Killed by My Wife, Reborn as Her Nightmare

WHEN THE BLOOD REMEMBERS

CHAPTER 8:

He led Adrian out of the dining room, down another lavish corridor, and into his study. It was a room of quiet power. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves held ancient-looking leather-bound volumes. A massive desk of carved ebony sat before a window overlooking a private, walled garden. The air smelled of aged paper, fine whisky, and that same wild, metallic undercurrent.

Rafael went to a locked cabinet. From it, he withdrew not a file, but a small, faded photograph in a simple silver frame. He handed it to Adrian.

The photo showed a man and a woman, their faces radiant with joy. The woman was beautiful, with kind eyes and Adrian’s same dark hair. The man had Adrian’s jawline, his smile.

And in the woman’s arms, swaddled in a white blanket, was a newborn.

Adrian’s own infant face stared back at him.

His breath hitched. He knew this photo. It was in the thin file at the orphanage. Sister Margarita had said it was left with him. He’d always assumed the couple were kindly donors, now dead.

“Your father had that taken hours before the attack,” Rafael said softly. “He said if he could not watch you grow, he would at least have a picture of the day you began.”

The evidence was undeniable, crashing over him in a wave. The photo. The story. The birthmark…

“There is a mark on your back, Adrian,” Rafael said, as if reading his thoughts. “A circle, with a serpent eating its own tail. Yes?”

Adrian’s hand went instinctively to the center of his back, between his shoulder blades. He’d had the birthmark forever. Raised, pale against his skin, intricate as a tattoo.

The other boys at the orphanage had called it his ‘snake brand,’ a sign of bad luck. He’d believed them.

“How did you know?”

“Because every true-born Valerio carries it. It is the Ouroboros. The symbol of our line. Of rebirth, eternity, and the cycle that death cannot break.” Rafael’s voice was solemn. “Yours is white. Pure. Uncorrupted.”

“And yours?” Adrian asked, his voice barely audible.

Slowly, Rafael unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and pushed the sleeve up his forearm. There, just below the inside of his elbow, was the same symbol.

But his was not a birthmark. It was a tattoo, the ink a dark, bruised black, and woven around it were faint, glowing silver lines that resembled… circuitry.

“Mine is a brand,” Rafael said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “A receipt. I am a System vampire, Adrian.My powers, my limits, my very existence is regulated by the Sanguine System. I must wear a witch’s pendant to walk in the sun. I receive quests and notifications like a character in a game. I am bound.”

He pulled his sleeve down, his gaze intense on Adrian. “But you… your mark is natural. You are not like us. You are the first Primal vampire born in three centuries. You do not need a system. You do not need a pendant. The sun may weaken you, but it will not burn you. Your power is your own. It comes from your blood, not from a screen.”

Adrian stared at him, the pieces forming a picture too bizarre, too grandiose to accept. He gave a hollow, strained laugh. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. First, I have a dead family. Then I’m a vampire. What’s next? Do I own a trillion-dollar empire, too?”

Rafael didn’t smile. His expression was utterly serious. “Actually, you guessed correctly. You are the sole heir to the Casa Valerio holdings. Our interests in shipping, mining, finance, and… less legal ventures. The total net worth is measured in trillions. So, yes. That is also included.”

The room spun. Adrian leaned against the heavy desk for support. It was too much. A sick joke. A cruel, elaborate fantasy for a dying man who wasn’t dying anymore.

He saw the skepticism, the lingering disbelief on Adrian’s face. Rafael’s own expression softened with resolve. “Words are not enough. I see that. So let me do what only our kind can do among family.”

He stepped close. Before Adrian could pull away, Rafael placed his palms gently on either side of Adrian’s face. His touch was cool.

“Let me show you,” Rafael whispered, his pale eyes locking onto Adrian’s. “A memory. Not mine, but your father’s, passed to me in his last moments. See for yourself who you are.”

Adrian tried to jerk back, but a strange current flowed from Rafael’s hands, not electricity, but something older. A pressure built behind his eyes.

The opulent study blurred, dissolved into darkness.

And then, Adrian saw.