The sky, overcast, and rich with gray clouds, threatened rain. A gentle breeze rustled the dry leaves, their colors a stark contrast to the muted tones of mourning attire worn by his family and friends.
A wrought-iron gate, partially covered in ivy, marked the entrance to the cemetery. Reporters and various news outlets gathered at the entrance, hoping to uncover the secrets of what lay beyond.
His life had made their names and careers. They had covered the ceremony at the chapel, reports and updates on his death, business dealings and health, his life as a business conglomerate, and now they wanted to get the little of him left.
When Charlotte noticed cameras on her, she couldn't help but imagine how warm his eyes would be; to the cameras. The warmth in his eyes would fade upon catching sight of her.
As mourners arrived in black SUVs, they exchanged hushed condolences, their faces etched with grief and a sense of the inevitable passing of time. Amidst a barrage of questions and a flurry of flashing cameras, they exuded an aura of invincibility.
In anticipation of the rain, which signs had been in the sky the entire time, they held tight black umbrellas in their hands.
Balding men in black held grim faces, as if afraid of their turn. They coupled their tired faces with dark eyes. They were close to Mr. Anderson Brooks. To some, he was a business associate, dear friend, close relative, or even closer to their hearts. To others, he was family.
Nearby, a majestic oak tree stood as a silent sentinel, its branches reaching out to touch the gravestones. A white marble mausoleum, adorned with intricate carvings, loomed in the background, a testament to the opulence of Mr. Brooks' wealth. Next to it was the same gravestone, with Catherine Brooks' birth and death year displayed.
A soft murmur of prayers and heartfelt eulogies drifted through the air. His friends praised him and his unmanly achievements, stressing his success, which had turned into their collective success.
His family got carried away, describing him.
The casket, adorned with rich mahogany and gold accents, was lowered into the dug grave. His gray-haired friends said their goodbyes, which felt like encouragement for him to wait just a little.
His family, young and old, all felt the weight of his absence. Their moans, once faint, were now heard from every corner of the graveyard. They cling to each other for support.
His twin grandchildren, Alexander and Alexandria, cried out his name, begging the crowd not to put their grandfather on the ground, too young to know what was happening. They had known him, loved him to death, and he reciprocated that love.
Jason Brooks, their father, held a brave face. His sharp eyes pierced through the wooden box as if he wanted to say something to his father. The grief that was in his heart made him the last to throw the dust over his father's coffin. He held his daughter tight to his chest.
Charlotte, dressed in a simple black dress and clutching a single white rose, stood apart from the crowd. Her tear-filled eyes stared at the gathering storm clouds, mirroring the tempest of emotions within her.
The weight of her father's legacy and the complexity of their relationship weighed heavily on her young shoulders. So much that she couldn't open her mouth to praise him and say what she had been holding in her heart. Blood red sclerae coupled her ocean blue eyes.
Soon after his body was buried, the raindrops began to fall, as if the heavens mourned the passing of a man whose wealth had dragged the whole world towards him, as a flame does to moths.
Umbrellas were opened up to cover their heads as many walked towards the gate. Many looked back and tried to paint the picture in their minds because that would be the last of him.
As the rain intensified, heavy droplets pelted the ground relentlessly, compelling everyone to seek shelter hastily. One by one they ran, leaving the old man to drown in the flood.
When the light showers fell, Charlotte Brooks was numb. Her blue eyes were darker and fixated ahead. Lizzy, her assistant, put an umbrella over her head. She was heartbroken as well; Mr. Brooks had paid for her college tuition; that's how she came to know Charlotte.
Just when the heavy raindrops hit, Charlotte instructed Lizzy to follow others. She wanted to question, but she knew better than to force the umbrella on Charlotte. So, she reluctantly narrowed her eyebrows before walking away.
In this poignant moment, amid confusion, Charlotte approached her father's fresh grave, ready to whisper her goodbyes. The complexity of their relationship echoed in her heart and raindrops mixed with her tears as they streamed down her face.
While everyone had left, the graveyard remained far from silent, as the relentless downpour relentlessly drummed upon the lush graveyard. By the gate, a tall figure approached Lizzy. He had a large black umbrella.
Despite Lizzy finding the face strange, they still managed to exchange words with each other. To which, Lizzy climbed in their car and instructed the driver to take her out of there.
Charlotte, alone in the graveyard, saw how bad the weather was getting, but stood there unwilling to move. She had questions, the kind only her father, Mr. Anderson Brooks, would have answers to.
She clutched her hands. The last words he had ever said to her echoed in her mind as she gazed at the muddy water lagging in her father's grave. The next day, they would put a gravestone in place, locking him in that spot forever. He would have hated it, Charlotte thought.
