Chapter 3: The Lord’s Contractual Bait
1315 Words
Three dull thuds against the door sent faint echoes shivering through the tomb-like silence of the corridor.
"Enter."
Astrid pushed open the massive ebony doors, her heart thumping like a wild hare caught in a snare.
The office was dimly lit. Killian was buried behind a cluster of holographic screens. He had shed the stiff formality of his daytime suit, wearing only a deep charcoal silk shirt with the top two buttons undone and his tie loosened.
At this distance, she could clearly see the lingering dark-red mark on the side of his neck—a "hunter’s medal" she had branded upon him during last night’s delirium.
He leaned back in his leather chair with a preposterous elegance. It was the languor of an apex predator satiated after a feast, yet it brimmed with the dangerous aura of a beast masquerading as a gentleman.
Behind her, Sebastian closed the door without a sound.
Thud.
To Astrid’s ears, that slight click sounded like a ceremonial cannon blast before an execution.
"Mr. Valerius, you summoned me."
"Mhm." Killian didn't even lift his gaze. His eyes remained locked on the data streams on his screen as he offered a curt acknowledgment.
Silence fermented in the air. For a full minute, Astrid felt every second stretch into a century.
Finally, he stood and walked toward her with agonizing deliberation.
One had to admit, Killian was the Creator’s most favored masterpiece. With a profile as sharp as a blade and deep amber eyes, every line of his being exuded the arrogance and ferocity of pureblood Alpha royalty.
When he stood before her, his shadow swallowed her whole. Astrid was forced to tilt her head back, her gaze landing squarely on his chest. On the brink of losing control last night, her fingertips had clung countless times to those defined, molten-hot muscles...
Guilt and shame intertwined. She fought to suppress those scandalous images, forcing herself to maintain the professional poise of a designer.
"Is there something you require, sir?" Her tone was steady, though her inner resolve had long since crumbled.
"Sit." He gestured toward the leather sofa, making no move to return to his desk.
Walking as if through a minefield, Astrid cautiously took the single seat furthest from him.
"Sit beside me." He patted the empty space next to him, his tone brook no argument.
Astrid hesitated for two seconds before obediently sliding over. The distance between them instantly vanished, replaced by the intimate scent of cold cedar that clung to them both.
Killian stared at her, his gaze an abyss.
"Are you still in pain?" he asked suddenly, his voice raspy.
Astrid froze, then gave a wooden shake of her head. Was this man seriously planning to conduct a post-mortem review of last night’s near-catastrophic conquest?
"Regarding last night—what are your thoughts?" He leaned back against the sofa, his gaze raking over her delicate profile.
Astrid let out a self-deprecating laugh, her eyes falling on the conspicuous bite mark near his collarbone.
"Mr. Valerius, last night was an accident. I ingested something I shouldn't have and lost control. I apologize for my... transgression."
"There is no need to apologize," he interrupted, leaning forward. The sheer weight of his presence was suffocating. "I was the aggressor. Even if you lit the fire, everything that followed was my will."
"Please, stop..." Astrid felt her cheeks burning as if scorched by a furnace. This face-to-face interrogation was a fate worse than death. "We are both adults. Since it happened, let it remain in the shadows of last night. There’s no need to mention it again."
"You view me as some disposable commodity to be used and discarded?" Killian’s voice dropped an octave, his amber pupils flashing with the fire of offended pride.
"You misunderstand." Astrid’s breath hitched. What did he want? To maintain an illicit affair?
"How would you like to try... becoming the Lady of the Valerius House?"
"What?" Astrid was certain she was hallucinating.
Their gazes collided violently in the dimly lit room.
"There is no retreat in the laws of the Werewolf. Since we took no precautions, if there is a child, we shall raise it. Regardless, I will take responsibility for the mark I left." He spoke dispassionately, as if discussing a routine corporate merger.
Astrid fell into a state of deathly calm.
Killian hailed from an ancient lineage with the purest blood and the most draconian upbringing. That bone-deep traditionalism made it impossible for him to tolerate his own lapse in morality. He wanted to "take responsibility" solely because of his damnable aristocratic pride.
And she? She was merely a "bastard" born of a tainted lineage, raised in a cage of rumors. If she stood beside a sun like him, she would be incinerated into ash. Moreover, she had no strength left to embark on a new romance.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Valerius. I took the purification potion first thing this morning. You needn’t feel any burden. I have no interest in climbing the social ladder to become your Lady. Since I am not pressing charges, this matter ends here."
Killian’s gaze darkened instantly, a cold frost flickering behind his rimless glasses.
Having said her piece in one breath, Astrid stood to leave.
"Stay." He rose slowly, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his features. As a titan who controlled the city, this was likely the first time he had been so flatly rejected by a fragile half-vampire.
Astrid turned back, taking a deep breath. "Is there anything else, sir?"
His expression smoothed back into a composed mask. He extended his phone, the screen displaying his private social QR code.
"..."
"The company has decided to send you and Caspian to the Royal Fashion Week in Country S next month. If you are unwilling, I can find a replacement." He added, "The proposal I just made—don't be in such a hurry to refuse. I’ll give you time to consider."
Cunning hunter, Astrid cursed silently. He had precisely snared her professional lifeline. Royal Fashion Week was the pilgrimage site for all designers; she could not refuse.
She took out her phone and scanned his code. As for the marriage proposal? She hadn't the slightest intention of considering it.
Back at her desk, Claire immediately swooped in like a bat sensing blood.
"My God, what’s the 30th floor like? Did those bodyguards tear you apart?"
"Aside from being as cold as an ice cellar, it’s nothing special," Astrid deflected.
"I honestly thought you’d be carried out on a stretcher," Claire muttered, turning back to her data.
"Astrid!" Caspian came running over. The usually elegant vampire was so excited he was nearly losing his composure.
"Director Caspian." Astrid stood up.
"The supreme directive just arrived. The roster for the Royal Fashion Week is out. You and I—we’re going to conquer that stage!"
"I see." Astrid wasn't surprised, but she felt a heavy weight of pressure.
As the news spread, the entire department exploded. A newcomer with only one year of experience snatching a top-tier slot? The veteran designers looked as though they were swallowing bile. Astrid knew this was Killian’s compensation—and her gilded cage.
Just then, her phone buzzed. [Darling, shall we go to the theater tonight? — Julian]
Astrid looked at the message, her stomach churning. He was playing the devoted boyfriend to her while simultaneously escorting his Vampire Princess?
[I'd love to.]
She replied swiftly, then took a screenshot and posted it to a social feed visible only to her "dear friend" Isabella. The caption: Five years, and my heart hasn't changed.
Sure enough, in less than three minutes, a restless Isabella sent a private message: "Sweetie, which theater are you going to tonight? I’d love to join the fun."
The fish had taken the bait. Astrid darkened her screen, a cold, sharp curve touching the corners of her lips.
- Writer
