Viscount Albusell's Manor, Afternoon
"Oh... why would His Grace suddenly come here..."
Viscountess Albusell's face paled at Eugene's unexpected visit.
"Isn't today Lady Brennan's nineteenth birthday? We're not strangers, so we couldn't possibly miss such an important day," Hector said cheerfully, watching the servants carry in gifts as the viscountess stood frozen in surprise.
"But you should have sent word ahead. Coming so suddenly like this..."
"We wanted it to be a surprise," Hector said with a disarming smile as he stepped through the entrance.
The viscountess had no choice but to step aside, allowing the Alberesque brothers entry. She couldn't possibly turn away such high-ranking nobles at her door.
As Eugene entered, he scanned the room. "Where is Lady Brennan?"
His question hung in the air as Leah appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying a mop and bucket. Her exhausted face drained of color the moment she spotted the two brothers.
No. Why is the Duke here?
Panic seized her. She quickly bowed her head and hurried down the remaining steps, desperate to escape in the opposite direction.
Of all times, why does he have to see me like this...
Mortification burned through her as she imagined how she must look—disheveled, dirty, dressed in rags. The urge to disappear overwhelmed her. Her feet moved faster toward the kitchen, as if distance alone could erase his memory of her.
The moment Leah vanished from sight, Eugene's expression turned to stone. Recognizing the fury building in his brother's rigid posture, Hector swiftly cleared his throat.
"Ah... well..."
Eugene was already striding after her.
"Your Grace...!"
"Ahem! Viscountess, where should we place these gifts?"
As the viscountess opened her mouth to call after Eugene, Hector smoothly intercepted her.
"Oh, yes. Over there, please."
The viscountess had no choice but to answer the Marquess. She cast a fleeting glance at the corridor where Eugene had disappeared, then turned back to the seemingly endless procession of gifts flowing through her door.
She stood dazed, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of presents.
Hector maintained his warm smile while directing the servants, though his eyes tracked toward where Eugene had gone.
Of all days, she's still scrubbing floors on her own birthday. My brother won't let this stand.
Several days ago, after a satisfying hunt and feed, Hector had returned to the castle. He'd been staying at Eugene's estate lately, worried about his brother's deteriorating condition.
He'd discovered that Eugene hadn't fed during the last full moon. Ever since tasting the intoxicating sweetness of Leah's blood, his brother had become unable—absolutely unable—to stomach any other.
The mere thought of rank, heavy animal blood made Hector's throat close in revulsion. So he understood his brother's torment all too well. To a vampire who had tasted supremacy itself, inferior blood wasn't just unpalatable—it was nauseating filth.
But abstaining during the full moon, when bloodlust roared at its peak? That was agony beyond description. The throat turning to desert, fangs throbbing like exposed nerves, every vein in the body screaming its desperate need.
Hector had found his brother lying like a corpse, nearly catatonic from deprivation. He'd forced blood down Eugene's throat—inferior as it was—just so his brother could function. Barely.
What Hector wanted was simple: for his brother to drink a woman's blood again. To abandon this futile dream of living as human. That's why he'd seized on today's birthday as an excuse, practically dragging Eugene here. Surely seeing her would awaken the craving. Surely his nature would assert itself.
But now, witnessing her still in servant's clothes, still performing menial labor even on her own birthday—now he worried his brother might drown in misplaced compassion instead.
Hector felt nothing for human women, saw them only as sustenance. But if his brother fell for this one, truly fell... everything would become impossibly complicated. He needed Eugene to remain what he was—a vampire, his companion through eternity.
Yet this wretched, pitiful woman might sway his brother's heart.
Hector's tongue clicked against his teeth as he watched the viscountess's eyes glitter with greed at the lavish gifts.
Viscountess, if you keep treating your niece this way, I won't stand idle. For your own sake, I suggest you reconsider.
Displeasure flickered across his refined features before he turned his gaze back to the corridor.
The Kitchen
Leah burst into the kitchen and set down the bucket and mop with shaking hands. The other maids looked up, puzzled by her ragged breathing and flushed face.
