Robert stood frozen, his body locked in the exact position he had been in moments earlier. His shadow stretched long across the floor, unmoving, as though even it was afraid to shift. The calm that usually defined him—measured breaths, steady thoughts, quiet confidence—had vanished completely. In its place was a face etched with raw surprise.
He stared.
Not at Selene exactly, but at what she had become.
It felt like watching ghosts rise from the dead.
How could this be?
The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, growing louder with every second. Nothing he knew, nothing he had prepared for, explained what was happening before him. The pieces didn't fit. The logic failed. His thoughts scattered, refusing to settle into anything coherent.
Selene screamed again.
The sound tore through the room, sharp and unrestrained. She clawed at the floor, at the walls, at herself, her nails scraping against wood and skin alike. Her voice cracked as she screamed his name, over and over, as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.
"Robert!"
He snapped out of it.
In two strides, he was beside her, dropping to his knees. He grabbed her shoulders gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were blazing red now, glowing with a feral intensity that made his chest tighten.
"Calm down," he said quickly, though his own heart was pounding. "Breathe in. Breathe out. That's it. Slow."
She didn't hear him.
Her senses were spiraling out of control. The air itself seemed too loud. She twisted away, her nostrils flaring as her sense of smell sharpened to an unbearable degree. Every scent hit her at once—dust, metal, sweat, distant smoke, life pulsing everywhere.
She gasped.
Then she stood.
Before Robert could react, she rushed toward the door, her movements swift and instinctive, as though something unseen was calling her—pulling her in a precise direction she didn't consciously understand.
"Selene!" Robert called. "If you step outside like this, it will be trouble."
She didn't slow down.
Didn't stop.
She ran.
Robert cursed under his breath and followed, catching up in seconds. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back just as she reached the threshold. She struggled violently, strength far beyond what her frame suggested.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and with one precise movement, he struck.
Her body went limp.
Robert caught her before she hit the ground, lowering her carefully to the floor. For a long moment, he stayed there, breathing hard, staring down at her unconscious form.
Hours passed.
The house was silent except for the rhythmic pacing of Robert's footsteps along the hallway. Back and forth. Back and forth. He couldn't sit. Couldn't rest. His mind refused to slow.
He had brought blood—sealed, prepared, necessary. It sat untouched on the counter, mocking him.
None of this made sense.
Selene wasn't supposed to be like this. She couldn't be. The signs were undeniable now, and yet the truth felt impossible to accept.
"How?" he muttered. "How could you be a vampire?"
It didn't add up. Not with her history. Not with what he knew. Not with what had been taken from her.
A soft sound broke the silence.
She stirred.
Robert rushed to her side just as her eyes fluttered open. The red hadn't faded. Tears streamed down her face—thick, dark, unmistakably blood. She whimpered, her body trembling as though every nerve were on fire.
Each movement seemed to cause her pain. Every breath was a struggle.
"Robert…" she whispered, her voice barely there, no longer screaming—begging.
"Help me."
He didn't hesitate.
He tore open a sealed bag of blood and brought it to her lips. "Drink," he said firmly. "Now."
She resisted weakly at first, then instinct took over.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Her body relaxed.
Her eyes closed.
She went unconscious once more.
Before Robert could allow himself a moment of relief—
Clang.
Clang.
The sound of her phone ringing echoed through the hallway, loud and jarring, vibrating against the silence like a warning bell.
Robert stopped pacing.
Slowly, he turned.
The phone lay on a small table near the doorway, its screen lighting up the dark space repeatedly. Even from a distance, the noise felt intrusive—as though something outside had found a way in.
He walked toward it and glanced at the caller ID.
His expression hardened.
"No," he muttered. "Not now."
The name on the screen made his jaw clench.
Nadia.
People called her a witch—not because she practiced magic, but because of her nature. Sharp-tongued. Calculating. Coldly ambitious. She moved through the industry like a curse, leaving damage in her wake and smiling while she did it.
Robert answered just as the ringing stopped.
"She's unavailable," he said flatly. "Call back later."
He ended the call immediately.
For a moment, there was peace.
Then—
Clang.
Clang.
The phone rang again.
Robert stared at it, anger simmering beneath his composure. He let it ring. Once. Twice.
He didn't answer.
Somewhere else, Nadia stood still, phone in hand, suspicion creeping across her face. Selene never missed calls like this. Never.
A second later, a voicemail notification appeared.
Robert played it.
Nadia's voice filled the hallway—cool, precise, unmistakably firm.
"As much as I don't like talking to you," she said, "and as much as I want you out of this industry, there's a shoot tomorrow at five."
Robert's fingers tightened around the phone.
"We need your assistance," Nadia continued. "So you will be there. I'm not asking. I'm stating."
The message ended.
Robert exhaled sharply, fury flashing across his face.
"She has no shoots this week," he muttered. "None."
But reality didn't care.
He looked back toward Selene's room. Toward the fragile line between the life she knew and the one she was being dragged into.
Public exposure. Crowds. Lights. Humans.
Danger.
And yet, refusing wasn't an option either.
Robert closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself.
"It looks like," he said quietly, "you'll have to do what you have to do."
The clock ticked on.
And somewhere deep within Selene, something ancient stirred—waiting.