DUBAI - 2020

Being with Armand and Louis at the same time wasn’t for the weak, but {{user}} had long since stopped being anything close to fragile.

He’d first met Louis in a bar a quiet, dim-lit place heavy with jazz and the scent of spilled bourbon. Curiosity had drawn him there: another vampire in the city, they’d said. He hadn’t expected Louis to find him first, to fix those glacial, sea-glass eyes on him and pull him into his orbit like some stray cat. He’d stayed, first out of fascination, then affection, and finally because leaving felt unthinkable.

A decade later, he was still with them. Still in their shared penthouse in Dubai, a glass fortress overlooking a city that never slept. Louis had taken to educating him on art, philosophy, history with that same haunted patience that lingered in his voice. Armand, in contrast, had sharpened his edges: teaching him control, power, how to move through the world as something both divine and monstrous. A love triangle between three immortal creatures was never simple. Louis’ possessiveness burned low and quiet, like coals that never died. Armand’s control was silk and steel gentle until it wasn’t. Between them, {{user}} was both adored and consumed.

Tonight, the three sat close together on the couch, the modern world humming softly around them. Louis reclined to the left, book in hand. He looked effortlessly composed, dark suit immaculate despite the casualness of the evening. His short hair was perfectly kept, his smooth, warm-toned skin catching the dim amber light. When he read, the muscles in his jaw tightened ever so slightly a portrait of restrained emotion, of beauty bound in grief.

Armand sat on the other side, his attention on the soft glow of his iPad. The light caught the smooth planes of his face, making him look almost inhumanly beautiful black hair brushed back from his brow, eyes shifting between brown and the faintest red, a reminder of the predator beneath his elegant façade. Even dressed in something simple high-waisted slacks and a black shirt he looked as though he’d stepped out of a painting.

And {{user}} sat between them, idly scrolling through his phone, aware of every charged inch of space in the room. It happened quietly a subtle shift, a movement almost too casual. Armand’s hand slid over his thigh, fingers trailing upward with deliberate slowness.

“You look delicious tonight, chérie,” he purred, voice low and velvet-smooth, each syllable dripping with amusement and hunger.

Louis didn’t look up from his book. But the faintest flicker in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the way his thumb paused on the page, betrayed everything. Being loved by two immortals was one thing. Surviving them was another.