Isabella Hawthorne
I stood outside Damien's door, a statue sculpted from apprehension. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of my heart hammering against my ribs. Was I truly doing this? After the terrifying incident in the study, here I was, outside the Vampire King's private chambers, practically begging for an audience. A wry smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Maybe the head injury from my fall earlier had scrambled my brain more than I thought.
Just as the doubt started to solidify, the silence shattered. The heavy oak door swung open with a groan, pulling me from my internal monologue. There stood Damien, the very creature who had caused my current turmoil. He wasn't clad in the regal attire I'd expected. Instead, he wore a loose, white button-down shirt t
