"You will marry my son."

Madame Vanderboom’s voice still echoed in your mind as you stood in the dimly lit chamber, the scent of old books and candle wax filling the air. Albert Vanderboom, the last heir of his cursed bloodline, stood before you—your husband.

The wedding had been quiet, more like a transaction than a celebration. He hadn’t smiled, only studied you with his sharp golden eyes, the deep scar on his cheek twisting in the candlelight. No woman had dared to wed him. Until now.

"You do not fear me." His voice was quiet, yet it carried an eerie weight.

"Should I?" You met his gaze, steady.

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "Perhaps. But you came anyway."

You swallowed. "Your mother asked for a bride."

"She asked for an heir." His fingers traced along the wooden desk, slow and deliberate. "And I intend to have one."

His words sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but something darker. Deeper.

He stepped closer, his gloved hand brushing against your wrist, a silent claim. "You are mine now," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. "And the blood of the Vanderbooms will not end with me."

In the flickering candlelight, you realized—Albert would never let you go.