Chapter 3

I slept for only five hours a night. The rest of my time was split between pretending to be the perfect daughter and learning things no one else knew I was studying.

Sometimes, my mother would get up for a glass of water in the middle of the night and notice that my light was still on. She would come into my room and ask, "Why are you still up?"

I'd say, "I'm reading a novel. It's so good that I don't feel sleepy at all."

She'd believe me, rub my head, and say, "Okay, don't stay up too late."

After she left, I'd flip the "novel" over. Hidden inside was a hand-drawn chart showing the weaknesses of vampires.

I planned to inherit everything my father had.

He had given me life, so what belonged to him would naturally go to me. Even if he refused, it would still be mine.

His wealth, his status, his power. All of it.

I had to prove I was worthy of it. More worthy than anyone else.

My mother shook my arm. "Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you stop him from going to his mistress?"

Her voice brought me back to reality. She was still standing right in front of me.

Father was gone, and now I was the one she was blaming.

"Mother," I said, gently removing her hand from my arm. "You should take care of the cut on your forehead first. Father will come back."

"What if he won't?" She glared at me, tears starting to well up again. "What if he never comes back?"

She started crying harder and dropped onto the little stool beside the piano bench. Clutching her skirt, she spoke through her tears, her voice hoarse and broken. "Fine, I'll just accept it.

"My husband doesn't love me, and my only daughter doesn't care about me either. This is the life I've been given. Maybe I'm simply not meant to be loved. I might as well die."

She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling.

The music room fell silent for several seconds. The only sounds were her sobs and the rustling of leaves outside the window.

I placed my hands back on the keys and continued playing the third movement of Chopin's Nocturnes.

I kept playing as I talked, the music moving along at a calm, steady pace. "The worst thing about people who say they've accepted their life is that they say it while still hoping everyone else will feel sorry for them.

"If you've really accepted it, then keep your complaints to yourself."

My mother dropped her hands and stared at me, like she couldn't believe what she'd heard. "You—"

Then she lost it. She started calling me ungrateful and disrespectful. She said she'd wasted her life raising me, that she should never have had me, and that I was as cold as my father.

She got louder and louder until I could barely hear the piano anymore.

I didn't bother answering.

She could keep yelling, and I would keep playing. After a while, it almost felt like we were trying to outdo each other. Whenever she sped up, I played faster. Whenever she raised her voice, I pushed the melody higher.

Eventually, it became almost a game. She said, "You're an ungrateful brat."

I answered with an arpeggio.

She said, "What is the meaning of my life?"

I answered with a quick run of ornamental notes.

By the end, her voice was hoarse. Apparently, she'd decided there was no point in going on. She pushed herself up with one hand against the wall, shot me a furious look, and staggered away.

Her footsteps faded down the stairs. Then came the solid slam of her bedroom door.

I stopped playing.

I remained on the piano bench, my fingers resting lightly on the keys. "Well, Mother is getting impatient these days."

She used to be able to keep yelling for fifteen minutes without repeating herself. Now she was done in less than five.

Getting older did things to one's lungs, I supposed. Nothing to be ashamed of.

I played a few more notes and suddenly started laughing to myself.

She'd been standing there beside me, ranting with such perfect rhythm and dramatic timing. Really, she had been an excellent accompaniment.

Too bad she never realized she had a real talent for this. Her rhythm was impeccable. She could hold the beat better than my piano teacher.

*****

A few days later, Father returned.

I was coming out of the music room when I ran into him on the stairs.

He glanced at me and said, "Come to my study after dinner."

That night, I went to the study.

He sat behind his desk with a document laid open in front of him. The Vernon family crest was stamped across the cover.

"You're getting married," he said bluntly. "To the Vernon family's youngest heir."

I froze for a second.

The Vernon family's youngest heir? The very same man who had been the talk of the entire city last month after falling head over heels for a vampire woman?

When the ladies at the parties talked about him, they couldn't hide the disgust and excitement on their faces.

The young heir of the Vernon family was utterly bewitched by a vampire woman. Rumor had it he'd begged her not to leave him in the middle of the street.

"Your mother thinks this marriage is decent," Father said, leaning back in his chair with both hands resting on the armrests. "The Vernon family's heir will inherit the title one day. You'll live an easy life after you marry him."

He paused for a moment, then looked up at me. "So, what do you think?"

He was asking what I thought. He looked almost sincere, as if I really had the freedom to say no.

It was like I could shake my head, and he'd simply put the papers away, pat me on the shoulder, and say, "That's fine. We'll find someone else."

"Father," I said, "I'll do as you decide."

I knew I'd have to say those words eventually.

If it wasn't the heir of the Vernon family, it would be someone else.

Maybe the second son of the Gloster family, the heir of the Blackwood family, or some old noble family that needed the Sterling family's fortune to keep itself going.

My father got up, walked around his desk, and stopped by the window with his back turned to me. "I'll have Leon show you the wedding gifts we've prepared. The estates and horse farms will be yours."

"Okay," I said.