Leah swept back the hair falling into her eyes, her mind reeling. The abrupt encounter with Eugene had shattered her composure entirely.
"Why? Why did I have to run into him again?"
Her teeth found her thumbnail, worrying at it anxiously.
"Lady Brennan!"
A deep, commanding voice filled the kitchen like thunder. Leah went rigid, ice flooding her veins.
She turned slowly, dreading what she'd see. Eugene stood in the kitchen doorway, his imposing figure filling the frame.
A nobleman—no, the Duke himself—had entered the servants' domain. The maids froze, completely bewildered.
How did His Grace come all the way here...
Humiliation crashed over Leah in waves. She fumbled with her disheveled hair, desperately trying to make herself presentable. She forced her face into something resembling a smile, though she could feel how brittle it was.
"Your Grace, if you'll wait in the drawing room, I'll prepare refreshments and bring them shortly. So please..."
"Refreshments?"
The single word cut like a blade, sharp with displeasure.
"Do you honestly think I came all this way for tea and biscuits?"
His incredulous tone made her flinch. She glanced helplessly around the kitchen, meeting the other maids' bewildered stares. They exchanged uncomfortable looks, clearly baffled by the situation unfolding before them.
"Then... why did you come all the way to the kitchen..."
At her tentative question, Eugene's cold gaze swept across the maids. They scattered immediately, fleeing the kitchen in haste.
Suddenly, devastatingly, they were alone.
Leah pressed her trembling hands together, trying to still them.
"Lady Brennan."
Eugene's voice rolled through the kitchen, low and resonant. The sound made Leah's shoulders tremble involuntarily.
She'd always loved his voice—that deep, measured timbre. Something about the way it resonated made her feel strangely languid, as if her bones might melt. She couldn't help it; whenever he spoke, every fiber of her being focused on him helplessly.
Leah squeezed her eyes shut and drew a shaky breath. This was absolutely not the time to be appreciating his voice.
Eugene's frigid blue eyes traveled over her slowly, thoroughly. Her tangled red hair. Her sweat-dampened forehead. Her shabby servant's dress. Everywhere his gaze touched, her skin burned as if branded.
Her green eyes wavered with barely contained emotion. She couldn't bear appearing so wretched before him. She tried to smile, fought to lift the corners of her mouth, but her lips only trembled.
Eugene caught that tremor. He didn't miss a thing.
"My lady."
Displeasure coiled tight in his chest, making his voice harder. He'd resolved that absurd marriage arrangement with Count Montclair. He'd come here today to celebrate her coming of age, to offer her a better future.
Yet here she was, on this monumentally important day, still dressed in rags and scrubbing floors. Rage ignited in his chest, fierce and bright.
You deserve so much better than this.
Losing her parents young—that wasn't her fault. Taking care of her younger brother David—that was simply family duty, nothing extraordinary.
But the viscountess wasn't just neglecting her obligations. She was exploiting her own niece, using her like unpaid labor. He had to extract Leah from this hellish situation. Right now.
Eugene's jaw clenched so hard it ached.
He exhaled slowly, fighting to contain his fury.
"Today is your birthday, is it not? The day you become an adult. So why..." His eyes swept over her appearance meaningfully. "Why are you dressed like this? Working like this?"
Heat flooded Leah's face at his words. The shame was unbearable, suffocating. Standing before him like this felt like torture.
"Y-Your Grace. You didn't... you didn't actually come because of my birthday, did you?"
"Of course I did. Today you become an adult. I came to celebrate with you."
Eugene tried—truly tried—to make his voice gentle. But he remained oblivious to how his stern, rigid expression contradicted his words entirely.
His face, supposedly here in celebration, looked more like a man enduring an tedious obligation he couldn't wait to escape.
Leah felt no joy at his presence. She hated him seeing her like this, filthy and degraded. And she couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't genuinely happy to be here.
"Why?" The word burst out, raw with resentment. "Why did you come?"
Eugene's brow furrowed sharply at her tone.
