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Author: Vicky Grover
last update2025-05-28 02:47:19

The opulent ballroom that had moments before buzzed with champagne-fueled celebration now felt like a tomb. Crystal chandeliers cast harsh shadows across faces frozen in terror, and the magical decorations seemed to dim as if responding to the oppressive atmosphere that Victor Moon's words had created.

Richard Sterling swayed on his feet, his face ashen as the full weight of his family's situation crashed down on him. His hand clutched at his chest as if he were having a heart attack, while Catherine Sterling stood rigid beside him, her perfectly applied makeup unable to hide the fear etched into her features.

Diana remained frozen near Alexander Cross, who was still bleeding from Marcus's casual humiliation. Her ice-blue eyes darted between Marcus and the Moon family, calculating the implications with the sharp business mind that had built her empire.

If Victor and Sarah Moon are protecting him this fiercely, the thought rippled through the crowd like wildfire, then Marcus Steele must be more powerful than we ever imagined. Maybe even more powerful than the Moons themselves.

The realization hit the supernatural elite like a physical blow. Everyone knew the stories—the whispered rumors of Victor Moon's rise to power, built on the bones of families who had dared to cross him. Entire bloodlines had simply vanished overnight, their assets absorbed, their names erased from supernatural society as if they had never existed.

If Victor wanted the Sterlings and Cross family destroyed, there would be nothing left but empty buildings and faded memories.

The crowd's loyalty shifted like sand in a hurricane.

"Marcus!" A woman in diamonds rushed forward, her voice dripping with sudden desperation. "I never doubted you for a second! Please, remember that I defended you earlier!"

"Mr. Steele, sir!" A man in an expensive tuxedo pushed past others to get closer. "I always knew you were someone special! The way you carried yourself—it was obvious you had noble blood!"

"Those Sterlings were so rude to you!" another guest called out. "Absolutely disgraceful behavior! You showed remarkable restraint!"

The sycophantic chorus grew louder as more guests abandoned any association with their former hosts.

"Diana Sterling is nothing compared to your obvious superiority!"

"The Cross family always were nouveau riche trash anyway!"

"We should have known better than to trust Sterling judgment!"

Marcus watched the pathetic display with detached amusement. He pulled a silk napkin from the buffet table, wiped his hands with deliberate care, then tossed it at Alexander Cross's feet like garbage.

"You're not worth any more of my time," Marcus said quietly.

Alexander flinched as if the napkin were a poisonous snake, his face burning with shame and terror.

The Sterlings exhaled collectively, relief flooding their features. Maybe, just maybe, they could salvage this disaster.

But Victor Moon wasn't finished.

"Ungrateful dogs," Victor's voice cut through the ballroom like a blade forged from winter itself. His eyes fixed on Richard Sterling with the intensity of a predator selecting prey. "Do you have any idea what you've done tonight?"

Richard's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, no words emerging.

"Your family owes everything—everything—to the Steele bloodline," Victor continued, his voice rising with righteous fury. "Without Marcus's grandfather's generosity decades ago, you would all be begging in the streets. And this is how you repay that debt?"

Catherine Sterling tried to speak. "Mr. Moon, we didn't know—"

"You didn't know?" Victor's laugh was like broken glass. "You signed a binding contract! You accepted ten million dollars! And when the time came to honor your word, you chose to humiliate the man who saved your pathetic family!"

The crowd pressed backward, sensing the volcanic rage barely contained beneath Victor's controlled exterior.

"You are dishonorable. You are ungrateful. You are beneath contempt," Victor's words fell like hammer blows. "Consider this your only warning. Cross the Steele family again, and I will personally ensure your bloodline disappears from supernatural society forever."

Diana's face crumbled as the full magnitude of their mistake became clear. If we had known... if we had just known who he really was... The thought tortured her with its cruel simplicity. They could have welcomed Marcus with honor, celebrated the engagement, strengthened their family's position with powerful allies.

