Twelve Rules for His Bride

I waited twelve years for Adrian Davenport to come home.

Twelve years for one proposal.

When it finally happened, the entire city watched.

Silverlake Plaza was covered in black roses that night. A vampire orchestra played beneath the glass dome. The moon hung over the city like a silver crown, and every screen in the plaza showed Adrian dropping to one knee before me.

He was still as beautiful as he had been at eighteen.

Pale skin. Dark hair. Crimson eyes. The kind of face that made humans forget vampires were predators.

“Evelyn Moore,” he said, holding out a velvet box, “will you finally let me keep my promise?”

People screamed.

My mother cried.

His father smiled with the satisfaction of a man watching two old families bind themselves together.

And I, foolishly, believed I was happy.

I believed the twelve years had been worth it.

I believed the lonely nights, the missed birthdays, the calls across time zones, the empty bed, and the endless waiting had all led to this moment.

So I said yes.

Adrian slid the blood-moon ring onto my finger.

The ring was a little tight. It had always been a little tight.

Years ago, he had sent it from Europe as a Valentine’s gift. I had lost weight just to wear it, because I thought love meant fitting myself into whatever he gave me.

The next morning, he gave me something else.

A contract.

Twelve clauses.

Printed on white paper and sealed with the Davenport family crest.

At first, I thought it was a joke.

Then I read the first line.

After marriage, Evelyn Moore may return to the Moore estate only once per year, with prior approval from House Davenport.

My fingers tightened around the paper.

The second clause was worse.

All personal expenses shall be limited to three hundred dollars per month. All remaining assets shall be managed by Adrian Davenport.

The third made my blood turn cold.

The bride must provide House Davenport with no fewer than three heirs within five years of marriage. At least one heir must carry a pure vampiric bloodline.

By the seventh clause, my hands were shaking.

By the twelfth, something inside me had gone quiet.

Adrian sat across from me, watching my face with an unreadable expression.

“Marriage is serious, Evelyn,” he said gently. “Rules protect both of us.”

I looked up at him.

“Both of us?”

He smiled.

The same smile I had waited twelve years to see again.

“Yes. I am doing this for our future.”

Our future.

Those two words nearly broke me.

Because until that morning, I had believed in our future more than I believed in myself.

I did not sign.

Instead, I said I needed time to think.

Adrian kissed my forehead, told me not to be emotional, and went to take a shower.

His phone lit up while he was gone.

I should not have looked.

But the screen was facing me, and the message appeared before I could turn away.

The sender’s name was saved as Little Moon.

Did she accept the contract?

My heart stopped.

A second later, another message came in.

She won’t really agree to those disgusting terms, right?

Then Adrian’s reply appeared on the screen.

Even if she is pathetic, she is not pathetic enough to accept them.

Soon she will give up on the engagement herself. Then I will be the victim, and both families will stop blaming me.

I could not breathe.

The phone lit up again.

Be good, Luna. You are my only bride.

The bathroom water kept running.

I stared at the photo on his lock screen.

It was us.

The picture had been taken the night before, right after the proposal. I was smiling at the camera, my eyes red from happy tears. Adrian was kissing my temple.

He must have changed the wallpaper on the flight home.

How thoughtful.

How cruel.

When Adrian came out of the bathroom, water still clung to his hair.

He walked behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pressed his lips to my neck.

“My sweet fiancée,” he murmured. “I have waited twelve years. Tonight, you should make it up to me.”

I pushed him away.

He frowned.

“Evelyn?”

I looked at him.

“Do you remember what I said before you went to shower?”

He thought for a moment, then smiled lazily.

“You said you wanted to discuss something.”

“Yes.”

I picked up the contract.

“I thought about your twelve rules.”

His eyes sharpened.

There was expectation in them.

Not fear.

Expectation.

He was waiting for me to cry. To beg. To bargain.

So I gave him exactly what he wanted.

Just not in the way he expected.

“Adrian,” I said calmly, “we are done.”

His smile disappeared.

For a long moment, he only stared at me.

Then he laughed once, like I had said something childish.

“Because of a contract?”

I looked at the man I had loved for half my life.

The man who had promised to come back every year, then every graduation, then every promotion, then every time he needed me to wait a little longer.

“Not because of the contract,” I said.

His jaw tightened.

“Then because of what?”

Because you made me waste twelve years.

Because you called me pathetic.

Because you gave another woman the name I spent my whole life trying to become.

Because you wanted me to walk away so you could play the victim.

But I said none of that.

I only picked up my bag.

“Because I finally understand.”

He followed me to the door.

“Understand what?”

I turned back.

“That some promises are just pretty cages.”

Then I left.