I dragged my dying body back to the manor, stumbling with every step. I had no intention of turning to ash here.

I only wanted to take with me the last traces of my existence.

I found there was nothing left to pack.

I pushed open the door to my former perfumery, only to find it had long been converted into a cold storage room.

My perfumer's organ had been shoved into a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust.

The essential oils and scent strips I had once so carefully blended were all tossed haphazardly into cardboard boxes.

Only the black walnut worktable remained in its original spot, but its surface was buried under a pile of junk.

In a corner lay a shattered crystal vial, containing the last remnants of the only gift Damien ever gave me for our First Embrace: a drop of low-grade, desiccated blood amber.

I sat at the table and reached out, brushing the dust from its surface. My fingertips froze as they touched a picture frame.

It was a photo of us from our First Embrace ceremony. In the picture, I wore a pure white silk gown, and there was still a light in my eyes.

Now, the face reflected in the glass was marred by dark, spidery veins, and my pupils held nothing but the stillness of despair.

Even Isabella's dressing room was four or five times more luxurious than this storage space.

Only the things she no longer wanted were tossed in here.

The chambers I should have shared with my Vow-mate had been converted into Isabella's private office a century ago.

It had the finest equipment, the most comfortable environment.

And I, the rightful wife, had been exiled to this windowless storage room.

The piercing ring of a cellphone suddenly shattered the dead silence, violently yanking me from my memories.

"Hello, this is Elysian Crypts Eternal Rest," a graceful female voice said. "Miss Seraphina, are you still in need of the 'Twilight Ash Ceremony' you inquired about?"

"If you place a deposit now, we can hold it for you for seven days. Otherwise, it will be offered to another noble awaiting their final slumber."

That was the resting ceremony I had looked into a month ago.

The altar would be covered in pure white rose petals.

An exquisite crystal censer would burn my favorite jasmine essential oil.

To turn to ash amidst a fragrant aroma as my bloodline faded, carried away on a scented wind.

It was the end I yearned for most.

Eighty thousand dollars.

I glanced at the few hundred dollars in my wallet and fell silent for a moment. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you."

A vampire who couldn't even afford a low-grade potion to suppress her Bloodline Depletion couldn't even afford to die.

Just as I hung up, the sound of the door opening made me look up.

Damien strode in.

He was used to the faint, clean fragrance that permeated the manor, a unique scent of jasmine and something cool like moonlight that clung only to his Vow-mate.

Now, the stale, still air of this room repulsed him, filling him with an unexpected sense of loss.

His brow furrowed slightly, and he instinctively took a deep breath, trying to catch that familiar scent.

But there was nothing.

Only dust and mildew.

Damien quickly suppressed the discomfort. "What was that on the phone about a ceremony?" he demanded, glaring at me.

"Seraphina, I've told you," his voice was as cold as frost, "don't try to win sympathy by wishing death upon yourself. Do you find this amusing?"

I didn't want to say anything, but an instinctive explanation escaped my lips. "Damien, I wasn't…"

"You weren't what?" he cut me off, his tone growing harsher. "There's nothing to say between us. Don't even think about taking anything that belongs to Isabella."

"Some things were never meant to be yours."

My nose stung, and my fingers dug into my palms to stop the tears from falling.

In the past few days, I had cried more than in all my centuries of existence.

He said the celebration, the Vice President position, even all the love, belonged to Isabella.

But what about the things that were supposed to be mine? Had he forgotten them all?

I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eye. "I just want to ask you one question."

"Our two-hundredth anniversary. Do you even remember it?"

Damien's expression froze for a second. His gaze drifted unconsciously to the photograph on the table.

But he quickly looked away and said coldly, "What are you trying to say?"

"You promised me on our centennial that you would hold a proper bonding ceremony for me," my voice was soft. "But later, in front of the entire council of elders, you mocked my 'diluted' bloodline, saying I was unworthy to stand by your side."

"Every centennial birthday since then, you've found excuses to cast me aside," I gasped for breath. "But Isabella only has to try a new perfume for you to book an entire vampire-owned island to throw her a party."

"Seraphina," Damien's tone softened, perhaps out of guilt, "you're always so focused on these trivial details. We've lived for centuries. My love for you doesn't need to be proven by such things."

"I thought you would understand. If you're going to be this fragile and sensitive, you will only continue to disappoint me."

I watched the growing impatience in his eyes, felt the pressure of his princely authority.

So, in his eyes, everything I did was wrong.

My love, my devotion, my suffering, all of it was a mistake.

I said softly,

"You're right, Damien. I'm not good enough."

I turned my back to him, no longer looking.

"The safe is in the second drawer on the left. I've left something for you. It will unlock automatically in seventy-two hours."

He said nothing and left.

The midnight bell chimed, and the room returned to its dead silence.

I hugged the old, battered photo frame, feeling my life slip away, bit by bit.

Two days left.

I spent the entire night fighting the excruciating pain of my Bloodline Depletion.

