The Vampire Prince’s Addiction：The Servant I Bought Loves Me Too Much

I ordered a vampire online—Adrian. Hot, aloof. He was supposed to be my bodyguard and live-in housekeeper.

But he was always staring at my neck like he was starving. Fangs popping out, eyes glowing red.

And he was always walking around shirtless, wearing nothing but an apron. When I tried to stop him, he’d look all hurt and ask, "You don't like it?"

"But you're blushing."

I didn't know what to do, so I messaged customer service. They suggested, "You could form a bond with him. He'll be more obedient."

So I did. But I had no idea I was forming a two-way mate's bond instead of a one-way master-servant bond.

The night we bonded, he climbed into my bed, eyes glowing red. He licked my skin, hungry, grinding against me desperately and begging, "Master, just one bite, please? I'll make you feel so good..."

To help with my daily life and for my own safety, I ordered a powerful, handsome vampire online. But he seemed to have a few… defects. He was always staring hungrily at my neck, his fangs would appear without warning, and his eyes would flash red. It wasn't until later that I realized he wasn't sick—he was just hungry in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

"Are you sure you want to order this one?"

The app's customer service rep sounded hesitant. "This vampire is a bit… special. His needs are very strong. I’d recommend a model with a gentler temperament."

I was confused. "Strong needs? Like, from psychological trauma?"

"You could say that," the rep replied vaguely.

"Then it's no problem," I said, decisively tapping ‘Confirm Payment.’ As a psychologist with eight years of practice, a creature with deep-seated psychological issues was basically my catnip.

Besides, that psychopath had started following me all the way to my front door. I needed a two-for-one deal: someone who could protect me and handle the chores. After the Supernatural Beings Legalization Act, hiring vampires as bodyguards had become pretty standard for humans.

The payment-successful notification chimed.

Three hours later, my doorbell rang.

I opened the door and froze.

A man stood in the hallway, at least six-foot-three, dressed in a black straitjacket, its silver buckles glinting in the light.

His head was bowed, dark brown hair obscuring half his face, but it couldn't hide his impossible beauty—pale skin, a high-bridged nose, thin, firm lips, and eyes that were currently fixed on the floor.

"Master," he said, his voice low and raspy.

"Just call me Chloe." I stepped aside to let him in.

He walked stiffly into the living room and stood motionless. I circled him.

His build was definitely impressive. Broad shoulders, a taut waistline, and the clear outline of muscles beneath the straitjacket. He gave off an aura of pure security.

I nodded, satisfied, then stepped in front of him and gently took his chin in my hand. "Open your mouth. Let me see your teeth."

I leaned in, so close I could almost feel his cold breath.

His body went rigid.

The next second, his irises began to bleed into red. Sharp fangs descended from his gums, and a low whimper escaped his throat, a sound torn between pain and desperate need.

I jumped back, startled, thinking my actions had scared him.

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered, releasing his chin and patting his shoulder gently.

I didn't expect the gesture to make him tremble even more.

His crimson eyes were locked on me.

Drawing on my clinical experience, I had an answer. This must be what the rep meant by "strong needs": a craving for physical contact, a lack of security. It looked like a classic case of skin hunger.

As a competent psychologist, I knew exactly how to soothe this kind of patient.

I opened my arms and pulled him into a hug.

His body was stiff for a moment, but then he melted into me, burying his head in the crook of my neck, his breath coming in soft, broken gasps.

"It's okay. I won't judge you," I said, patting his back like I was comforting a child. "You'll live here from now on. Work hard, and I'll take care of you."

He didn't speak, but I could feel his arms tightening around me.

To distract him, I gently pushed him away and took his hand, leading him toward the balcony. "Come on. Let's find you some… strenuous work to do."

His body went stiff again.

I opened the balcony door and turned back to look at him.

He was blushing. A faint crimson washed over his pale, almost translucent face, and the red in his eyes deepened.

"Here?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "What if someone sees?"

I blinked, then grabbed a mop and cleaning solution from the utility closet and shoved them into his hands.

"Sees you cleaning? What's the big deal?"

"Alright, you can start with the balcony."

He looked down at the mop in his hands, the blush instantly draining from his face. His eyes returned to their deep brown, and his fangs retracted.

His expression shifted to one of pure, bewildered shock. "You bought me to do chores?"