Instead, their arrogance had earned them the enmity of New York's most dangerous supernatural family.

He looked so ordinary, Diana thought desperately. How were we supposed to know he commanded this kind of respect? Without the Moons backing him, he'd still be nothing. Just a man in cheap clothes with delusions of grandeur.

But even as she told herself these lies, doubt gnawed at her confidence.

Swallowing her pride like bitter medicine, Diana stepped forward with her most diplomatic smile. "Mr. Moon, please accept my family's sincere apologies for this misunderstanding. Perhaps we could discuss business? I believe Sterling Industries could be valuable partners for your upcoming projects."

Victor's cold stare could have frozen flame. "Your family's business interests are no longer my concern."

Desperation creeping into her voice, Diana turned to Sarah Moon. "Sarah, surely we can work together? The Hudson Valley Development Project—Sterling Industries has the expertise and resources you need. We could make excellent partners."

Sarah looked at Diana as if she were something unpleasant stuck to her shoe. "I'm far too busy with important matters to waste time on failed enterprises."

The rejection hit Diana like a physical slap. Her face flushed crimson as humiliated laughter rippled through the crowd of guests who had once considered her the most powerful woman in the room.

"Did you hear that? Sarah Moon just called Sterling Industries a 'failed enterprise'!"

"The Sterlings are finished! Completely finished!"

"I always knew Diana was overrated!"

But Sarah had already dismissed Diana from her thoughts entirely. With fluid grace that commanded attention from every person in the ballroom, she walked directly toward Marcus. Her midnight-black gown seemed to absorb the light around her, creating an aura of mystery and power that made grown supernatural beings hold their breath.

Sarah Moon was breathtaking—not just beautiful, but radiating the kind of dangerous confidence that came from knowing she could destroy anyone who displeased her. Her dark eyes held intelligence sharp enough to cut diamonds, and her full lips curved in a smile that promised either paradise or damnation.

Marcus felt something stir in his chest as she approached—not fear, but recognition. Here was someone who understood power, who wielded it without apology or hesitation.

She's magnificent, the thought surprised him with its intensity. A true predator disguised as a goddess.

Sarah stopped directly in front of Marcus, so close he could smell her expensive perfume—something exotic that reminded him of midnight gardens and forbidden desires. Her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made the rest of the ballroom fade into irrelevance.

The crowd held its collective breath, sensing they were witnessing something momentous.

Sarah's voice, when she finally spoke, carried across the silent ballroom like a promise wrapped in velvet.

"Marcus," she said, her dark eyes never leaving his face, "I want you to be my..."

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  • Diana’s New Reality

    Diana remained silent. She was unable to. The white sheet covering her grandfather's face billowed slightly in the breeze as his body was pushed into the chilly storage room, and she remained motionless. "Deceased: Authorized Personnel Only" was prominently displayed on the door. However, it might as well have said "No Going Back to Diana.” The nurse by the entrance was interrupted by the two men wheeling the gurney. She hardly heard them. Her gaze was focused on the lone bare hand that was visible through the sheet; it was creased, recognizable, and still. She had once been lifted when she fell by the same hand. When she questioned why the moon never slept, it was the same hand that proudly gestured to the stars. It simply rested now. Like it didn't have anything else to do on this planet. Before she heard the last hollow thud of the doors locking, she turned before they closed.After a few minutes, Diana left the hospital in silence, refusing to answer the nurses' attempts to

  • The Room after

    It was suddenly too quiet in the room. Too still. With her fingers still gripping his hand as though she could hold on long enough to bring him back, Diana remained motionless. However, he had vanished. Additionally, a flat, piercing tone had long since replaced the heart monitor's continuous, sharp beep. It sounded louder than it ought to have. One that slashed through the silence like a terrible memory. She reached cautiously for the call button by the bed, her throat burning. Thumb shaking, she pressed it once. The nurse entered as the door softly opened a few seconds later. Before she even spoke, her look spoke all. The woman whispered, "Miss Sterling, I'm so sorry." "Want to have a little time before we... before we take him?" Diana remained silent. She was unable to. She gave a faint nod. After a moment of hesitation, the nurse approached the bed and covered his motionless face with a clean white sheet. Diana's fingers pressed into her coat sleeve as she observed the move

