In the heart of Seoul's sleepless nights, Selene Vaughn resumed her charade as corporate heiress. To the world, she was the pale, enigmatic CEO of Starlight International. To those who knew the truth, she was the last surviving prince of the Brujah clan—always moving, always hiding. By her side, as always, stood her devoted retainer, Irene Ashford.
Yet even in the bustle of modern life, the shadows never loosened their grip.
One evening, Selene suggested, "Irene, let's find somewhere to breathe. Mortals have their temples of distraction—let us visit one."
They entered a crowded nightclub, drowned in neon and bass. For a fleeting moment, Selene allowed herself the indulgence of mingling with mortals. But Irene sensed it first—the air shifted, heavy with a predator's presence.
The Hunters had found them.
A woman stepped from the crowd, silver blades glinting in her hands."Brujah scion, Selene Vaughn," she announced, eyes narrowing. "Finally cornered."
Selene's lips curled into a cold smile. "How tedious. Shall we skip the introductions?"
But the hunter's gaze slid to Irene. "And you, poor girl. Shackled to this monster. I'll free you."
Irene stood firm, whip coiled in her hand. "If you want her, you'll go through me first."
Steel clashed with steel. Sparks lit the alleyway. Irene fought desperately but was overwhelmed; Selene took a blade to the side, crimson staining her tailored suit. With a burst of strength, Selene shoved Irene to safety—then staggered into the night, blood trailing in her wake.
She collapsed before a small convenience store, her vision darkening.
When she awoke, she was not in chains nor in a morgue, but on a clean white bed in a modest apartment. A young woman watched her carefully, neither fearful nor hostile.
"My name is Serena Moreau," she said. "And I know what you are."
Selene tensed, ready to strike, but Serena raised a hand. "You should be grateful it was me who found you. Anyone else would have sold you to the hunters."
From a drawer, she produced an old photo album. "I am Dhampir. My father was Toreador, slain when I was twenty-one. My mother wasted away soon after. I have lived in the crossfire ever since."
She looked Selene in the eye. "Seven years I have researched your kind. Seven years I have waited for proof. And now, fate has brought you to me."
Selene stared at her in disbelief. Few mortals could meet her gaze without trembling. Fewer still would speak with such calm conviction.
For the first time in centuries, Selene felt something she could not name. The whisper of destiny.
Meanwhile, far away, another shadow stirred.
Adriana Veyron, the last scion of the Ventrue, had grown into a hunter of her own kind—blood-huntress forged by tragedy. Bound by grief, torn by instinct, she carried within her the power to save or to destroy. And fate was already weaving her path back to Irene Ashford—the girl she once called her dearest friend.