⋆ Chapter 44

It was the weekend, and I was living my best gremlin life—curled up in bed, wearing an oversized hoodie, and surrounded by the holy trinity of comfort: chips, pizza, and a fuzzy blanket.

A rom-com was playing on my laptop, some cheesy movie where the heroine had just gone through a breakup and was now triumphantly making a dating app profile while sipping wine and dancing to girl power music. Her best friend urged her to "put herself out there again."

I watched half-interested.

*Ugh.*

I rolled my eyes, licking cheese dust off my fingers. “Please, like healing from heartbreak is just a swipe away,” I muttered. But as the woman typed out her profile and tried to pick out “fun but mysterious” photos, I caught myself staring.

It was a little too familiar.

The way she looked fine on the outside but obviously wasn't. The way she hesitated on her choices, unsure who she was trying to be now. It made me think of Xavier for a second. Just a flash—his stupid smile, that little frown he used to make when he thought I was being unreasonable (I was), and the way it all ended.

Messy, unfinished.

“Oh, shut up,” I told the screen and shoved another chip in my mouth.

But that’s when it hit me.

I sat up straight, wiping my fingers on my hoodie. A stupid little idea was forming in my brain.

“Oh my god,” I whispered to myself. “I should totally make Cillian a dating profile.”

I paused the movie and reached for the phone Cillian gave me. It was almost too perfect. He wanted me to help him find a Keeper, right? Well, technically this wasn’t a Keeper search—but who said I couldn’t be creative?

With an evil little grin, I downloaded the app, set the location, and began filling in the details like I was writing a character sheet for some mysterious, brooding vampire billionaire. Which… wasn’t even fiction.

Name: Cillian Ravenscroft. Age? I paused. Technically he was… ancient. Should I put 26 since that’s when he peaked. Too young. I put 35. That felt safe. Respectable. Sexy without being suspicious.

Then came the fun questions.

**Job title?** CEO.

(I added a note: *Yes, it's as serious as it sounds.*)

**Hobbies?** I thought for a second.

*“Staring out of windows”* I typed. Then, just to balance it, *“Collecting rare wines. Brooding professionally.”*

**What are you looking for?** *“Someone who can keep up.”* Then, under that: *“No ghosters. Literally or figuratively. Preferably a very healthy human.”*

**Personality type?** I checked *“Mysterious,” “Blunt,” and “Protective.”* If there had been a box for *“Will risk public exposure to bite your neck in a club,”* I would've checked that too.

Then came the photo section. I hesitated. Then I texted him.

Me: Can you send me some pics of you?

His reply came quickly.

Cillian: For your shrine, Pet?

Me: No! I’m doing something important! For work! Kinda.

Cillian: Are you planning to frame them or sleep with them under your pillow?

Me: Whatever! Just send a normal pic, not some weird thirst trap.

Few seconds later, I got a shirtless mirror selfie. Of course.

Me: WHY. ARE. YOU. SHIRTLESS.

I stared at it longer than I wanted to admit. His skin looked like marble, chest toned and abs just subtle enough not to scream “I try,” but very much “I don’t need to try.”

Me: Send me one where you're clothed.

He must’ve been amused, because a moment later, he sent me two more photos. One was him in a fitted dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, smirking. The other was more formal—dark suit, pale shirt, jaw clenched, eyes cold and sharp. Very aristocratic. Very vampire CEO. Basically, peak Cillian.

I bit my lip, smiling way too much for someone claiming this was professional.

Me: When was this taken? Summer of 1842?

Cillian: Funny. Now your turn.

Me: My turn what?

Cillian: Send a photo back. Preferably sexy.

I snorted. Absolutely not.

So I took the dumbest selfie I could—duck face, peace sign, angle from below that made my nose look three times its size—and sent it with a triumphant grin.

His reply came in fast.

Cillian: Pathetic.

I cackled, tossing my phone onto the bed like I’d just won a fight.

“Whatever,” I muttered. “You wish you looked this good making a duck face.”

Once I had the photos locked in, I went full-on matchmaker mode. I finished setting up Cillian’s profile.

Then came the fun part—swiping.

I wasn’t just looking for any random match. No. I wanted women who looked like they could hold their own against someone like Cillian. Smart eyes. Confident bios. Some sass. Some sweetness. One even said she could speak four languages, which made me wonder if any of them included Latin.

I started chatting with them, pretending to be him. Honestly, it was a little terrifying how good I got at sounding like Cillian. Smug, polite, just enough charm to keep things smooth. I skipped the usual vampire sex-god one-liners and stuck to his CEO-at-a-board-meeting personality.

The one he used at work—the buttoned-up, cool, mysterious version that made interns blush and directors sweat.

And no emojis, obviously. He felt like the kind of guy who’d consider them beneath him.

By midnight, I had locked in six dates for him. Six.

I stared at the final confirmation screen, feeling oddly proud of myself. Like I’d just solved a complex puzzle. Or performed some kind of emotionally chaotic miracle.

Then I sent him a quick text:

Me: Get ready next week. You’re going on a date. Six dates, to be exact.

I waited, grinning. This was going to be so good. I imagined his face, all annoyed and broody, probably rolling his eyes in some dimly lit study in his dark and creepy mansion.

But… nothing.

I kept glancing at the phone, waiting for the little dots to pop up, but they never did. Not even a “read” notification.

I checked the time again. Midnight. Maybe he was asleep? Did he ever sleep? Maybe he was out biting people. Or brooding in silence. Or… ignoring me because I turned his request for a sexy pic?

Still, I held the phone a while longer, smiling to myself like a total idiot.

Eventually, I curled up under my blanket, the phone still next to me on the pillow, and fell asleep waiting for his reply.