  • Dust, duty, and death

    With a heavy thud, the shovel cut into the ground. Marcus let out a breath as he pressed the metal further into the ground, his muscles tensing with every motion, the ground damp and cold under his boots. His hands were already scorched, even though the grave wasn't very deep yet. He continued. A neglected clearing in the woods behind the old training house, where Chronos had once taught him how to carry a sword and how to hold his tongue was illuminated by the sun's drab rays as it had just begun to rise. Not a servant. Not a guard. Only Marcus. And the quiet. He stopped when the hole was sufficiently deep, the world still around him, the perspiration still clinging to his back beneath his shirt. He looked at the white linen-wrapped body next to him, respectfully and neatly tied. Chronos had detested luxury. "The loudest funerals are for the ones who didn't listen when they were alive," he had always said. Marcus gripped the edge of the grave and gulped hard. He whispered, "You

  • The Only Reason

    Except the wall clock's gentle ticking and the occasional ruffle of the curtains the breeze pushed through the slightly cracked window, the room was still. Sarah's silk robe slid smoothly over her bare legs as she sat cross-legged on her spacious canopy bed. The beautiful rose-gold tone of the cloth complemented the soft colors of her bedroom, which included blush accents, ivory walls, and a delicate chandelier that threw warm light glints over her vintage vanity table and bookshelves. A velvet sleep mask lay on the bedside, forgotten, and her hair was unbound, cascading down her back in soft waves. She hadn't slept. Not at all. Not since Marcus's departure. Her eyes strayed to the unfinished teacup next to her bed. chilly. Similar to the quiet that had surrounded her all day. A lot had transpired. Too much. She detested the weight in her chest, the anticipation, the uncertainty, and the pain that accompanied comprehending how profoundly a person's absence could reverberate thro

  • For Her

    As if they were weary of hearing, the candles flickered low, their flames slender and twitchy. The tiny subterranean room felt chilly, not only from a lack of heat but also from aging. The stone walls were wet with ancient wetness, and dust clung to the corners. Chalk was used to draw a circle of black runes on the floor, almost smeared by too many pacing feet. With his coat still on and the sleeves stretched past his forearms, Harrison sat by himself in the room, his creases as sharp as if he hadn't slept in days. His brown hair hung freely across his forehead, his shirt was half-buttoned, and his boots were dirty. He appeared to be a man who had lost the ability to sleep. The crystal, dark and slightly humming, was perched on an ancient marble pedestal in the center of the room. He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw as he peered at it. He whispered, "I know you're still in there." His voice reverberated a little. They believe you posed a threat. that you were a thing that h

  • Don't Walk Away

    She didn't knock. Sarah opened his door as soon as she got there; it was too loud and too quick, as if he might vanish if she waited another second. Half-hunched over his duffel bag, Marcus stood close to his bed. He had his back to her. The strap was gripped in one hand. The other lay on a shirt that he hadn't packed yet, folded. He paused at the sound of the door. He straightened slowly and glanced over his shoulder. They looked at each other. He seems unsurprised. She didn't appear composed. With a tighter voice than she intended, she questioned, "Are you leaving?" With a quiet sigh, he turned to look at her. "I intended to inform you." "When?" Her voice became piercing. "After you left my pillow with a note? Or should another maid have told me?” Marcus ran a hand down his face and looked away. “Sarah…” "No," she replied as she entered and closed the door. "No more silent departures. Stop acting like none of this is important.”He didn't answer. She examined the bag. Not ful

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