Isabella Hawthorne
My stomach churned with a mix of curiosity and a strange sense of foreboding as Alfred, his ever-polished shoes whispering on the marble floor, led Damien inside the manor. We stood by the grand staircase, its polished mahogany gleaming in the afternoon light filtering through the high windows. Ashley, impeccably dressed as always, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, stood ramrod straight beside me, her lips pursed in a thin line.
Following them felt like crossing an invisible boundary. Damien had brought… company. Several vampires, judging by the dark cloaks swirling around their ankles as they unloaded the vehicles. Unlike Damien, who often sported a tailored suit that wouldn't look out of place on a human businessman, these vampires embraced the stereotypica
