Chapter 43: The Host of Paris

Knock. Knock.

At first the sound reached me like a distant echo, dull and muffled through the heavy darkness of sleep.

Then it came again.

Knock. Knock.

Louder this time.

My eyes snapped open.

“Daniel? Are you okay?”

The voice came from outside the coffin.

I realized my body was drenched in sweat. My chest rose and fell heavily as if I had been running for miles.

For a moment I just lay there, staring into the darkness above me.

Then I pushed the lid open.

The hinges creaked softly as cold air rushed in.

I sat up and climbed out of the coffin.

Ayara was standing nearby, watching me with concern.

“Were you having a bad dream?” she asked.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

“I… don’t remember,” I said honestly.

Whatever I had been dreaming about had already slipped away.

I walked past her and went straight to the fridge. My throat felt dry and tight.

I grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and drained it in one long gulp.

The cold water slid down my throat and into my stomach.

Better.

When I turned around, Timi was walking into the living room.

He was already dressed.

And not just dressed—impeccably dressed.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that hugged his shoulders and chest like it had been made specifically for him. The fabric had a faint satin sheen that caught the light whenever he moved. Underneath it was a crisp white shirt, the collar stiff and sharp, with a slim black tie resting neatly down the center.

His shoes were polished so well they almost reflected the room.

Even his hair was combed back neatly.

He looked like someone who belonged in a high-end Parisian gala.

Or a funeral.

Timi adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and glanced at me.

“Good,” he said calmly. “You’re awake.”

He checked the watch on his wrist.

“We’re meeting a mysterious ancient vampire tonight. I’d rather we not show up looking like we crawled out of a grave.”

Then he paused and looked at me more closely.

“…Which you technically just did.”Timi straightened his tie and looked at me again.

“You should get dressed,” he said. “It wouldn’t be very wise to keep our host waiting.”

I frowned slightly.

“When did you even go shopping?” I asked.

“While you were asleep.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Weren’t we all asleep?”

A faint smirk appeared on his face.

“Vampires as old as I am don’t suffer too much from a lack of sleep.”

I studied him for a moment, then simply nodded.

“Fair enough,” I said. “So where’s my suit?”

Timi gestured lazily toward the hallway.

“One of the rooms. You’ll find it.”

I turned and started walking toward the corridor, then suddenly stopped and looked back at him.

“How did you even know my size?”

“Juliet told me.”

I nodded again and continued down the hallway.

I pushed open the first door I saw.

And immediately froze.

Juliet was inside.

She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of her dress as she got ready.

“Oh—sorry!” I said quickly, already stepping back.

I shut the door halfway.

“Sorry,” I repeated.

From inside the room she sighed.

“Daniel.”

I hesitated.

“Get in here.”

I slowly pushed the door open again and stepped inside.Juliet stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the fabric of the dress she was wearing.

It was a long black gown that flowed smoothly down her body, elegant and simple but striking. The dark fabric contrasted beautifully with her deep brown skin, making her look almost regal under the soft light of the room. Her long micro-braids fell neatly over her shoulders and down her back, framing her face perfectly.

For a moment I just stood there, quietly taking it all in.

She noticed my reflection in the mirror.

“Can you help me zip this?” she asked calmly.

I walked over behind her. As I reached for the zipper, a soft scent drifted toward me—her perfume. It was subtle, warm, something sweet mixed with something darker.

I pulled the zipper up slowly.

When I finished, our eyes met through the mirror.

She looked… breathtaking.

Juliet noticed the way I was staring and gave me a small smile.

Something inside my chest tightened.

Without really thinking, I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her shoulders from behind, resting them loosely around her neck. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle between us.

“Juliet…” I said quietly.

My voice felt heavier than usual.

“I know things have been… strange since everything happened. Since you turned me. But I need to say this.”

She didn’t move.

“I care about you,” I continued. “More than I probably should. And I don’t think I can pretend that I don’t.”

The room felt completely still.

Seconds passed.

Then more seconds.

It felt like an eternity waiting for her to respond.

Finally, Juliet gently took my arms and lifted them off her shoulders.

I opened my eyes.

She turned around to face me and took my hands in hers. Her expression wasn’t angry.

But it wasn’t happy either.

It was… complicated.

“Daniel,” she said softly, “my life right now is more complicated than you realize.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around mine.

“There are things happening around us that you can’t even see yet. Dangers you don’t understand.”

She looked down at our hands for a moment before meeting my eyes again.

“Being close to me already puts you at risk. The night I turned you… that alone created consequences that haven’t even arrived yet.”

I opened my mouth to speak.

“To say it doesn’t matter,” she continued quietly. “To say you’re willing to face whatever comes.”

She gave a faint, sad smile.

“But it does matter.”

I tried to respond anyway.

“Juliet, I—”

“Don’t,” she said gently.

Her voice wasn’t harsh, but it stopped me instantly.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

She slowly released my hands.

Then she turned back toward the mirror, fixing a small detail on the sleeve of her gown.

