Three days have passed since Theodore kissed my ring. He arrives looking like a broken doll. Perfect. Broken things are easier to rebuild.
My men deposit him in the penthouse foyer like damaged goods. His clothes hang loose on his frame. Hair unwashed. The smell of desperation and poor hygiene clings to him like a second skin. He's been starving himself. Wallowing in his new reality.
Beautiful.
"You smell like shit." I don't move from my position by the windows. Let him come to me. Let him understand the new hierarchy. "I won't be seen with someone who can't maintain basic hygiene."
His blue eyes find mine across the room. Hollow. Empty. Already breaking.
"Go. Shower. Use the master bathroom." I turn back to the window. "Don't make me repeat myself."
He disappears without a word. Good. Training begins with understanding consequences.
The sound of running water fills the silence. I call my barber while Theodore scrubs away three days of self-pity. "Emergency house call. One hour."
Steam drifts from the bathroom like incense. Theodore emerges wearing one of my robes, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He looks fragile. Vulnerable. Mine.
My barber works in silence, cutting Theodore's hair to my exact specifications. Each snip of scissors removes more of who he used to be. Dark strands fall to the marble floor like dead leaves. Theodore watches them scatter, understanding that pieces of himself are disappearing forever.
"Better," I murmur when it's finished. "Much better."
I select clothes from my wardrobe with the same care I use for business acquisitions. A white button-down that will highlight his pale skin. Dark trousers that will emphasize his lean frame. Quality fabric that costs more than most people's rent.
My clothes on his body. Marking my territory.
"Where are we going?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"Shopping. You'll understand soon enough."
The anticipation builds like pressure in my chest. He has no idea what's coming. The ignorance is delicious.
The Carradine Shopping Center stands empty except for security and my handpicked staff. I've closed it to the public for the day. Privacy is essential for what I'm creating.
"All workers signed NDAs," I inform Theodore as we enter the marble atrium. "No loose lips. No witnesses to what happens here."
Five personal shoppers materialize around us like expensive shadows. Theodore walks beside me with the careful steps of someone navigating a minefield. His discomfort feeds the dark hunger in my chest.
I select outfits with predatory precision. Each piece chosen to highlight what I want to display. The sharp line of his collarbones. The narrow curve of his waist. The way certain fabrics will cling to his skin like a lover's touch.
"Try these on." I hand him the first selection.
He hesitates. Fatal mistake.
I show him my ring. The garnet bleeds red in the store lighting, dark as dried blood.
"Whatever I say, no questions asked. Our deal, remember?"
He remembers. Disappears into the dressing room like a ghost.
The process repeats. Outfit after outfit. Theodore models each one with growing resignation. His protests die before they reach his lips. He's learning that resistance is futile. Learning that his preferences are irrelevant.
Excellent progress.
But I've saved the best for last. The piece that will transform him completely.
"This one is special." I retrieve the bag I prepared three days ago. Knew exactly what I wanted the moment I saw it. "Put it on."
His eyes widen when he sees the contents. Black lace. Crystals. Fabric designed to cling and reveal in equal measure.
I follow him into the dressing room. Need to ensure proper fit. Need to see his reaction.
Theodore stands in only his briefs, reaching for the lace top. My body responds immediately. Heat. Hunger. The urge to consume.
God, look at him. That dainty neck begging for my teeth. Those sharp hip bones jutting above the waistband like handles designed for my grip. The way his ribs create shadows on pale skin.
I want to grab his throat with my palm. Feel his pulse flutter like a trapped bird. Pull him against the wall and strip those briefs from his frail waist. Run my hands over every inch of skin that makes him up. Connect with him flesh to flesh until we're squishing and melting together.
Back to that neck. I want to suck on it until I taste blood. Mark him. Claim him. Make him mine in the most primitive way possible.
That's what being a vampire feels like. The hunger. The need. The compulsion to feed.
And I am a vampire. A vampire meant to suck Teddy's blood to feel renewed. To be whole again.
"Valent?" His blue eyes stare at me. Wide. Afraid. Beautiful.
The fantasy shatters like glass. He sees the hunger in my gaze. The predator studying its prey.
Good. Let him know what he does to me.
I thrust the bag toward him. "Put it on. Now."
My voice comes out rougher than intended. I walk out before I act on the violent fantasies swirling in my head.
