A direct confrontation was absolutely not an option, and Rion and Bevis couldn't hear my screams.
In desperation, I resolutely adopted a conciliatory approach. "Lionel, I'm Margie, your lover. You love me…"
I felt like a robot, mechanically repeating this command, but it was clear that his receptive function was severely malfunctioning.
What's worse, it wasn't just a malfunction—it was—twisted!
My heartfelt confession was met with his cold, suspicious interrogation. "How do you know my name?" Cold, emotionless, he shows no sign of the former passionate lover.
It's just a name—why make such a big deal out of it?
What he should be thinking about is why I'm his lover.
Facing the most stubborn vampire in history, how could I forget his cunning and cruel nature? Suspicion was essential to his survival; otherwise, this poor prince would have been devoured by Heather long ago, leaving nothing but bones. Besides, there was no love in his heart, nor would he ever consider who he loved.
