Chapter 1: 

The hotel lobby was a grand, yet cozy space, filled with the scent of old wood and polished marble. The soft glow of chandeliers highlighted the intricate detailing on the walls, where ivy grew in thick, twisting vines along faded frames of paintings. Isabella Drew stepped inside, glancing at the scene around her with the eyes of a fine art restorer—a woman who appreciated beauty in all its forms, even when it had been forgotten by time. The lobby's antique furniture, with its deep mahogany finishes and plush velvet cushions, seemed to tell a story of a bygone era, one that Isabella could only glimpse through the layers of dust.

She pushed a loose strand of chestnut brown hair behind her ear and adjusted her cream-colored blouse, tucking it neatly into her dark green skirt. It was practical, yet elegant, a reflection of her own steady personality. Isabella had always been the more reserved sister, focused on her work as an art restorer, her thoughts consumed by the intricate layers of paint and history she unearthed in the works she repaired. Today, however, she was here on vacation, though it was more of a forced respite than a true break. Her younger sister, Lily, had insisted on traveling to Valhalla, a city famed for its centuries-old vampire legends, and Isabella had reluctantly agreed to come along.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Lily's voice rang out with excitement behind her, drawing Isabella's attention to the girl bouncing ahead, her freckled face glowing with delight. At 22, Lily had an infectious energy, always eager for adventure. Her auburn hair cascaded in soft waves around her shoulders, and she wore a pale blue dress that swished as she walked, cinched at the waist with a leather belt. She was the complete opposite of Isabella—lively, spontaneous, and drawn to the mysterious lore that surrounded Valhalla.

"It's charming," Isabella replied, though her tone was more reserved than her sister's enthusiasm. Her gaze swept over the hotel's timeless elegance, but her mind lingered on the task ahead—the auction that would take place tomorrow at the local museum, where she would be securing six paintings for restoration, a task assigned to her by her boss, Samuel Monroe. The old man had been adamant that the restoration needed to happen quickly. And she couldn't afford to fail.

As they made their way into the elevator, Isabella found herself distracted by a man standing by the lobby's grand windows. He was tall—at least 6'2"—with broad shoulders and a lean, sculpted frame. His dark brown hair fell messily over his forehead, and his sharp jawline was clean-shaven, giving him a striking appearance. He wore a charcoal-gray suit that clung perfectly to his body, the fabric rich and luxurious. The silver cufflinks at his wrists glinted as he turned his head, catching Isabella's gaze for a brief, electric moment. There was something about his eyes, deep and dark like a storm on the horizon, that made her heart race unexpectedly.

Lily, however, noticed him first. "Who's that?" she asked, her voice low and filled with intrigue. She was already peeking out from behind Isabella, her green eyes wide with fascination.

"I don't know," Isabella replied, though a strange unease settled in her chest. There was something oddly magnetic about him, a presence that drew the eye. But she quickly shook off the feeling and turned her attention to the elevator doors.

When the elevator chimed, they stepped out into the hallway of the hotel, with its faded wallpaper and vintage sconces casting soft light. The next morning, they headed to the museum for the auction. The air outside was crisp, and the cobblestone streets of Valhalla had a charm that seemed to wrap the city in an air of mystery. As they entered the museum, Isabella's heart skipped a beat. The place smelled of old books and antique wood, the smell of history that clung to every corner.

The paintings were already displayed in a well-lit room—six pieces of remarkable artistry, each one carrying centuries of stories beneath its surface. Isabella studied them carefully, her fingers brushing the edge of the frames. The first was an oil portrait of a regal woman, her face painted in muted tones of gray and ochre, her eyes so lifelike that Isabella almost felt the woman watching her. There was history in each stroke—pain and passion locked within the canvas.

"Look at this one!" Lily whispered, pointing to a particularly striking piece—a portrait of a woman with jet-black eyes that seemed to glow with an otherworldly intensity. Isabella's brow furrowed slightly, sensing something strange about it, but she quickly dismissed the feeling. Her focus needed to be on the task at hand.

Just then, she felt a presence behind her, and before she could turn around, a deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "Quite the collection, isn't it?"

Isabella froze for a moment, then slowly turned to face the man from the hotel lobby. He was standing just a few feet away, his dark eyes studying her with an intensity that made her heart race. It was Viktor D'Angelo, as she would later learn. His tall, commanding figure seemed to draw the attention of everyone around him.

"I didn't expect to run into you here," he said smoothly, a faint smile curving the corner of his lips. His voice was rich and deep, like velvet, with an unmistakable hint of amusement.

"I—uh, no problem," Isabella replied, feeling a sudden awkwardness. There was something about him that was unsettling, yet captivating. His sharp features were chiseled to perfection, but there was a certain aloofness to him that made Isabella uneasy.

Viktor's smile deepened, but he didn't press further. Instead, he observed the paintings with quiet interest. "I assume you're here for the auction as well?"

"Yes," Isabella replied, trying to steady her nerves. She had a job to do, after all. "I'm here to purchase some of the pieces for restoration."

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his dark gaze never leaving her face. "How fortunate," he said, his tone casual, yet somehow knowing. "It seems we both have the same goal."

Before Isabella could respond, the auctioneer stepped forward, and the bidding began. The room was filled with eager voices, and the tension rose with each passing minute as the paintings were auctioned off. But when the final piece—the crimson-framed portrait of a man with piercing eyes—was unveiled, everything seemed to shift. Isabella felt a strange pull toward the painting, as though it was calling to her. She shook off the thought, but her attention remained fixed on the artwork.

Viktor, who had been observing quietly, raised his bidding paddle. His movements were smooth and deliberate, his deep, unsettling gaze flicking between the auctioneer and Isabella. He raised the price higher and higher, each bid more confident than the last, until, with a final, quiet gesture, he won the auction.

The room fell silent for a moment as the auctioneer congratulated Viktor, but all Isabella could focus on was the man standing before her. Viktor's dark eyes met hers, and he spoke again, his voice low and filled with an almost predatory calm.

"It seems the paintings belong to me now," he said, a faint, almost enigmatic smile curling at the edges of his lips. "But, for you, Ms. Drew, I have a proposal."

Isabella blinked, confused. "A proposal?"

Viktor's smile deepened. "I'll allow you to restore them. But I ask for something in return—regular progress reports. I have... an interest in their preservation." His gaze lingered, unnervingly intense, as if he were asking for more than just updates on the restoration.

Before she could respond, a sleek, dark-haired man in a tailored suit approached with a contract. Isabella's fingers brushed the pen as she signed, her thoughts swirling. Viktor's smile never wavered.