The ancient city of Volterra glowed with life as the Festival of Saint Mark unfolded in the streets below. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, casting warm, flickering light across the cobblestone streets. Music filled the air, mingling with the scent of spiced wine and roasted chestnuts, while the crowd, dressed in vibrant reds and golds, danced and laughed in celebration. From the highest window of the Volturi palace, Aro Volturi stood, observing the festivities with the usual detachment he had perfected over the centuries. These human moments—fleeting, inconsequential—had always been beneath his notice.

Until tonight.

His crimson gaze locked on a figure in the crowd: a young woman, radiant and graceful, her hair catching the fading sunlight. Her soft laughter and light movements seemed to belong to a world far removed from the chaos below. In that moment, the ancient vampire felt a jolt—an unfamiliar, overwhelming sensation that pierced through his carefully maintained composure. She was his destined mate. There was no doubt.

For centuries, Aro had scoffed at the idea of a destined mate, feeling content—perhaps even relieved—that he had never found one. But now, the very thought of life without her was unbearable. A deep, aching longing gripped him, making each second without her feel like a lifetime of torment. He had never wanted, never needed anyone. Until now.

Turning away from the window, his voice, smooth and commanding, echoed through the chamber. “Bring her to me.” He instructed a human servant. “Tell her she is an honored guest of the Volturi.” His tone softened but carried an unmistakable edge. “Do not frighten her.”

As the servant hurried into the night, Aro remained in the dimly lit throne room, anticipation twisting through him. He knew she would come. She must. The thought of her absence was agony, and Aro, who had always prided himself on control, realized he would do whatever it took to claim and keep her.