Damian's arrogance and the weight of the Golden Card did not crush Serafina; instead, she erupted into a mysterious, demonic laughter. It wasn't the laugh of the defeated, but the thirst of a predator seeking revenge. Damian didn't realize that the bird he tried to cage had turned into a hawk.
Serafina slowly licked her lips, mimicking Damian's own predatory style. In a flash of feline agility, she lunged at him, pinning his broad shoulders with a strength born of fury. Without mercy, she sank her teeth deep into the crook of his neck. Even a man as powerful as Damian gasped, frozen by the sudden, sharp agony. His pristine white collar was instantly stained crimson with his own royal blood.
Pulling back with blood-slicked lips, she whispered into his ear:
"Your billions cannot buy me, Damian. This mark on your body is now the proof of my ownership. If you are the King, know that I am the Dark Queen who thrives on the blood of Kings. From this day on, I write the rules of this toxic game."
Damian touched the wound, staring at his blood-covered hand. He saw that the timid girl was gone—replaced by a monster of his own making. He licked his own blood from his fingers and let out a wild, primal laugh. His eyes no longer held hatred, but a burning, lethal attraction. He slammed her against the wall, hissing, "Bravo, my Queen! By drinking my blood, you have signed your death warrant. From now on, our union shall be forged in blood and agony."As the blood dripped from his neck onto her lips, the room felt breathless. Serafina reached for his collar, her fingers trembling not with fear, but with anticipation. She slowly began to unbutton his shirt. As the first button gave way, Damian's hand clamped onto her waist, but he didn't stop her. He was mesmerized by her destructive beauty. By the time the third button opened, her nails traced a light scratch across his bare, heaving chest.
"Your expensive shirt and that card are your pride, Damian," she murmured, her warm breath dancing on his skin, "but the man beneath them is my prisoner tonight. I will draw a wound on you deeper than any bite you gave me."
Damian's restraint snapped. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back to reveal his own demonic grin. "You've opened the shirt, Serafina, but do you have the strength to handle the beast inside?" He tore the shirt off completely, standing before her in his raw, masculine dominance.
In an explosion of violence, he threw her onto the royal bed. He lunged like a tiger, pinning her wrists until her bones groaned. "You wanted to be Queen?" he roared. "On this bed, you are no ruler—you are merely the vessel for my hunger!"
But Serafina, fueled by a sadistic pleasure, licked the dried blood from her lips and brought her tongue dangerously close to his. It was a gesture of pure defiance. She licked a stray drop of blood from his chin and laughed. "You can break my body, Damian, but my pride is drunk on your blood. Bite me again; let's see which is stronger—your venom or my spite!"
The resort suite turned into a primitive battlefield. They abandoned their humanity, becoming two bloodthirsty entities. Damian's teeth tore into her shoulder while Serafina's claws shredded the muscles of his back. The white sheets were soaked in a mixture of their shared blood.
He looked at her through a haze of crimson. "We are both cursed, Serafina. This blood is our jewelry." She traced a mark on his nose with her bloody tongue. "Then let this hell be our heaven, Damian." Outside, a lightning strike illuminated the glass room—revealing a scene of golden cards, torn clothes, and two bodies bathing in blood.
As the first light of dawn touched the room, the madness faded. Damian lay beside her, his chest a map of dark scratches. Serafina, seeing the wreckage of the night, felt a sudden, sharp pang of shame. She huddled in a corner, wrapping a sheet around her, unable to meet his eyes. Her face burned red with embarrassment at her own feral behavior.
Damian woke and touched his wounded neck, smiling faintly. He crawled toward her, lifting her chin. "Where is the lioness from last night?" he teased. "Why are you blushing like a common girl?" Serafina whispered, "I don't know what came over me. Please, don't look at me."
He kissed her forehead—a kiss of ownership, not cruelty. "This shame proves you are still my Serafina. But remember, I have met the demon inside you, and I love it."
Serafina eventually stood, letting the sheet fall. The morning light turned her skin into a porcelain canvas, where the red bite marks glowed like rubies. Her hair, incredibly long and jet black, cascaded down her back and covered her front like a silken veil. Damian watched, spellbound. She looked at him through the mirror, a mysterious smile returning. "Am I not worth more than your Golden Card now?"
Damian embraced her from behind, inhaling the scent of her hair. "All the gold in the world is dross compared to your skin." But his tenderness vanished instantly. He yanked her hair back, his voice turning ice-cold. "Never forget, Serafina—this beauty is my property. You aren't a Queen; you are a beautiful prize I can tear apart whenever I wish."
