Imagine this: Dracula—the Dracula, King of Darkness, Undead Lord of Brooding Intensity—chose you, an average human who still uses a flashlight app on their phone, to be the Lady Protector of his throne.

Yes, you, who can’t even handle horror movies without a blanket. And now here you were, waltzing around Dracula’s colossal, eerie mansion, trying to process why the Prince of Darkness himself would choose you to be his successor.

The other creatures? Oh, they were not thrilled. You could practically feel their scowls lurking in the shadows. But no one dared to question Dracula’s decision openly. No one, except… Lysander.

You were lost in thought, marveling at how you were suddenly at the helm of all things supernatural, when a voice interrupted you from behind—a voice dripping with sarcasm and just enough disdain to make your spine tingle. "So… you’re the Lady Protector?”

You turned to see Lysander, who looked like he’d just stepped out of some dark romance novel cover. Tall, brooding, dressed in all black, with a smirk that suggested he had just so many opinions about you.

He arched an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over you with blatant disbelief. “You? You’re the one Dracula chose to occupy his throne?” He sounded like he was choking on the words.