Chapter 8
430words
The elders temporarily suspended my "donations"—afraid their golden goose might die.
Damian's behavior toward me shifted again—something like guilt shadowed his interactions.
He stopped avoiding me, sometimes even approaching me publicly to ask, "How are you feeling today?"
Our dynamic entered strange new territory—not friendship, but something less adversarial.
One sleepless night, my wandering led me past Damian's study door.
The door stood ajar, and his voice leaked through—tight with barely controlled rage.
"She's at her breaking point! I'm warning you for the last time—the extractions stop NOW. Or you'll face consequences you can't imagine."
The phone speaker crackled with a response. Damian's voice dropped to a deadly chill.
"Genevieve can rot for all I care."
I stumbled back, hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my gasp.
In that moment, I understood: true aristocrats don't fear scandal—they simply make problems disappear.
My continued existence wasn't chance—someone was shielding me.
A new school year dawned.
Rowena and I passed each other like ghosts—acknowledging nothing.
Another outcast, Tessa, became my desk mate—another human girl shunned by the elite.
She kept to herself, our relationship limited to occasional nods.
Meanwhile, Genevieve clung to Damian more desperately than ever.
With her blood supply interrupted by my collapse, she doubled down on her performance.
She haunted his side, playing the delicate flower needing constant protection.
They frequented the library together, heads bent over ancient texts, discussing pureblood politics beyond my comprehension.
The academy buzzed with engagement rumors.
At the annual tournament, Damian's power display left everyone awestruck as he claimed the championship without breaking a sweat.
Afterward, admirers swarmed him like moths to flame.
Genevieve positioned herself at his side, basking in reflected glory.
Then Damian did the unthinkable—he cut through the crowd and walked straight toward me as I tried to slip away unnoticed.
Before hundreds of shocked witnesses, he said simply: "Let's go home."
That day, I boarded his private jet, feeling hundreds of confused, envious, and hateful stares burning into my back.
I felt like I was hallucinating.
Until someone helpfully explained: Damian was simply collecting his property—like retrieving a favorite pen or cup.
Reality crashed back, cold and harsh.
Everyone understood what leaving school meant—I would become completely Damian's property, with no pretense of freedom.
Genevieve's gaze turned predatory—a hunter eyeing prey that would soon be hers.
If she became mistress of the Damian estate, I had no illusions—she'd drain me dry at the first opportunity, human-vampire agreements be damned.
That's when I began planning my escape—for real this time.