He pressed the sharp edge of the Golden Card against her stomach. "Your beauty exists because I allow it. Who is your master?" Serafina didn't break. She laughed a wild, desperate laugh and turned on him, straddling him and pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was a mix of thirst and fire. She whispered, "If I am the prey, I am the one you can neither kill nor release. I will drown you in love as deep as the pain you give me."
The room descended back into a frantic heat. Serafina bit her lip to stifle her cries, but Damian was merciless. Her body shook under his primal force. Finally, she screamed into the glass walls, "No... Damian! I can't... stop! I can't take any more!"
Below, the bodyguards heard her harrowing, rhythmic cries of agony and pleasure. Their faces turned a deep, embarrassed red. They were killers, but the sounds of Damian's unholy union made their blood run cold with discomfort. Their leader wiped sweat from his brow; he knew that upstairs, Serafina was being used like a living doll.
The tragedy reached its climax. Damian, refusing to stop even as she went limp, used the sharp corner of the Golden Card to carve a line down her back, branding her like a piece of wood. Serafina went completely still, her long hair floating in a pool of blood on the sheets. Her eyes remained open, but the light was gone. Damian stood over her, covered in her blood, and let out a triumphant roar toward the window. He had finally destroyed her, leaving behind a living corpse.Beneath the cascading torrents of the shower, the steam blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. As Damian approached, Serafina reached out with her slick, wet arms and locked them around his neck. She stared into his soul for a fleeting second before lunging forward with the desperation of a starving predator, capturing his lips in a deep, frantic, and unholy kiss.
The Submerged Union
The freezing water poured over them, washing away the dried, crusty blood from the night's carnage, but the water could not cleanse the demonic possession between them. There was no forgiveness in that kiss, only a raw, primal claim of ownership. Serafina used her tongue to dominate every contour of Damian's mouth, asserting that his body was now her playground. Damian, the man who had just orchestrated a tragedy to break her, found himself utterly helpless against the sorcery of her touch. He gripped her waist, pulling her flush against his marble-hard frame, the only sound in the locked room being the rhythmic thud of the water and their ragged, gasping breaths.
The Trap of the Siren
Mid-kiss, Serafina leaned into his ear, her voice a silken thread of malice. "Tell me, Damian—who is cleansing whom? Am I washing away your sins, or are you kneeling before the power I wield over you?" Damian was speechless, drowned in the intoxicating nectar of her kiss. Serafina felt the shift; she realized that the trap of simulated love was a far more potent weapon than any physical torture. She had occupied a space in his mind far more valuable than his Golden Card.
The Primordial Surge
The fog in the washroom thickened as Damian's masculinity and pride erupted like a dormant volcano. Serafina's attempt at dominance drove him into a state of absolute frenzy. He lost all restraint, returning her kiss with a desperate, crushing intensity as if trying to inhale her very soul. Without breaking the contact, he slid his powerful arms beneath her and hoisted her into the air. The hot water continued to lash against their naked skin as he pinned her against the cold tile wall, reminding her that no matter how she played her cards, he was the architect of this wild game. Her long, sodden hair cascaded over his arms, dripping onto the floor like black ink.
The Guards' Torment
Outside, through the narrow ventilators, the sounds of their frantic breathing and the harrowing cries of their union drifted down to the valley below. The elite bodyguards were in a state of pathetic misery. They stood there, frozen in terror and a deep, burning shame, literally covering their ears to block out the sounds of the carnal war happening above. Every one of them was flushed a violent shade of red. Even as hardened killers, they were unprepared for this—the realization that their master and this bewitching woman were tearing each other apart in an accursed paradise of blood and lust.
The Smile of the Victor
As Damian buried his teeth once more into the curve of her neck while she was suspended in his arms, Serafina let out a long, shuddering breath and buried her face in his shoulder. She was smiling—a sharp, victorious grin. She knew that while he held her body aloft, it was Damian who was truly caught, entangled forever in the web of her beauty and the dark addiction she had become.The steam from the shower transformed the washroom into a hazy, dreamlike trap. Serafina, held in Damian's arms, suddenly ceased her kissing. Her eyes flickered with a strange, calculated stillness. Just as Damian leaned in, hungry for more of her, a spine-chilling shift occurred.
From the depths of her wet hair, Serafina produced a microscopic, razor-sharp surgical blade she had hidden away. As Damian pressed her against the wall, intoxicated by her scent, she slowly traced the blade over his neck—right on the spot where he had bitten her the night before.
The Shift in Equation
The blade drew a fine, crimson line across Damian's skin. He didn't recoil in pain; he froze in sheer astonishment. Serafina leaned into his ear, whispering:
"You thought I was surrendering in your arms? Damian, I called you here to freshen up because it's easier to wash away your blood under this water. Today, I don't want your body; I am here to strip away the pride of your arrogant Golden Card."