As she lost herself in the memory of his words, she didn't notice the approaching shadow until it was right behind her. A cold breeze made her feel something since she got here.
A low voice, gentle yet filled with concern, broke through her reverie. "Charlotte, you shouldn't be out here alone in this rain," the stranger said, extending a large, black umbrella to shield them both.
Startled, Charlotte turned to see a cold face beneath the umbrella. It was a strange gentleman, his dark eyes reflecting understanding. His tall figure in front of her offered comfort, but his blank face and dark eyes warned her of the danger.
Charlotte hesitated, but then accepted the shelter of the umbrella. The rain continued to pour, but under the protective canopy, he remained dry.
All the rain that had washed up on her made Charlotte shiver. Noticing it, the stranger raised his arm, revealing a white coat in his hands. Taking a step closer, he spread his arms in both directions behind her, placing it lightly over her shoulders.
Charlotte was out of her mind. She was preoccupied with the thought of her dead father, but she couldn't resist to smelling danger off his chest when he got closer. She wanted to ask who he was to her father.
To Charlotte, he could be anything. A son or grandson to an investor, an investor or business acquaintance. She knew a few from the funeral. Many faces were new to her. For that, she suppressed her curiosity about who he was.
Tears lingered in Charlotte's eyes. Her father was nice to her from a young age, but moments leading to his death made him something else. He turned cold and bitter without an explanation. She was angry with him, because he never got to explain his reasons. But Charlotte never thought of any.
The stranger, still a silhouette, spoke again. "We should get out of here. "
The graveyard was empty, except for Charlotte and him; everyone else was quiet in the deep sleep. Raindrops were lighter again and her body was warming up inside that perfectly fitting coat.
She never asked him who he was, and now she was willing to trust him with her life. The danger he posed was pulling her in. How could she have resisted it? She used him as an escape from her sorrows, and without questioning, she walked by his side.
He had a black Bentley packed by the driveway, which he opened the backseat door to her before taking the driver's seat. Once inside, the stranger drove fast across the streets to a mansion she felt like she had seen before. On the road, she kept her face down, hardly noticing the stranger's stare through the rearview mirror.
The automated gate opened when they approached. She looked up as they circled to an underground parking garage. Once he killed the engine and the garage door closed, her consciousness came to her like a hurricane.
Charlotte realized the unthinkable: she had been under his influence!
Since her eyes landed on his big dark eyes, she had been following his lead. From the cemetery to his garage. She should have resisted or questioned, but she couldn't.
Charlotte was late in her realization: the stranger had already jumped out of the car and was gesturing for her to get out. He had already opened the door for her. Unable to think straight, Charlotte hesitated to get out.
" Liam"
Parting thin red lips, he shared his name. Charlotte's ocean eyes were fixated on the tinted Bentley window, focused elsewhere.
Charlotte, twenty-four years old, is an intern professor at the university. Her fascination with the undead is a sole reason why she is the only professor at the university who knows about the undead student's club. She had been a guest speaker from time, funded their efforts and even taught more about them in length.
In this era, where myths about undead are forbidden, and propagating theories about their likely existence in the past or present is a crime, people can't talk about them openly. Charlotte knew how to not be reckless like Mr. Goode.
They institutionalized her professor, Mr. Goode, because of his theories about their existence in the modern world. She owe her deep knowledge about the myths to Mr. Goode. He helped her expound on the subject.
Charlotte was deep in her wild imaginations, frightened to death by the able figure by the car, but curiously thinking about the possibility of her suggestions being true.
Clenching her fingers into fists, Charlotte decided to get out. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared inside his dark eyes over the car door. The door separated their bodies, offering Charlotte temporary security.
Her face, chocked but curious, had wide-open eyes with raised eyebrows and a slightly dropped jaw as she scrutinized his unearthly presence.
His impressive six feet tall figure , commanding attention like Greek god's stature. His skin fair, giving him an air of refinement and lending a striking contrast to his dark, expressive eyes.
His face is chiseled and handsome, with well-defined features that exude confidence and charisma. His eyes, set deeply within their sockets, a captivating shade of dark, drawing you in with their intensity.
As he extended his hands, Charlotte noticed his long, elegant fingers, adding an extra layer of grace to his presence. He was impeccably dressed in a sleek black suit, tailored to perfection, which hugged his frame with sophistication.
The suit exuded a timeless style that was both classic and modern, making him stand out in any crowd.
She scrutinized his pale face in fascination. Stretching out her hand in anticipation, warm fingers brushed against the stranger's ice-cold fingers lying over the car door.
Warm blood flooded her veins. Her fingertips stiffened as she fainted in realization.
He's a vampire!