"Lady Brennan, what are you saying? I just told you—I came to celebrate your birthday..."
"That's exactly what I'm asking! What are we to each other that you'd come here to celebrate anything?"
"My lady—"
"Stop calling me that!" The words exploded from her. "That title—it grates on my nerves every single time. Our family is ruined. Destroyed. Are you mocking me? Is that what this is?"
Bitter resentment dripped from every word. She despised how he kept calling her "my lady," as if she were still somebody, as if her world hadn't crumbled to dust. Her circumstances already churned her stomach with nausea. His constant reminders of her lost past only twisted the knife deeper.
Eugene's jaw muscles flexed with tension.
"Lady Brennan, what are you talking about? You're the daughter of a count's house, so naturally I—"
"That's just it! I'm not a count's daughter anymore. My parents..." Her voice cracked. "My parents died years ago. So please, stop calling me 'my lady.' It's insulting."
Irritation flared hot in Eugene's chest at her stubborn rejection.
"Why are you diminishing yourself? You were Count Brennan's daughter. That's a fact. As long as you draw breath, your lineage doesn't simply vanish."
His words struck Leah like physical blows. She had nothing. She lived as a servant in her aunt's house. How could she possibly still be a count's daughter? Dressed in these rags, forced to obey her aunt's every whim—what could she do? What power did she have? His words didn't comfort her. They only drove the dagger deeper into her heart.
Leah shoved her disheveled hair back from her face and glared at him with unconcealed defiance.
"Duke Alberesque."
"Call me Eugene."
Leah recoiled as if slapped. Call him by his given name? A duke of such exalted rank? That level of familiarity was reserved for lovers. For married couples.
Fresh anger blazed through her. He had to be mocking her.
"Duke. Al. Ber. Esque."
She enunciated each syllable with deliberate, acid precision. Eugene's brow furrowed, genuine displeasure darkening his features. Her refusal, the way she glared at him with such hostility—it grated against something raw inside him.
He looked down at her—she barely reached his chest—and felt thoroughly confused. Why was she acting like this? What had he done to deserve such animosity?
He'd come today to celebrate her birthday, for heaven's sake. Yet instead of gratitude, she threw this hostility at him. He couldn't make sense of it.
"As you can clearly see, I'm a maid in my aunt's household. I don't understand why you're paying me this attention. Is this—" Her voice turned sharp, accusatory. "Is this pity? Are you here out of pity?"
Pity? The word struck him like a slap. She'd completely misunderstood him.
"No. This isn't pity."
"Then I don't understand any of this! I have nothing. Nothing to offer you. And obviously you're not so desperate that you need money from someone like me. So what do you want? What could you possibly want from me?"
Your blood. I want your blood.
Eugene's gaze dropped to her neck against his will. The sound of her pulse—strong, vibrant, alive—had been tormenting him since he'd entered this damned kitchen.
He wanted to pull her into his arms, sink his fangs into that delicate neck, and drink deeply. The memory of her taste haunted him—exquisite, intoxicating, unlike anything else in existence.
His mouth went completely dry. His fangs began to extend, sharp points pressing against his lips.
He spun away violently before she could see. He couldn't let her glimpse his true nature.
"What I want from you..." His voice dropped to a rough rasp. "Nothing. I want nothing."
Confusion flickered across Leah's face as he suddenly turned his back. Something was wrong.
She took a tentative step toward him.
"Don't!" The command cracked through the air like a whip. "Don't move!"
Leah froze instantly, startled by the urgency in his voice.
"Your Grace, are you unwell? What's wrong?"
"I'm fine. Nothing's wrong."
But his denial rang hollow. Leah sensed something was very wrong. An inexplicable urge to see his face seized her.
"Your Grace..."
She reached toward his broad back, her fingers stretching through the space between them.
The door burst open without warning.
"Oh my! How clumsy of me. Wrong room entirely."
The voice was smooth, melodious, almost amused.
Leah's gaze snapped to the doorway. Her eyes widened in shock at the man standing there, his expression far too knowing.