Unexpectedly, Damian didn't push her away. Instead, he erupted into a demonic laugh. He didn't let go of her; he bared his neck further, inviting the blade. "Kill me, Serafina!" he challenged. "See if your trembling hand can take my life. If you succeed, this empire, the power of the 7 Billionaires—it all becomes yours."
Serafina dropped the blade. She realized that killing Damian was easy, but conquering him was the true challenge. She wiped the blood from his new wound with her finger and pressed it to her own lips. They were no longer predator and prey; they were partners in the dark.
The Pact of the Damned
Inside the misty washroom, a sudden silence fell. Serafina, who had been fighting like a lioness, suddenly buried her face in Damian's chest and began to weep softly. Her tears mingled with the salty spray of the shower.
"Do you want me to be a Dark Queen?" she sobbed. "I already am, Damian... you dragged me into this abyss. You are a billionaire with limitless power, but if you vanish, upon whom will I pour this mixture of hatred and love?"
Damian lifted her chin. His eyes held no light, only an infinite void. "Do not worry about what happens if I die, Serafina," he said in a deathly calm voice. "For I died a long time ago. This body you see is merely a cursed soul. I walk this earth as a Ghost, searching only for a Queen like you."
Serafina wiped her tears, a mysterious smile blooming on her lips. "I know, Damian... I've known from the start you weren't human. No mortal man can hold the cards of the 7 Billionaires. I have knowingly fallen in love with a phantom."
Outside, the temperature of the resort plummeted to sub-zero. Damian carried her to the shattered mirror. In the reflection, only Serafina was visible. Where Damian stood, there was nothing but a faint, swirling mist. Serafina did not flinch at the sight of her standing "alone" in the mirror; instead, she gripped the invisible shadow even tighter.
The Awakening in the Fortress
The next morning, sunlight touched the ruins of the glass house. The carnage and madness of the night seemed to have evaporated. Serafina lay in the massive bed, her long black hair sprawled across the pillows. The sheets were perfectly tidy, as if no struggle had occurred.
She clutched the VIP Golden Card tightly in her fist. Damian was gone. There was no shadow in the room, no reflection in the mirror. Only the dark, bruised mark on her neck remained as evidence that a phantom had touched her.
Suddenly, the room grew cold again. Damian appeared like smoke by the bedside. He lifted her as if she were a feather. Serafina, half-asleep and groggy, wrapped her arms around his neck and grumbled playfully:
"Ugh, Damian... stop. Don't disturb me. I want to sleep more... let me lie down."
She buried her face in his broad chest. Damian let out a hollow laugh—a sound of both love and dominion. He carried her to the window where the world looked small beneath them. "Does my Dark Queen want to sleep her life away? Your empire waits."
Serafina smiled and gave his chest a playful nip. "The empire can wait until tomorrow... take me back to bed." He kissed her forehead with a chilling touch and tucked her in, sitting beside her like a silent sentinel.
The Mirror's Truth
As Damian tucked her in, Serafina's eyes drifted toward the large, ornate mirror. The peace she felt vanished instantly, replaced by a paralyzing horror.
In the reflection, Damian had no handsome face, no expensive suit. Instead, there stood a gaunt, ash-colored Skeletal Entity. His skin was cracked like the bark of a dead tree. His piercing blue eyes were replaced by dark, hollow pits glowing with a faint red fire. Around his neck and chest, the golden chains of the 7 Billionaires were fused into his very bones—a mark of an ancient, unholy contract.
Serafina tried to scream, but her voice died in her throat. She saw his hand touching her chin in reality, but in the mirror, it was nothing but a bony claw. "Are you surprised, Serafina?" he whispered in that booming, spectral voice. "This is the form I have hidden for centuries. With these skeletal hands, I grasped the world's wealth. Can you accept this horror as your King?"Serafina trembled as she stared at the ancient ghost. She realized she hadn't just fallen for a billionaire, but for a primordial power that ruled even after death. As she moved to flee, Damian's supernatural grip tightened.
"Shhhh... be still, Serafina. Do not fear."
With those words, the illusion shifted back. The skeleton vanished from the mirror. Damian stood there once more in his handsome, regal form. He pulled her against his chest. "What you saw in the mirror is my past; what you see now is your present," he murmured into her hair. "I can take any form for you, Serafina. I can be your savior or your reaper. Where would you run? Where is there to go once you have tasted my shadow?"
Serafina realized there was no escape. The beauty of his human form was so intoxicating it could make her forget the horror of the skeleton. She buried her face in his chest, surrendering to the ghost who owned her soul.