ADRIAN'S P.O.V.
After her confession that day, she left me.
Margaret. Her name alone felt like a whisper in my mind, one that refused to fade with time. Days turned into weeks, but the ache in my chest remained sharp. The memory of her laughter, her warmth, was as vivid as the day she first entered that dark cave, pleading for safety. She had accepted me, all of me—my nature, my hunger, my flaws. She didn't flinch when she first saw me drink blood. She even reached out to wipe the corner of my mouth with a kindness so profound that it undid me.
How could I let her go?
Her wedding day arrived like a death knell. I told myself countless times to let her be happy, to step aside. But the thought of returning to the hollow existence I had known before her was unbearable. I couldn't go back to the shadows, not after knowing the light she brought into my life.
I didn't just want Margaret to stay with me—I needed her.
