Vampire’s Veil Of Obsession

Mrs. Winslow's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected her husband to be standing there, his figure looming at the top of the staircase. Panic flashed through her mind—how could she possibly explain why she had slapped Lilia? The flickering light from the chandelier cast long shadows across his face, making his sharp gaze even more intimidating.

"Why are your cheeks red, Lilia?" he asked, his voice steady, firm, and commanding.

Lilia flinched at the question, her body trembling as she instinctively raised a hand to cover her reddened cheek. The last thing she wanted was to be the cause of her parents fighting—especially not in the dead of night. Her breathing quickened as her father's heavy steps echoed in the silence, each one like a judge's gavel descending with finality.

"It's nothing, Dad," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking under the weight of her fear.

"Don't lie to me." He began to descend the stairs, his footsteps slow but deliberate, the tension in the air growing thicker with every step. Lilia's fingers gripped the fabric of her nightgown tightly as though it could shield her from the inevitable confrontation.

Mrs. Winslow paled visibly, her breath catching in her throat as her husband's piercing eyes shifted to her. For a moment, she felt trapped, unable to form an excuse or deflect his attention.

"Rena," he said at last, his voice low and controlled, though the tension in it was unmistakable. "Did you slap her?"

"I… I…" Mrs. Winslow stammered, her words faltering as she glanced at Lilia, hoping her daughter would take the cue and provide a distraction.

"Dad, no!" Lilia interrupted quickly, desperation coloring her tone. "Mum didn't slap me. I… I scratched my cheek on the door." She lied immediately.

Her father's gaze moved from Lilia to her mother, scrutinizing every detail. He took another step closer, his presence suffocating, his eyes searching for the truth. "Then why are you here?" he asked, his voice softening slightly, though the concern in it was evident.

Lilia swallowed hard, her mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't escalate the situation. "I… I just…" Her voice trailed off, unable to come up with a convincing lie.

"You need to look your best for the masquerade tomorrow night," he said firmly, his tone shifting to a matter-of-fact coldness. His eyes flicked to her reddened cheek again, disapproval flickering briefly before vanishing behind his stern expression.

Lilia nodded silently, her stomach churning as she caught the flash of hatred in her mother's eyes. The bitterness behind that glare was impossible to miss, and Lilia forced a bitter smile, trying to defuse the tension. She knew too well that her mother would remember this moment—and retaliate in some way later.

"Go to your room," her father said at last, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It's late."

Lilia froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She bit her lip nervously, hesitant to speak, but the words spilled out before she could stop herself. "Dad… please… I can't go to my room."

The room grew deathly silent. Her father's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening in barely restrained anger. "And why not?"

Her breath hitched as she searched for an excuse. "I… I just…" she faltered, her hands twisting nervously.

"Fine," he said finally, his tone cold and dismissive. "Go to your sister's room."

Lilia nodded slowly, her head bowed as she turned to leave. She clutched the railing tightly as she ascended the stairs, her mind racing with unease. Would Sabrina even let her in? Her sister's temper was as sharp as their mother's, if not worse. But still… staying in Sabrina's room had to be better than this, right?

The soft creak of the stairs beneath her feet was the only sound as she climbed, her father's stern gaze boring into her back until she disappeared from view.

As soon as Lilia was out of sight, Mrs. Winslow turned to face her husband, only to find his gaze fixed on her with sharp disapproval. The intensity of his expression made her breath hitch, but she quickly masked her unease with defiance.

"I don't ever want to see you lay a hand on her again. Is that clear?" he said, his voice firm and unyielding, leaving no room for argument.

'So he knew I slapped that good-for-nothing girl,' Mrs. Winslow thought bitterly, her lips curling in disdain. Her husband's commanding presence, once an attraction in their earlier years, now only fueled her resentment.

"That child was outside," she snapped, her voice low but laced with anger. "What do you expect me to do? She was probably sneaking off to meet that servant's boy."

Her husband's face twisted in disgust, his brows knitting together. "What are you talking about? What servant boy"

"Ask your sweet, innocent child, my dear husband," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She crossed her arms over her chest, her defiance growing.

His expression darkened, his jaw tightening as anger flashed in his eyes. He took a step closer to her, his voice rising slightly. "Lilia would not do that," he said firmly, his tone laced with conviction.

"And you knew about this? And said nothing to me?" His voice grew louder, filling the room like a roar, his anger palpable.

Mrs. Winslow shrank back slightly, but her eyes held defiance. For all her husband's bluster, she knew how to stand her ground.

"Mr. John needs a virgin," her husband said suddenly, his tone turning cold and calculating. His eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to her, his presence as menacing as a predator cornering its prey.

The words hung in the air like a suffocating weight. Mrs. Winslow felt the blood drain from her face as she realized where this conversation was heading.

"I signed that contract when Lilia was five," he continued, his voice low and menacing. "She's been promised to marry his son. That arrangement has brought us everything we have—everything! Look at where we are now. Wealthy, respected, powerful. And you dare risk ruining it?"

Mrs. Winslow stiffened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She wanted to argue, to lash out, but the weight of his words held her in place.

"Tomorrow morning," he said, his voice ice cold, "take that child for a virginity test." His jaw clenched as he leaned in even closer, his next words dropping like stones. "Make sure the results say she is. Unless…"

He straightened, his eyes burning with fury. "Don't even bother coming back to this house."

His words struck like a hammer, reverberating in the tense silence. Mrs. Winslow's breath hitched as she processed the weight of his demand.

Her husband turned away abruptly, his footsteps heavy as he walked off, leaving her alone in the dimly lit room. For a moment, she stood frozen, anger and fear swirling in her chest. She clenched her fists tighter, nails digging into her palms as her thoughts raced.

He's always been nice to Lilia for that reason, she realized bitterly. It was never about love—it was always about the plan.