The Name She Wrote in Blood

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.