Chapter 19-What's Wrong? Damien's POV: "Zenith Mall's supposed to stay open till midnight. Closing at ten? I couldn't even buy anything!" Vanessa pouted, her voice a mix of irritation and frustration.. "I'll shoot them an email," I said, humoring her as I hopped out of the car. I opened her door, then started unloading her mountain of shopping bags into the house. The moment we crossed the threshold, Vanessa froze. She stood there, eyes darting around, lips slightly parted, as if she were seeing the place for the first time. Her reaction threw me off. But the pause lasted only a heartbeat before she resumed her confident stride. "No servants in a house this big?" she asked. Servants? My brow furrowed instinctively. Her choice of words-and the hint of disdain in her tone- caught me by surprise. "No servants. But a cleaning company comes by once a week for a deep clean." For the past year, I'd barely stayed here. The pack house was more convenient for my Alpha duties, and even there, I insisted on weekly cleanings. I liked my peace, not having people around all the time. "Hmm... tomorrow, let's hire a butler, at least eight maids, and, oh, two chefs should do." She counted on her fingers, like she was ticking off items on a shopping list. "Darling, this is just how I live. Non- negotiable." "Alright," I said with a chuckle. Part of me was pleased that Vanessa was already making herself at home, stepping into the role of lady of the house. After dropping the last bag in her room, I went to my parents' old bedroom and retrieved the dress. Inspired by Virginia Woolf's work, the designer had woven her fluid, stream-of-consciousness style into the dress's layers and fabric. It felt weightless in my hands, delicate blue chiffon cascading like ripples in a night sky. Years ago, my mother had seen it at a fashion show and couldn't resist buying it, saying it was for her future daughter-in-law. Vanessa had mentioned Woolf was one of her favorite writers, so I knew she'd love it. "Vanessa, I have something for you," I said, returning to her room. The door was open, and she was lounging on her side, propped up on one elbow, wearing a bathrobe. "Am I interrupting?" I asked. "No, I was waiting for you," she giggled, sliding a hand to her hip, brushing the hem of her bathrobe to reveal a long, smooth leg. I instinctively looked away, pulling the dress from its box and sharing its story. "Oh! Virginia, what a beautiful name. Can you get me her autograph?" She sat up. Funny. Woolf's been dead for nearly a century. 15 14 49.89% "Sure, if you can get me a time machine," I teased, placing the dress back in its box, noting her lack of interest. "I don't have a time machine, but I've got something even better for you." She stood, untying her bathrobe and letting it slip to the floor. Beneath it, she wore a wine red lingerie set, sheer and provocative, barely covering her hips. A keyhole cutout in the front and a push-up bra accentuated her curves, while the barely there thong left nothing to the imagination. The corner of my mouth twitched. I raised my eyes, taking in the sight. I watched calmly as she sauntered toward me, her tongue gliding over her plump lips. When she was close enough, she blew a warm breath against my face. "Feeling a bit hot, isn't it?" Her fingers traced my shirt, lazily circling my chest. "Need me to cool you down?" "What's your plan?" I replied, adjusting my cuff slightly. The birthmark on her shoulder stood out like a flame, starkly red. "Let's find out." She deftly unbuttoned my shirt, her fingertips grazing my skin. Just as her hand hovered an inch from my zipper, my phone rang. I stepped back, a quiet sigh of relief escaping me. Muttering an "excuse me," I pulled the phone from my pocket and strode out of the room, deliberately ignoring any flicker of emotion on Vanessa's face. I was afraid if I stayed one more second, I'd lose it. I wanted to shake her, demand if she was really Vanessa. When I saw her lying on that bed, luring me with that seductive pose, I should've pounced and devoured her. It's what I'd wanted since the first time I laid eyes on her. The problem? My body wasn't interested. Her soft curves were right there, but there was no spark, no electric pull like before. Instead, her touch, her giggles, every sound she made grated on me, setting my nerves on edge. What the hell was wrong with me? No, it wasn't me. Arthur didn't growl or fight me this time. He felt it too. The Vanessa I loved was beautiful and confident, but never overbearing. This version felt too self-abso rbed, too haughty. I answered the call as I descended the stairs, keeping my tone low and steady. "Check the surveillance footage from Savoureux Soirée between 6:45 and 7:10 tonight. I need to know where Vanessa went and who she was with." I knew some witches could use dark magic to possess others, controlling their bodies like puppets. It was forbidden, but it happened. The thought of someone harming my mate made my jaw clench. 9.15.14 $1.04% "Also, look into Vanessa's mental health history-dissociative identity disorder, bipolar disorder, anything like that." I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. "What's wrong with her?" Matthew asked, I wish I knew. "Well, Did you call me for a reason?" "Evelina is back." I stopped on the penultimate step, the fire in my eyes rekindled. Leave a comment 15.14 61.351