At dawn, the roar of a sports car engine echoed from downstairs.

My parents and Isabella had returned.

Even from outside, their angry accusations reached me.

"Seraphina, you still have the nerve to come back here?"

The door was thrown open violently. The fury in my father Richard's eyes looked as if it could devour me whole.

"You ruined Isabella's promotion party! She cried herself sick begging you to stop!"

"And you don't feel the slightest bit of guilt?"

"Apologize to Isabella, now!"

I closed my eyes, a fresh wave of pain washing over me. It's okay. Less than seventy hours left.

Once, he had treated me with that same warm, protective instinct.

Back then, when I struggled to control my bloodlust, my father would patiently console me. "It's alright, Seraphina. Everyone moves at their own pace."

He even scoured the underground black markets himself, searching for the sweetest, purest blood sources for me, soothing my hunger-wracked body time and time again.

But everything changed after Isabella arrived.

She could hunt independently in her first year after being turned, quickly becoming one of the Kindred's elite and Damien's most capable aide.

And I, despite my pureblood title, could barely shadow-walk, and my combat skills were the worst in the entire clan.

She replaced me, becoming the brilliant and capable daughter in my father's eyes. And because of the nature of her turning-vow, my father never suspected the venomous heart beneath her gentle exterior.

Stranger still, ever since Isabella's arrival, I had grown progressively weaker for reasons I couldn't explain.

I was constantly nauseous and dizzy, and even the simplest wounds were incredibly slow to heal.

The clan's alchemists said it was a problem with my innate constitution, that I couldn't bear the weight of the Kindred's bloodline.

But no matter how hard I tried, my physical condition only worsened.

Disappointment began to appear in my father's eyes.

"Seraphina, look at Isabella, and then look at yourself. She's so exceptional right after being turned, how can you be so mediocre?"

"As Prince Damien's Vow-mate, how can you manage his household in this sickly state? How can you hold your own among the elite?"

"If it weren't for that damned pureblood alliance, do you think you could have ever hoped to marry the Prince?"

Eventually, the look in his eyes turned from disappointment to shame.

It was as if looking at me for even a moment would sully his sight. Isabella was his proud masterpiece.

I forced my heavy eyelids open and looked at Isabella, standing behind my parents.

"Sister, let's make up, okay? Just like when we were little," her voice was sickeningly sweet, her eyes welling with tears, projecting an image of someone who had been wronged but was still magnanimous.

This had always been her specialty.

"Do you remember that perfume you made for me?" Isabella took a step forward. "Tomorrow is my official first day in my new position. Could you blend another bottle of 'Midnight Bloom' for me? As a celebration of my new beginning."

A flicker of relief crossed my mother Eleanor's eyes, and she quickly urged me,

"Isn't this the only thing you're good at? Seraphina, Isabella is offering you an olive branch. You're getting off easy, so hurry up and do it!"

I froze. That bottle of "Midnight Bloom" threw me back a century.

Back then, not long after Isabella had been turned by my father, I had excitedly blended a perfume for her, carefully selecting the most precious midnight bloom petals.

Just because she said she loved the scent of Midnight Bloom, I endured countless burns on my fingers from its essence.

While the essence of Midnight Bloom was nowhere near as potent as vervain, for a vampire with a weak bloodline like me, even the fumes during the distillation process made me feel faint.

But I gritted my teeth and persisted, finally creating the perfect perfume.

The result was that after Isabella wore it, she broke out in terrifying red blotches that same night.

The alchemist determined that an ingredient in the Midnight Bloom was incompatible with the source of Isabella's blood.

The first thing she did after waking up was to throw herself into Damien's arms, crying, "Your Highness, the perfume was a labor of love from my sister. She said it would be good for my newly turned bloodline… Please don't blame her, it's all my fault for being too greedy!"

I stood helplessly outside the door, trapped by Damien's murderous gaze.

"I had no idea there was an incompatible ingredient. The formula was perfectly fine…"

Damien didn't listen to a word I said. He took my daylight ring and locked me in a sunroom for three whole days.

It was a living nightmare.

No blood, no water, not even basic shelter.

I curled up in a corner of the glass room, the glaring sun scorching my skin, listening to the sounds of laughter from outside as they celebrated Isabella's "recovery."

When I was finally let out, my skin was covered in festering sores, and I could barely stand.

"Have you forgotten?" I looked coldly at Isabella's duplicitous face. "Midnight Bloom is toxic to you."

The mention of this made the atmosphere in the room instantly awkward.

Just then, Damien pushed the door open.

He heard our conversation and his steps faltered for a moment.

In truth, during those three months in the sunroom, even when I was tortured to the point of losing consciousness, I could still sense through our bond that he had come to see me secretly in the dead of night.

But none of that mattered anymore.

Now, he was completely on Isabella's side.

"Toxic?" Isabella let out a soft laugh, a barely perceptible nervousness in her voice. "Sister Seraphina, that was ages ago."

