My Vampire Beloved Husband

Zylan moved stiffly across the ballroom floor, his disinterest radiating from every calculated step. His body swayed in time with the music, but there was no passion in his movements—just a cold, detached precision that betrayed his utter lack of enthusiasm.

Anna, however, was all too aware of his indifference. It gnawed at her, the realization sinking in that this wasn’t the kind of dance she had envisioned. His hand, which should have been firmly placed around her waist, instead rested loosely on his back, as though even the act of touching her was too much effort. The melody, soft and elegant, only served to highlight the awkwardness between them. Or perhaps, it was just her.

Anna’s fingers curled tightly around the fabric of her gown as she fumed silently. This wasn’t part of her plan. How could she make Naomi jealous when Zylan wouldn’t even meet her gaze? He hadn’t so much as glanced at her, let alone given her any semblance of the attention she craved. His posture spoke volumes—his broad shoulders stiff, his expression unreadable but distant. It was as if the mere idea of holding her was repulsive.

And yet, the truth of the matter was painfully clear. Zylan had agreed to this dance not out of politeness or interest, but solely because of her connection to Naomi. To outright reject her, Naomi’s sister, in such a grand setting would have caused a scandal—a spectacle he had no patience for. But his reasons were not out of concern for Anna or societal norms. No, the only thing Zylan cared about was Naomi. Any situation that could bring her pain was unacceptable to him, even if it meant enduring this farce of a dance.

Anna’s pride simmered dangerously close to boiling over. She refused to let herself appear weak, not in front of Zylan, not in front of the watching crowd. Summoning her courage, she lifted her chin and spoke, though her voice wavered despite her best efforts.

"I must say, you look stunning tonight, Mr. Zylan," she said, her words measured, each syllable chosen to draw his attention.

For a fleeting moment, his cold gaze shifted to her. His steel-gray eyes, sharp and unyielding, met hers with the precision of a blade slicing through air. The silence that followed stretched unbearably long, his lack of response making her shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"I always do," he replied finally, his voice as cold as the winter winds. His words were devoid of humility, spoken with a quiet confidence that left no room for doubt. But then, his tone softened—not with warmth, but with an icy reverence reserved for one person alone. "But my wife surpasses me. If anyone here deserves to be called stunning, it’s her."

The words hit Anna like a slap. His casual dismissal burned more than if he had outright insulted her. She opened her mouth, searching for a response, but none came. Her carefully constructed mask of confidence faltered as humiliation and rage twisted within her.

Before she could gather herself, the music came to an abrupt end. Zylan didn’t wait. As though relieved by the interruption, he stepped away from her without so much as a parting glance and began weaving through the crowd.

Anna stood frozen, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her breathing was uneven, each exhale carrying the weight of her anger. Her knees wobbled beneath her gown, but she refused to crumble. Not here. Not now.