Reincarnated as Dracula’s Son

As the evening sun painted the sky with a tapestry of oranges and pinks, Damian lay on his bed, his muscular arms exposed by the thin fabric of his tank top, the grey of his pants a muted contrast against the soft sheets.

His mind was a quiet hum of thoughts and idle musings, the memories of the day's events dancing through his mind like a flickering flame.

And then, in an instant, his contemplation was shattered by the sharp sound of his phone beeping, the screen flashing with an eager notification.

The words "I'm here," blinked across the screen, from Yvonne sending a shiver of anticipation down Damian's spine.

He reached for his phone, his fingers moving with an effortless precision as he unlocked the screen.

"Be there soon", he replied.

Damian stretched languidly, his arms reaching towards the ceiling as his body unfolded like a sunflower seeking the light, his tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of toned abs. A yawn escaped his lips, his chest expanding as he drew in a deep breath, the air filled with the sweet scent of his citrus-scented body wash.

Slowly, he rolled out of bed, his bare feet meeting the cool of the hardwood floor, his muscles flexing with each step as he made his way across the room.

Damian paused in front of the bedroom door, his hand hovering over the handle as he considered venturing out into the living room, his exposed torso a stark contrast to the crisp, buttoned-up decorum he usually favored.

A fleeting image of himself sauntering into the living room, his tank top clinging to his muscled torso but with a shake of his head, he dismissed that idea.

Damian let his hand fall back to his side, his fingers tapping against his thigh as he considered the implications of his potential attire.

"It's already suspicious enough," he muttered to himself, his voice low and thoughtful. "Taking a girl up to my room...showing up half-dressed would be like rubbing their noses in it."

Damian descended the stairs with a quiet grace, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that lined the hallway, his presence almost ghost-like in its subtlety. He paused for a moment, his gaze skimming the living room like a hawk surveying its territory, taking in the scene before him with a shrewd calculation.

His mother, dressed in her usual finery, sat on the couch, a teacup perched delicately in her hand, her laughter mingling with that of her friend, an elegant matron with perfectly coiffed hair and a smile that was all icy politeness.

Damian's presence, though subtle, was not unnoticed. His mother, though deep in conversation with her friend, spared a brief glance in his direction.

He went towards the door and swung it open, revealing the ethereal vision of Yvonne standing in the glow of the streetlight, Damian's heart skipped a beat, his breath caught in his throat.

"Yvonne," he murmured, his voice low and awestruck as he drank in the sight of her.

She smiled, her full lips curved in a soft, knowing grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Damian," she said, her voice a silken caress.

Yvonne stepped into the living room, her blue top snugly fitting her frame, paired with a casual yet neat pair of blue jeans. The outfit was simple but well put-together, the kind that blended style with modesty.

It was the kind of look that would meet any parents' approval—nothing flashy, nothing too daring.

His mom glanced up from her conversation, her eyes briefly scanning Yvonne. She then turned to him, her gaze steady, and back to her friend. Her expression softened, and with a slight nod, she gave him the permission he'd been expecting. It was no surprise; Yvonne's choice of attire ticked all the right boxes for their household standards.

He and Yvonne climbed the stairs in silence, the muted creak of each step the only sound between them. The air seemed heavier as they moved further from the living room, where the quiet hum of adult conversation still lingered below.

It wasn't until they reached the landing, safely out of sight and earshot, that he stopped and turned to her.

His eyes roamed her face for a moment, the faint light from the hallway casting soft shadows across her features. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice low, almost reverent. A crooked smile spread across his lips, a little lopsided and boyish, but entirely genuine.

It was the kind of smile that seemed to tug at the edges of his seriousness, softening it into something warmer.

Yvonne's face lit up, her smile spreading wide and bright, as though it had a life of its own. Her eyes sparkled with a warmth that seemed to reach right through him, softening the air between them. "Thank you," she replied, her voice carrying a light, melodic tone. Then, with a playful tilt of her head, she added, "You too."

Damian smiled when he saw how happy his words made her. Compliments, he knew, were never misplaced when it came to women.

They reached his room, and he pushed the door open with a gentle nudge. "Welcome to my sanctuary," he said with a faint smile, stepping aside to let her in. His voice held a touch of humor, but there was an unmistakable pride in the way he said it.

Yvonne hadn't had a chance to properly take in the house earlier. She'd been guided quickly through the living room and hallways, her focus more on keeping up than on her surroundings. But now, standing in his room, she finally had the chance to pause and look around.

The space was both beautiful and breathtaking in it's simplicity. The soft lighting gave the room a warm, inviting glow, and every detail seemed thoughtfully placed. The shelves were filled with books and trinkets, each telling its own story, while the bed, neatly made with dark blue covers, added a sense of calm. A window framed by light curtains let in just enough natural light to highlight the subtle tones of the room.