She deliberately moved closer to me. "I'm much stronger now. That minuscule amount of toxin is nothing to me. A century of experience has made my bloodline unbreakable."

As she spoke, she held out her hand, as if to prove something. "See? I'm not afraid of Midnight Bloom at all."

Her nails dug into my skin, the pressure increasing.

Just as the pain forced me to wrench my arm away, she "unexpectedly" fell to the ground.

And in the moment she fell, I saw it clearly: she emptied a small vial, hidden in her sleeve, onto her own arm.

"Ah—!" She hit the floor hard, letting out a bloodcurdling scream.

Almost instantly, angry red welts began to appear on her pale arm.

"Isabella!" Eleanor shrieked, rushing to her side. "My God, it's concentrated vervain! She's badly burned!"

The burns spread at a visible rate, crawling up her arm to her neck as her skin started to blister.

It certainly looked like a severe reaction to vervain.

Richard whirled on me and roared, "Seraphina, what did you do to her?"

I hadn't done anything but pull my hand away.

But I knew it was useless to defend myself.

Isabella leaned against Eleanor, whimpering in pain.

"Mother, it hurts so much… like I'm on fire… Sister Seraphina, she didn't mean to…"

Even in her "agony," she was pleading my case, which only enraged everyone else further.

Seeing Isabella's burned skin, Richard turned and roared at me,

"Seraphina! You've gone too far!"

"I… I didn't…" My explanation sounded feeble and weak.

"You didn't what?" Damien strode over, fury blazing in his eyes. "Again! You've hurt her again!"

He lifted Isabella into his arms with painstaking care, his movements unnaturally gentle.

"I told you, I'm really not afraid of Midnight Bloom anymore…" Isabella rested against Damien's solid chest, her breath shallow. "Maybe… my sister had something else on her hands…"

She pleaded for me with her words, but her gaze shot over Damien's shoulder, flashing me a triumphant, vicious sneer.

Only I could see it.

"What was on your hands?" Damien glared at me. "No one touched her but you!"

Watching this perfectly staged scene, a profound sense of despair washed over me.

She had planned everything. Including the concentrated vervain liquid hidden in her sleeve.

"Seraphina!" Damien roared, lunging at me and seizing my throat. "I should have known how venomous your heart is!"

His hand tightened. I struggled to breathe, my vision blurring.

But at the very moment he applied force, a searing pain, as if my soul were being burned, suddenly erupted.

It wasn't coming from me.

It was coming from him.

The blood vow lashed out, punishing him for harming his Vow-mate.

Damien let out a muffled grunt, his face turning pale. His tall frame swayed, and he was forced to release his grip.

I fell against the wall, the dull thud of my back hitting the surface echoing in the room, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

"Damien!" Isabella cried out, her face pale with fright. "What's wrong? Why do you look so terrible?"

He shook his head, fighting back the stabbing pain that came from deep within his bloodline, and looked at me again.

The fury in his eyes was enough to damn me to an abyss.

"Get out! I don't want to see you right now."

He knew, too, that this bizarre backlash came from me.

I slumped to the floor, with nothing more to say.

I would no longer feel the sting of their mistrust.

My heart, along with my fading bloodline, was now completely numb.

Eleanor caught a glimpse of the dark, toxic blood spilling from my lips, and a flicker of pity crossed her eyes.

For a split second, I thought I saw the mother from centuries ago, the one who would gently stroke my cheek.

But the next second, just because Isabella's cries grew more pathetic, she hastily averted her gaze and turned to comfort the daughter who "truly needed her care."

"My darling, how are you feeling?"

I coldly wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand and pushed myself up from the cold marble floor.

In the corner of the hall stood a worn-out black suitcase, stuffed with the few old clothes I owned.

I had packed it days ago.

For the past two days, I had been preparing to leave.

They watched my actions with surprise, which was quickly followed by biting sarcasm.

"What, think you've grown wings? Learned to run away from home?

The clan's protection is for your own good, Seraphina. Why can't you see that we're trying to help?

If you step out of this building today, you will never be a member of this family again!"

My father watched me with a blank expression.

"You think running away will solve anything?" Eleanor sneered. "Seraphina, for centuries you've been like this, always trying to escape when things get difficult."

"Just as your father said, how could our pure bloodline produce such a failure."

Damien carefully settled Isabella onto the velvet sofa, then turned around, his face dark.

His eyes held not a trace of warmth, only cold disgust. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from the Kindred's territory."

"Seraphina!" he suddenly raised his voice. "Do you have any idea what you're saying?"

"Walk out that door, and you are no longer my Vow-mate, much less the Prince's consort."

Centuries of despair had already corroded my soul. My blood core, on the verge of stopping, felt not a single ripple.

I no longer feared losing this so-called home, because this family had never truly given me a sense of belonging.

"Suits me just fine," I said, dragging the suitcase toward the door. "I was never worthy in the first place."

I dragged my suitcase toward the door without a backward glance.