Theodore emerges transformed. The black lace top clings to his torso like a second skin, embroidered crystals catching light like trapped stars. His flesh shows through the fabric in tantalizing glimpses. The fitted black pants highlight every line of his body.
He looks uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Magnificent.
"Perfect," I breathe.
I produce the cordovan leather shoes. Drop them at his feet like offerings to a god.
"Wear them."
He complies without question. The leather gleams like blood in the store lighting. The shoes complete the transformation. Expensive. Elegant. Mine.
But we're not finished. The final touches require ceremony.
I produce the necklace. Delicate chain. Small lock. His breath catches as he realizes what it represents.
"Hold still."
I place it around his neck like a collar. The soft click of the lock echoes in the dressing room. A beautiful, symbolic leash.
The key disappears into my inner suit pocket. Only I have access. Only I can remove it.
"It stays on," I whisper against his ear. "Only I have the key."
His fingers trace the lock's outline. Understanding floods his features. He knows what this means. What he's become.
Finally, the ring. Firecracker Band with Garnet. I slip it onto his finger with the reverence of a priest performing communion.
Perfect fit. Like destiny.
He's marked now. Claimed. Mine in every way that matters.
Looking at Theodore completely transformed, I catalog the questions burning in his eyes. The protests dying on his tongue. But he made the deal. Sealed it with his lips on my ring.
He belongs to me now.
"Come," I say. "Time to make it official."
The car ride to the media venue is exquisite torture. Theodore's nervous energy fills the space like static electricity. His hands shake. His breathing is shallow. He has no idea what's coming.
The ignorance is delicious.
"Valent," he starts when we arrive at the venue. "Why are there cameras?"
I smile as we exit the car. "You'll understand soon enough."
He sees the reporters. The lights. The staging area. Understanding dawns in his eyes like a sunrise of terror.
"No." He tries to step backward. My security discretely blocks his path.
"Yes." I adjust his collar with possessive fingers. "This is happening whether you cooperate or not."
Watch him realize the cage is already locked. Perfect. He's trapped and he knows it.
Backstage, I review my speech one final time. Seven years of planning culminating in this moment. Theodore stands beside me, pleading silently, but I'm beyond mercy now.
"You're about to become mine publicly and permanently," I whisper in his ear.
His breath catches. His pupils dilate. Fear and something else. Something that makes my blood sing.
"Perfect," I murmur, studying his appearance. "My perfect husband-to-be."
The stage manager signals. Showtime.
I walk onto the stage with the confidence of a man who owns the world. Camera flashes explode like lightning. All of Olandria is watching. Perfect.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming on such short notice." My voice carries easily across the venue. Warm. Approachable. The people's billionaire. "I've called this conference to address some rather creative speculation about my personal life."
Laughter ripples through the crowd. Good. They're relaxed. Comfortable.
"Some of you seem to think my wife has vanished into thin air." I pause for effect. "Others believe she's been locked away like some fairy tale princess. My personal favorite theory involves aliens."
More laughter. They're eating from my palm.
"Let me set the record straight. Celeste is not dead. She's not abducted. She's not pregnant with my secret heir." I grin. "She's in the Maldives, drinking cocktails and spending my money on overpriced spa treatments."
The crowd laughs harder. Perfect. Keep them entertained while I destroy their preconceptions.
"The truth is far more mundane than your conspiracy theories. Celeste and I separated a year ago. The divorce was finalized three days ago. We grew apart. It happens to the best of us."
Murmurs now. This isn't what they expected.
"But that's not why I called you here." I pause, letting anticipation build. "You see, during our separation, I met someone. Someone who reminded me what it feels like to be truly alive."
I signal toward backstage. Time for the main event.
Theodore appears at the edge of the stage, frozen like a deer in headlights. Even from here, I can see the terror in his eyes.
"Come," I mouth the words. "Now."
He takes a step forward. Then another. His movements are mechanical, puppet-like. Beautiful.
His hand finds mine, and I immediately angle our joined hands toward the cameras. The ring catches the light like a promise.
I look Theodore in the eyes. Mouth three words: "I own you."
His hand trembles in mine.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I announce, "my fiancé, Theodore."
The crowd erupts. Camera flashes become a strobe light. Theodore's face goes white as paper, but he doesn't run. Can't run. The cage is locked.
