Justin despised this—being born into the highest rank of vampires, a prince of the immortal elite.
Just beneath the royal vampires were the six revered elders, and below them, the ordinary vampires.
Yet, despite their dwindling numbers in the human world, his mother still clung to the hope that he would one day meet his destined bride—a vampire, just like him.
The air in the ceremonial hall was thick with tension.
His mother gasped, her fingers tightening around the sacred image of the child, her expression one of disbelief.
The elders, however, beamed with joy, their smiles reflecting a long-awaited hope.
The prophecy had spoken—Justin's fated mate was alive.
The throne was within his grasp. After months of preparation, he would finally ascend and lead the vampire kingdom.
But first, he had to find her.
"Father, what is the meaning of this?" his mother demanded, her voice laced with confusion and frustration. "Why does the vision show a child? Why not his mate in her true form?" She bombarded his grandfather with questions, her concern evident, but the elder simply smiled.
He already knew the trials his grandson would face. But for now, Justin had to experience the weight of longing—the ache of anticipation.
Justin stood from the ritual circle abruptly, his jaw clenched.
This was maddening. Love? Destiny?
He didn't believe in such things. Everything had a reason, a purpose, a gain.
Even with Maddie—his so-called girlfriend—he knew what their relationship was built on. A perfect illusion.
A public display meant to maintain appearances.
She was the daughter of a corporate tycoon; their union was a strategic power move, nothing more.
No passion, no real affection.
He had never even kissed her—one of his own rules.
Yet, for some reason, that rule was beginning to waver.
All for one girl. Mira.
"Mother, I'd like to retire to my room," he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
His mother's eyes widened, stunned by his indifference. "Justin, what are you saying? We still have time to redo the ritual—"
"Redo what?" he cut in, his voice firm. "We've seen the answer."
His mother's expression darkened with confusion and anger.
"What answer? What did we see? A newborn baby? Are you telling me that my son—the royal heir—is destined for a mate who hasn't even grown past infancy?!" Her voice rose with frustration.
"Mother—" Justin started, but the calm wave of his grandfather's hand silenced him.
"Linda," the elder spoke smoothly, "there is no need for haste. Fate will play its course. Vampires still exist, we are still thriving in the shadows. When the time is right, he will meet his mate."
He turned to Justin. "Go. If your mother wishes to perform the ritual again, we shall do so another time."
With a nod, Justin left, his exhaustion weighing on him like a cloak.
Reaching his bedroom door, his hand hovered over the doorknob—then he froze.
A presence. Someone was there.
Lifting his gaze, his sharp eyes locked onto the familiar figure standing before him.
His father.
Dressed in deep blue silk pajamas, his fair skin glowed under the dim hallway light.
His short, neatly styled hair revealed strands of silver at his temples. Hazel eyes, a straight nose, thin lips—features Justin had inherited, though he stood taller than the man before him.
But the greatest difference between them was undeniable.
His father was human.
"Justin."
His father's voice was calm, steady—a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. As he approached, he placed a reassuring hand on Justin's shoulder, a warm smile tugging at his lips.
"You look troubled," his deep voice rumbled.
"Why wouldn't I be, Father?" Justin exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
His father studied him for a moment before speaking.
"Taking the throne at such a young age... I imagine that's weighing on you. Does it feel overwhelming?"
Justin shook his head. "No, Father. It's not about the throne." His voice softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through.
Though he was known for his cold demeanor, there were a select few—his family—who saw a different side of him.
"It's the ritual," he admitted. "It's not just about ruling or business decisions this time. It's about a mate—about being bound to someone. And Mother... she's trying to force it." His jaw clenched. "I don't want a mate. And I definitely don't want to wait for a child to grow up and become one."
His father sighed, his hazel eyes filled with understanding.
"I remember when your mother first held you in her arms. My tiny son, barely big enough to wrap his fingers around mine. And now..." He chuckled, gesturing a small height with his hand. "Now, my little boy has somehow become a nineteen-year-old man."
A small, unexpected chuckle escaped Justin's lips.
"Come on," his father continued, his voice lighter. "You have the night ahead of you. Let it go for now. If you want, I can speak to your mother—convince her to ease up on this."
Justin shook his head. "No need. Grandfather already handled it."
His father gave a knowing nod, then exhaled a deep breath. "Alright. Get some rest, son."
With that, he gave him one last pat on the shoulder before turning away, disappearing down the dimly lit corridor.
Justin lingered for a moment before finally stepping into his room, closing the door behind him with a quiet sigh.
Justin flipped on the lights, his gaze sweeping across the expanse of his room. It wasn't just a bedroom—it was a statement of luxury. The sheer size of it could rival a high-end apartment.
At the center of the room sat a queen-sized bed, its dark silk sheets pristine and untouched.
Flanking it were two sliding glass doors—one leading to his lavish en-suite bathroom on the left, the other to his walk-in closet on the right.
Behind the bed, heavy velvet curtains concealed a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A single pull of the cord would reveal the towering buildings bathed in moonlight.
Through another set of sliding doors, he could step out onto his private balcony, high above the world below.
Without hesitation, he entered the bathroom. The scent of lavender and rose petals filled the air—his jacuzzi was already prepared, warm bubbly water swirling invitingly.
With effortless ease, he stripped off his clothes and slid into the tub, the heated water soothing his tense muscles.
A small built-in shelf rested beside the jacuzzi, housing a selection of his favorite novels. He reached for one, flipping it open as he settled deeper into the water.
For a while, he read in silence, the steam curling in the air around him. But then—a scene in the book made him pause.
Mira.
His thoughts drifted to her. The girl with the name, ugly duckling had started as a mockery—a title crafted by her sister before the entire school adopted it like a brand.
He hadn't interfered. He hadn't cared enough to stop it.
But now, as he recalled the moment she had fallen into the pool, something about it nagged at him.
She had been utterly defenseless, unable to stand her ground. Weak.
That was what irked him the most.
If she wanted to shed the name, if she wanted to prove them wrong, then she needed to fight back.
But she didn't. Instead, she let herself crumble beneath the weight of it all.
His grip tightened slightly around the book before he exhaled, shaking his head.
"You still have a lot to learn, duckling," he murmured under his breath.