For a moment she didn’t speak.

Then quietly she said,

“Daniel… please leave.”

I had never felt that kind of heartbreak before.

The words Juliet had said kept echoing in my head as I stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind me. For a moment I just stood in the hallway, staring at the floor, trying to steady myself.

Then I forced myself to move.

I walked to the next bedroom and pushed the door open.

The suit was lying neatly on the bed.

I picked it up and began dressing. The moment I put it on, I paused in front of the mirror. It fit perfectly—like it had been tailored exactly for me. The black jacket sat cleanly on my shoulders, the sleeves stopping just right at my wrists. The white shirt underneath was crisp, and the tie gave the whole thing a sharp, formal look.

I adjusted the collar slightly, still surprised at how well it fit.

Then I headed back to the living room.

Everyone was already there.

Juliet stood near the window, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist. When I walked in, her eyes lifted toward me. She looked at me for a moment—long enough for me to notice—before quietly looking away again.

Timi was standing near the table, holding the house phone to his ear and speaking in French with someone.

Then my eyes moved to Ayara.

She was wearing a short black gown that fit her figure perfectly. The dress stopped just above her knees, simple but elegant, and she had paired it with dark heels that made her posture look even more confident.

I walked over to her.

“Wow,” I said with a small smile. “You really make that outfit look pretty.”

She rolled her eyes immediately.

“Oh, so you finally noticed me.”

I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Sorry. When I woke up I was still kind of disoriented.”

She studied me for a second before shrugging.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I forgive you.”

Then she gave me a small smile.

“Besides… you look handsome.”

I nodded gratefully.

But as I spoke to her, I felt something.

A pair of eyes.

I glanced across the room.

Juliet had been watching us.

The moment our eyes nearly met, she turned her head and looked away again.

The limousine rolled to a smooth stop in front of the house.

The driver stepped out and opened the door for us. One by one we climbed inside. The interior was quiet and luxurious—dark leather seats, soft lighting, and thick windows that muffled the sounds of the city outside.

Once the door shut, the car pulled away.

For the first few minutes none of us spoke. The silence felt heavier than usual.

Eventually I leaned slightly toward the front.

“How long have you been working for Mr. Francis?” I asked the driver.

He didn’t answer.

Not even a glance in the mirror.

He just kept driving.

I slowly leaned back again.

No one else said anything after that.

The ride continued in silence.

After about thirty minutes, the car slowed.

Through the window I saw tall iron gates open automatically as the limousine approached. The gates were enormous, decorated with intricate metal designs that twisted like vines.

We drove through them and into the estate.

The driveway stretched forward through a massive compound surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges and towering trees. Elegant stone statues lined parts of the path, and old lanterns cast warm golden light across the grounds.

The mansion itself slowly came into view.

It was enormous.

Three stories high, built from pale stone that almost glowed under the lights. Tall windows ran along the front, and wide marble steps led up to grand double doors.

The limo stopped at the base of the steps.

The driver opened the door.

We stepped out.

Standing there, looking up at the mansion, the place felt less like a house and more like a palace.

Before we could say anything, a man approached us from the entrance.

He looked to be in his late fifties, wearing a perfectly pressed black suit and white gloves. His posture was straight and professional, and a polite smile rested on his face.

“Good evening,” he said warmly. “Welcome.”

He gave a small bow.

“If you would follow me.”

Clearly the butler.

We followed him up the steps and inside.

The interior was just as impressive as the outside. The floors were polished marble that reflected the soft glow of chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. Massive paintings decorated the walls—old portraits, landscapes, scenes that looked centuries old.

A wide staircase curved upward toward the second floor, its railing carved from dark polished wood.

Everything about the house screamed wealth.

As we walked through the hall, I leaned closer to Timi and whispered,

“Are you sure this guy isn’t part of your family?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“He’s as rich as you people.”

Timi just chuckled quietly but didn’t respond.

The butler led us into a large dining room.

At the center of the room was a long dining table covered with a perfectly pressed white cloth. But strangely… there was nothing on the table.

No plates.

No glasses.

Just the cloth.

The butler gestured toward the chairs.

“Please,” he said politely. “Have a seat. Mr. Francis will join you shortly.”

We sat down.

The butler gave another small bow and quietly left the room.

For a few minutes we just talked among ourselves in low voices, occasionally glancing toward the door.

Then it opened.

The room immediately felt colder.

Francis walked in.

He was dressed in an elegant dark suit—deep charcoal with a velvet texture that gave it a subtle shine under the chandelier light. Underneath it he wore a crisp white shirt with a black tie, the whole outfit perfectly tailored.

But it wasn’t the clothes that drew attention.

It was him.

His skin was unnaturally pale—almost porcelain white, smooth and flawless like carved marble. Under the soft light it looked almost luminous.

His presence alone made the entire room feel older.

He walked calmly to the table and sat at the head.

Then his eyes slowly moved across all of us.

A faint smile appeared on his lips.