried there, and it was my only chance to find the strength to restore the Vance family name on my own.

In my last life, I’d pinned all my hopes on Mortlock, never thinking to rely on myself. How foolish I was. I unfolded the permit. The date was clear: in seven days, I would be free of this prison.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Grace, I need to see you." It was Mortlock.

I quickly hid the permit. "Come in," I said calmly.

"Grace, we need to talk." He walked toward me. "Your attitude today was... off. Why the sudden indifference?"

I looked at him, a bitter irony rising in my chest.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" I asked. "A mate who isn't jealous, who doesn't argue, who doesn't cause you any trouble?"

Mortlock opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Finally, he managed, "I…"

"If there's nothing else, I'd like to rest," I said, turning back to my wardrobe.

"Wait," Mortlock stopped me. "Actually… I came to ask you for something."

I paused, waiting.

"I need to borrow the Vance family heirloom for a while," he said, his voice hesitant. "The Blood Agate."

The Blood Agate. The treasure passed down through generations of my family, with the power to nourish a vampire's core and amplify their strength. It was one of the last precious things we had left.

I turned slowly to face him. "Why?"

"It's for Isabella," he said, his tone growing serious. "Her bloodline is flawed. She needs the agate's power to stabilize it. Without it, she could..."

"Die?" I finished for him, my voice flat.

"Yes," Mortlock nodded. "Grace, you know she saved my life. I can't just abandon her."

In my past life, when he asked me this, I agreed without a second thought. I did it to please him, to prove how understanding I was.

But now, I no longer had to play the part of the perfect mate.

"Fine," I said coolly.

Surprise flashed in Mortlock’s eyes. "Really?"

"But," I added with a cold smile, "it will cost you your entire prized collection of rare blood."

The look on Mortlock's face froze. His collection was a priceless library of top-tier blood sources, aged for centuries. To trade it for a single agate was an outrageous demand.

A flash of anger crossed his face. But then, as if a thought struck him, a smile curled his lips.

"I see," he said, stepping closer. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"What?"

"You're acting cold on purpose to get my attention. You made an unreasonable demand because you don't want to give the agate to Isabella." His smile grew wider, more confident. "Grace, you do still care about me, don't you?"

I was almost stunned by his arrogance.

But this was good. I couldn't afford any complications, not until I was strong enough to stand on my own. Let him believe his own delusions.

"Fine. I accept your terms," Mortlock said magnanimously. "My entire collection of rare blood for your Blood Agate."

I was surprised he actually agreed. It seemed Isabella meant even more to him than I had imagined.

"Also," he continued, "there's a ball for the blood nobility in two nights. I want you to come with me."

A noble ball? In my last life, Mortlock never took me to any official events. He always said Isabella needed those opportunities to make connections, while I had no need for them.

"Why?" I asked bluntly.

"Because you're my mate," he said, as if it were obvious. "The news of our bonding needs to be made public, doesn't it?"

I was about to refuse when the door was pushed open.

Isabella stood there, wearing the French wedding dress. The silk and lace clung perfectly to her figure.

"Mortlock, what do you think?" she asked, twirling so the white skirt bloomed like a flower.

"Exquisite," Mortlock breathed, his admiration clear.

A sweet smile lit up Isabella’s face. Then, feigning innocence, she pretended she’d just "overheard" us.

"Oh, are you talking about the ball?" A flicker of hurt crossed her face. "Grace, are you going? Or… are you not going because you hate me?"

The words were perfectly chosen. If I refused, I would prove her right and look petty. I didn't want to argue. I just nodded.

The ball was held at Ravencrest Keep. Vampire nobles drifted through the grand hall in their finest attire, dancing to elegant music.

I stood alone in a corner, dressed in a deep blue silk gown, coldly observing the scene.

The center of attention, of course, was Mortlock and Isabella. Isabella was in a shimmering silver gown that sparkled under the lights. She stayed glued to Mortlock's side, and their intimacy drew countless envious stares.

"It seems Prince Mortlock truly favors his little savior. He's completely ignoring his own mate..."

"So the rumors are true. The Prince and Grace really don't get along."

The whispers reached my ears, but I pretended not to hear. I sipped my glass of blood, my mind only on the Aethel Ruins, now just six days away.

"Lady Grace." A vampire approached me, a sneer on his face.

I offered a faint smile. "I find such gatherings... tedious."

"Oh, I understand," he said, lowering his voice. "It must be difficult, watching your own mate with another woman."

I didn't answer, just kept drinking. He was about to say more when Mortlock appeared, with Isabella still in tow.

His sharp gaze fell on the other vampire. "What were you saying to my mate?" Mortlock asked coolly. "Why don't you share it with me?"

The vampire was from a minor house. Terrified by the Prince's aura, he bowed quickly and scurried away.

I looked at Mortlock, at that possessive display, and felt a familiar mix of emotions. It was always like this in my past life. He would always choose Isabella over me, yet he never hid his possessiveness of me. That whiplash was the source of all my pain.

"By the way, Grace," Mortlock said, leaning close to my ear. His voice held a hint of guilt. "I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"About the Consort's chambers…" he began, looking troubled. "I was hoping you could wait a little longer before moving in. Isabella is staying there now, and it would be hard for her to adjust so suddenly. I hope you can be understanding."

The Consort's chambers. The rooms that should have been mine as his bonded mate, now occupied by Isabella. And he was asking me, his wife, to give up my own chambers for his "savior."

"Of course," I said, a faint smile on my lips. "No problem."

Mortlock beamed. "I knew you'd understand."

Just as the last flicker of feeling in my heart died out, a sharp whistling sound cut through the air.

"Look out!"

A silver-tipped bolt shot down from a high window, aimed straight for Isabella. Silver is a deadly poison to our kind. A direct hit could mean severe injury or even death.

Mortlock reacted in a heartbeat. He shoved Isabella behind him, shielding her with his own body. The bolt grazed his shoulder and embedded itself deep in the opposite wall.

But it wasn't over.

A second and a third bolt followed, and the hall erupted into chaos. Nobles screamed and scattered. In the stampede, someone shoved me hard, and I lost my balance, stumbling backward.

Just then, a bolt flew in from the side, striking me in the left shoulder.

"Ah!"

Searing pain shot through me. The silver began to eat at my flesh, and my vision went black as I nearly passed out from the agony. I clutched the wound as blood seeped through my fingers, staining my blue dress red.

Through the crowd, I saw Mortlock clutching Isabella, whispering to her, trying to calm her down.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here," his voice was heartbreakingly gentle.

He hadn't even noticed me on the floor.

Not until a Duke shouted in panic, "Lady Grace! You've been hit!"

Only then did Mortlock finally look up in my direction. As he did, the pain overwhelmed me, and I slipped into darkness.