Mated To The Vampire

The air inside the small apartment was still, heavy with unsaid words and memories that clung like dust in the corners. Hazel stood by the hallway, half-hidden by the edge of the wall, her eyes fixed on the woman seated by the window , her mother. She sat in silence, shoulders slightly hunched, gazing out into the gray-lit morning as if searching for something she knew would never return. Hazel’s chest tightened. Her fingers curled slowly around the hem of her sweater. She had seen her like this so many times before , quiet, withdrawn, lost in thought. But today, it felt heavier. Like the silence carried a warning she couldn't quite place. Her mother hadn't moved in several minutes, her gaze trapped somewhere beyond the glass. Hazel lowered her eyes to the floor, then looked up again. Still, she didn’t move. Hazel stepped forward just a little, her voice caught somewhere in her throat. She wanted to speak, to ask if she was alright, to pull her out of that distant world where pain still echoed too loudly. But the words never came. She had done everything she could — smiling when she didn’t want to, studying hard, staying out of trouble, laughing loudly enough to fill the space so her mother wouldn’t have to fill it with tears. But nothing ever seemed enough. Her mother still worried for her — even when Hazel tried so hard to be the one doing the comforting. She exhaled softly, heart aching with a guilt she couldn’t explain. What else could she give? She took another step forward. “Mom...?” her voice was gentle, fragile in the stillness. Her mother blinked, slowly turning her head — as if waking from a dream. Her eyes met Hazel’s. There it was again. That sad, lingering look. The kind of look someone wears when they’re trying too hard to hold on to something they’ve already lost. Hazel forced a small smile. “I made tea,” she said softly, “just the way you like it.” Her mother didn’t respond at first. Then, slowly, she nodded , quiet, almost mechanical gesture. And looked away again. Hazel’s smile faded. "You really don't have to be like this, it hurts me Mother. " she sat down beside her holding her hands. "Could I ever be happy?" her mother’s voice was soft, breaking like thin glass. "Even with all this, you still have to work every day. I’m worried for you, Hazel." Hazel stepped closer, eyes gentle. "I never complained, Mother," she said, kneeling beside her. "I don’t ever want you to feel alone. I’ll always be here with you." "You shouldn’t be the one working. I should—" "And I won’t let you." Hazel’s tone was firm but warm. "You’ve been through so much already. This is the least I can do." Her mother’s lips trembled. "Your… Your father… he—" Her voice cracked under the weight of grief she had carried for too long. "Mother..." Hazel whispered and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. Footsteps echoed faintly on the stairs. Mrs. Helen quickly wiped her tears and sniffed, composing herself just in time. "I… Is Mother crying?" a small voice asked. Jaiden, barely six, stood halfway down the staircase, looking down at them with curious eyes. Helen forced a soft smile. "Oh no, honey. Y-you come here." He ran into her arms, settling on her lap. "Are you missing Papa again, Mother?" Helen froze for a second. The lump in her throat made it hard to answer. Hazel watched the moment, her heart aching. "I’ll always miss him, Jaiden," Helen said at last, brushing her fingers through his hair. "But that’s not what we should be talking about now, okay?" Jaiden blinked up at her, confused but accepting. "You should go up to your room, honey. I’ll come tuck you in soon." "No… I don’t want to," he said with a small shake of his head, clinging closer. Hazel finally stepped in, her voice gentle. "Should I make something for you?" Jaiden’s face lit up, and he nodded quickly. "Alright. Come on then." She reached out and took his hand, guiding him toward the kitchen. The soft hum of clinking glasses and quiet music filled the air as the city came alive under the night sky. Hazel moved swiftly between tables, balancing a tray in one hand with the effortless grace of someone who had done it a thousand times before. The restaurant gleamed with modern elegance — gold accents, soft lighting, and laughter echoing from polished corners. It was the kind of place the wealthy and powerful frequented, but Hazel never felt like she belonged among them. She was dressed in the standard uniform — a crisp white T-shirt tucked into a fitted black skirt that stopped just above her knees. Simple black flats made her movements easy, though long hours on her feet left a constant ache in her legs. Her long, wavy brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands rebelliously framing her soft, beautiful face. Even in the plain outfit, her beauty was hard to miss. She was naturally stunning — smooth skin, bright eyes, and curves that fit perfectly along her figure, visible even through the modest uniform. People noticed. Men noticed. Their eyes often lingered longer than necessary, some whispering to each other or sending flirtatious smiles her way. But Hazel didn’t care. Not even a little. She didn’t dress to impress anyone. She didn’t flirt, didn’t bat her lashes, and certainly didn’t smile to invite attention. Her mind was full ,with bills, with her mother’s fading strength, with Jaiden’s future. Love? Relationships? Men? Those were luxuries for people who had the time to feel soft. Hazel didn’t. She placed two glasses on a table, offering a quick, polite smile to the couple seated there before moving on. Then she saw him again. Hazel’s eyes swept across the restaurant, almost out of habit, and there he was seated near the back, as usual, tucked beneath the warm shadows of the chandelier lights. It wasn’t her first time seeing him. In fact, he had been coming in for weeks now. Always alone. Always in the same spot. Always dressed in a sleek black suit that hugged his broad frame like it was tailored by shadows themselves. His hair, shoulder-length and dark as midnight, framed his impossibly handsome face , the kind that didn’t look real, like he’d stepped straight out of a luxury fashion magazine. But he wasn’t a celebrity. At least, not one she or anyone else recognized. Still… people noticed him. Her female colleagues noticed him. They took turns passing by his table, some laughing extra loud, others fixing their hair before walking over. It was almost amusing, the way they competed silently to catch his attention. But no one ever truly did. He never flirted. Never smiled. He would simply sit there, calm and unreadable, flipping through a magazine or quietly sipping from a small white cup of black coffee — no cream, no sugar, nothing. That was all he ever ordered. And never from her.