I pull him close and kiss him. Possessive. Claiming. For the cameras and for him. His body goes rigid with shock, but he doesn't pull away.
Good boy.
Mine. Publicly. Officially. Forever.
The questions come fast and sharp. I field them with practiced ease, weaving our story in real time.
"How long have you known each other?"
"Since college. We were friends first. The best kind of love story."
"When did friendship become romance?"
"Recently. Sometimes these things develop slowly, then all at once."
"What about the age difference?"
"Love doesn't recognize numbers. Theodore makes me feel young again."
Each answer delivered with perfect sincerity. Truth is whatever I make it. Power writes history, and I'm writing our story in real time.
Theodore nods when prompted. His few responses are guided by subtle pressure from my hand on his back. He's learning. Adapting. Surviving.
"Will this affect your business interests?"
"Love only makes a man stronger. I've never been more focused."
"When's the wedding?"
"Soon. Very soon. When you find your person, why wait?"
Every question cements the trap deeper. Every photo makes denial more impossible. By the time we leave this stage, he'll have no choice but to be mine.
The performance is flawless.
In the car afterward, Theodore finally breaks. The tears come in silent streams, carving tracks through his carefully applied makeup.
"Why?" His voice is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
I watch him fall apart with the detached interest of a scientist observing a reaction. Beautiful. Broken. Mine.
"What kind of punishment is this?" he continues. "Making me your fiancé in front of the world?"
"Punishment?" I run my fingers through his hair, feeling him flinch. "This isn't punishment, Teddy. This is ownership."
I watch the light leave his eyes. Perfect.
"What better way to claim what's mine than marriage? Legal. Binding. Permanent."
"You'll be mine forever," I whisper, leaning closer. "Try to run, and I'll find you. What I'll do to you and everyone you love will be a nightmare that makes the devil weep."
He understands. Completely cornered. Nowhere to go. No one to save him.
"Stop the car," he whispers.
The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror. I nod.
"I want to walk home."
Interesting. He needs space to process. To accept his new reality. I allow it.
"Of course. Take all the time you need."
He climbs out without looking back. The car pulls away, leaving him standing on the sidewalk like a ghost in expensive clothes.
I watch him through the rear window for a moment, then pull out my phone.
"Marcus? I need you to follow someone. Discretely. Don't let him do anything stupid."
"Of course, sir. The subject?"
"Theodore. He's walking home from the media district. Tall, dark hair, wearing black lace and expensive shoes. You can't miss him."
"Understood."
I hang up and settle back into the leather seats. Phase Three complete. Engagement secured.
Back in my penthouse, I pour celebratory scotch. The amber liquid burns beautifully as it slides down my throat. Victory tastes like fire and satisfaction.
The news coverage is already starting. Our faces on every screen in Olandria. The story spreading like wildfire across social media. Theodore's shocked expression immortalized in high definition.
Perfect.
I settle into my chair and watch the replays. The kiss. The ring. The moment Theodore realized his fate was sealed. Each replay is better than the last.
My phone buzzes incessantly. Pierre Carradine. A thousand missed calls and messages. Father dearest wants explanations. Demands answers.
He can wait. Nothing will destroy this mood.
I pour another drink and return to the television. The news anchors are already calling us "Olandria's Power Couple." The hashtags are trending. The public is eating up our love story.
I stand and walk to the screen. Theodore's face fills the frame, beautiful and terrified. His blue eyes stare out at me through the glass.
I press my palm against his image. The screen is cool under my touch, but I can almost feel his skin. Almost taste his fear.
"Look how beautiful you are when you're trapped," I murmur to his image.
Tomorrow we start planning our wedding. Guest lists. Venue selection. Cake tastings. All the traditional details that will make our union official.
But tonight, I savor this moment. The hunt is over. The prey is caught. The trap is sprung.
I trace Theodore's face on the screen with my finger. His scared eyes seem to follow my movement. Even in broadcast, he belongs to me.
"Tomorrow we start planning our wedding," I whisper to the glass. "My perfect husband will be perfect."
I finish my drink and head to bed, leaving Theodore's image glowing on the screen. His face will be the last thing I see before sleep.
Everything is proceeding exactly as planned.
The vampire has claimed his prey.
And I am so very, very satisfied.