Year 1775
In a quiet wing of the Harrison estate, a girl stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Della ran a silver comb gently through her golden hair. The soft strokes were slow, almost ceremonial. Her emerald eyes, now older and wiser, gazed into the glass—eyes that had witnessed loss too early, and carried secrets too deep for a girl her age.
A decade had passed.
She was no longer the child who hid beneath a table.
Slender and graceful, she had grown into a woman—one whose beauty stirred whispers. There was something ethereal in her gaze, something soft yet unreadable. An allure that made her unforgettable, but kept others at a distance.
Opening a drawer, she pulled out a worn portrait—her younger self with a woman whose smile still haunted her dreams.
"I miss you, Mama," she whispered.
The portrait had a message carved into its back…one Della had memorized like scripture.
"I know you are too young to know this, but when you are older, you will search for the stones.
It is in a necklace... which will be your fate to protect.
I failed in protecting it to the end."
Della traced the letters with her fingertip. No one in the Harrison household knew of the portrait. She had kept it hidden all these years…just like the questions that kept her awake at night.
Why was her mother hunted? What exactly were the Meri Stones?
The world she'd grown into was complex. Mortals feared witches like her, yet curiously accepted the vampires who moved among them. The rules made no sense. But she had learned to smile, to speak softly, to wear gloves that hid the flicker of magic in her fingers.
And to never, ever let them know who she truly was.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Della!"
She opened the door to find her sister waiting with a deep frown.
Beth Harrison—her adoptive sister…stood impatiently in a violet silk gown, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. She looked beautiful, as always, and entirely too aware of it.
"What happened, Beth?" Della asked, calm as ever.
"You promised to visit the tailor with me!" she snapped.
Della blinked, caught off guard. "Are we leaving now?"
"Yes! It's my first soirée. I need to be the most elegant girl in the room. I won't let those simpering girls from the duchy outshine me."
Della sighed inwardly. Beth's obsession with perfection was exhausting. Della had no interest in the soirée—a lavish gathering where nobility flaunted fashion, wealth, and their daughters.
"Let me grab my gloves," Della said, stepping back into her room.
Beth scoffed. "You're always wearing gloves."
She was. Della had to be. The gloves were enchanted—a rare magical relic her mother once gave her. When worn, they masked her essence completely, even from other witches.
Moments later, both girls left the estate. Their parents were away…something Della found more relieving than worrying.
The carriage ride was silent until Beth broke into a grin.
"I heard he's going to be there."
"Who?"
"The Hidden Lord," Beth whispered with a dreamy sigh.
Della raised a brow. "That's just a nickname."
"It's the vampire lord of Westhill," Beth explained, eyes gleaming. "He's infamous. Mysterious. Powerful. Women swoon over him, and he barely acknowledges them. Isn't that... thrilling?"
Della frowned. "He has blood on his hands, Beth. That isn't thrilling. It's dangerous."
"Oh, Della," Beth rolled her eyes. "He's probably just misunderstood. He could be my dark prince... my Romeo."
Della turned away, uninterested in this fantasy. "Or he's arrogant and bored, like most powerful men."
Beth gasped, mock-offended. "You're just bitter. You'd rather marry that servant boy you're always whispering with…what's his name again? Xavier?"
Della flinched. She said nothing. Of course Beth noticed.
Xavier had become her anchor in this world. Loyal, kind, and utterly different from the snobbish lords Beth surrounded herself with. But Della didn't speak of their closeness…especially not to Beth.
Soon, the carriage halted. Sunlight poured into the street like fire, making Beth groan dramatically.
"Ugh. It's boiling."
"It's not far," Della murmured. "Mr. Sailor's shop is around the corner."
Beth strutted forward, chin high, turning heads as always. She hated the common folk who stared…looked down on them with the same disdain she had for peasants, servants, and even Della on occasion.
Della followed quietly, her gloved hands folded neatly as whispers trailed behind them.
Inside the shop, a young seamstress greeted them warmly.
"Good day, mi'ladies!"
Beth ignored the greeting entirely. "Where is Mr. Sailor?"
"He's out today," the girl replied. "May I assist you instead?"
Beth's face darkened. "And let you handle my gown? Peasant hands on silk?" she scoffed.
The girl's expression didn't falter. She was clearly used to this.
"You can come again when he returns," she offered politely.
Beth's temper flared. She raised her hand to strike the girl.
But Della caught her wrist.
"Don't," she said firmly.
Beth froze, eyes narrowing. But Della didn't waver.
She had learned to hold back her power.
But she had also learned when to stand her ground.