Mated To The Vampire

Chapter 5: Bouquet

Hazel dropped the small bag on the table with a soft thud. “Mother, please. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“But—”

“Why don’t you understand me, Mother?” Hazel’s voice cracked as she turned to her. “This is hard. Okay? It’s hard. Every time I see him, it reminds me of what I wish I could forget. I just want peace. I just want to spend time with you… and with Jaiden. I don’t need love.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to keep it in, but the pain slipped through anyway.

“I don’t deserve to bring anyone into that kind of hurt,” she whispered. “I can’t go through that again.”

Mrs. Helen stepped closer, her voice soft. “Hazel…”

“He’ll end up leaving,” Hazel said, her voice rising with despair. “No one stays, Mother. You know that.”

Her mother’s face fell. “You don’t have to say a word to him, Hazel. "

Hazel let out a broken laugh, tears now welling freely. “That’s the problem!” Her voice cracked as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t say anything, and it still hurts people.”

She broke down, sobbing, as her mother rushed to hold her. Mrs. Helen sat her down, pulling Hazel gently into her lap like she had when Hazel was a child. Hazel clung to her, face buried, shoulders trembling.

"I don't want to be alon

“It’s okay,” her mother whispered, stroking her hair with steady hands.

“It’s okay, baby… Let it out.”

It was Sunday—Hazel’s only day off—and just like every other free day, the house smelled of flour, vanilla, and warm memories.

In the kitchen, she stood beside her mother, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled into a loose bun, as they stirred the pancake batter together. A tray of gingerbread dough sat waiting by the oven, ready to bake.

Laughter and the soft clinking of mixing bowls filled the quiet.

“You know,” Mrs. Helen began, her voice tinged with nostalgia, “I remember when you were little… you’d always sneak into the kitchen just to help me cook.”

Hazel smiled faintly as she cracked an egg into the bowl.

“Your dad would look at you covered in flour and say, ‘She’s going to make a good chef one day… and an even better home.’” Her tone softened at the memory, eyes glazing over with emotion.

Hazel paused, the whisk resting in the bowl. Her smile faded into something quieter—something between longing and peace.

A soft knock on the door cut through the warmth of laughter and the aroma of gingerbread drifting through the kitchen. Hazel’s hands paused mid-whisk, her head turning toward the sound.

"I see you invited a friend over?" Helen asked with a playful smirk, drying her fingers on a dish towel.

Hazel raised an eyebrow.

"No... I—I doubt I did, I..i would go look." She wiped her hands quickly with a napkin, her voice uncertain as she made her way to the front door.

She opened it slowly—and froze.

Standing on the porch, looking as calm and sincere as ever, was Ethan. In his hands was a delicate bouquet of roses, their deep crimson petals vibrant against the gray of the morning.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet, unsure. His eyes searched hers, hopeful.

Hazel blinked, visibly surprised. "I... It's you."

An awkward pause stretched between them. Her fingers tightened on the doorknob.

"May I... come in?" he asked.

Hazel swallowed. She didn’t understand why he kept showing up—so persistent, so soft-spoken, so patient. She wasn’t sure if it scared her or warmed her. Maybe both. Her eyes flickered to the flowers. Why did he keep doing this?

The more she tried to stay away, the closer he seemed to come.

She stepped aside without a word.

"Thank you," he murmured and walked in, his steps slow, respectful.

From the kitchen, Helen peeked around the corner, her smile widening. "Ethan, right? I remember you."

"Yes I suppose, Mrs Helen" Ethan nodded politely, then held the bouquet forward.

"These are for you both. I wasn’t sure who loved roses more."

Helen laughed softly, touched. "Well, aren’t you a sweetheart? Thank you."

Hazel lingered by the door, gaze unreadable.

Hazel’s eyes turned sharply to her mother, asking for answers but instead, Mrs. Helen gave her an encouraging nod, silently urging her to calm down, to breathe.

"No one knew you were coming," Hazel finally said, her voice stiff as she turned back to Ethan.

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but Helen cut in with a gentle smile.

"Oh, my dear, I did know. I invited him."

Hazel's brows furrowed. "What?"

"I thought it was time we all spent a little time together. Properly," Helen said, unbothered by her daughter’s dismay. “Now that he’s here, we can start by getting to know each other. How about that?”

Hazel looked from her mother to Ethan, and back again. She forced a tight, uneasy smile, more out of respect than willingness.

She didn’t know why her mother was doing this—why she kept pulling him closer,