I was cleaning a table when the café door rang — it played such a lovely melody that it reminded me of my grandma Reina, back when she was still alive. She loved this café more than anything, always saying it held the spirit of the family in every brick and beam. Before I turned 19, she gave me everything she had: the house, this café, and the secret rose garden tucked away behind the ivy-covered wall.
I still remember the way her eyes lit up whenever the door chime rang, as if each customer brought a story with them. Even now, the soft hum of the bell feels like her whispering hello. I try to keep the place just the way she did — warm, full of charm, and always smelling faintly of roses and fresh coffee. Sometimes, I think I see her in the corner of my eye, sitting by the window with her favorite tea, smiling as if nothing ever changed.
I could hear her saying, "Come, Annabella, join me for a lovely cup of rose and rainwater tea. It refreshes the soul and spirit." Her voice drifted through the cafe like the scent of jasmine at dusk, soft and knowing. "I have something to tell you, especially considering the kind of work you do with your father. There are things the world won't teach you, secrets that bloom in silence. Listen to what your heart says—not to the voice of hate, not to fear."
She poured the tea slowly, the steam curling like smoke from a forgotten dream. "The world will try to shape you with sharp hands and colder hearts, but you must stay soft, stay awake. That's where your power lies. Don't let the weight of duty crush the light inside you."
I hesitated, my hand hovering above the porcelain cup. The tea shimmered with a pale pink hue. "What is it you're trying to tell me?" I whispered.
Grandma Reina smiled, her eyes reflecting something ancient and deep. "That the truth isn't always loud. Promise me, Annabella, when the time comes—you'll choose love, even when it feels impossible."
I wanted to tell her that it was impossible—with the kind of job I have, the long hours, the constant travel, the unpredictability. Relationships don't survive in my world. But I knew it would be useless. She wouldn't understand, or maybe she would, and that's what scared me more—that she'd see through all the excuses I clung to. So instead, I just nodded toward her, forcing a small smile, and said, "I promise, Grandma Reina, to listen to my heart when I find someone."
Her eyes softened, crinkling at the corners the way they always did when she felt something deeply. She reached out and placed her hand over mine—warm, fragile, but steady. "That's all I've ever wanted for you," she whispered. "Not perfection, just love that feels right."
For a moment, the noise of the world—the deadlines, the late-night flights, the endless emails—faded away. All that remained was her quiet hope, echoing in the space between us. And even though I wasn't sure I could keep that promise, in that moment, I wanted to believe I could.
Then, as if the memory was a fleeting shadow, it slipped away into the deepest corners of my mind. The sudden silence was deafening. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady the erratic pounding of my heart. My hands trembled ever so slightly, but I clenched them into fists, willing myself to regain control. The emotions that had surged through me moments before now felt like an ocean, threatening to drown me. But I refused to let it show.
I straightened my back, forcing the weight of my past into the farthest corners of my soul. A practiced smile curled onto my lips—one that I had worn so many times it almost felt natural, though inside, I was anything but at peace. "Welcome to Eternal Rose Café," I said, my voice smooth but laced with an undercurrent of something—something that only I could feel. "How can we serve you today?"
But as I turned, everything seemed to pause. The world around me grew still, my heart racing with every second. There they were—my five brothers, standing just beyond the door like shadows from a forgotten dream. They were so close, yet it felt as though they were miles away. And behind them, the last person I ever expected to see: my father. His eyes—those eyes that had once looked at me with warmth and now felt like cold stones—met mine.
Time seemed to stretch, the weight of every unresolved conflict, every unspoken word, hanging in the air like thick fog. I wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence. But my tongue was heavy, trapped by the years of distance between us. I could feel their gazes piercing through me, searching for the cracks in the façade I had so carefully built.
My father said with a smirk, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Ah, I see the ancient doorbell still survives… a relic from your grandmother's time—back when she still walked this earth. I half expect it to summon ghosts rather than guests."
I shot a defiant look at my father, the words escaping my lips like a sharp dagger. "At least Grandma Reina knew how to host guests with real manners—guests who were more than just a reflection of the shallow world you choose to surround yourself with. She welcomed people from all walks of life, unlike you, who only care about impressing those who can feed your ego."My body was coiled tight, every fiber ready for the punishment that would inevitably follow. But what I wasn't prepared for was the cold fury in his voice, each word like a slap to my face. "So now you're turning into your grandmother Reina, huh? The woman who had no respect for our work, for everything we've built? I have manners, child. Don't you ever question that again. You're treading on dangerous ground, disrespecting everything I've done for this family. You're lucky I haven't lost my patience with you."
I smirked, though it felt more like a shield than a smile, and said, "Oh, I'm so scared, Father. You and my ever-loyal brothers, dragging your shadows into my café like you own the place—like you haven't already taken enough. Scaring off the last customers I have, poisoning the air with your presence, always so desperate to see me fall. And now you're trying to start a fight? Figures. It's never been about love or family with you—it's always been about control. About reminding me that no matter how far I run, I'll never be free of the rot you planted in me. But here's the thing—this place, broken as it is, is mine. And I'd rather burn with it than let you touch it."
My older brother Jase let out a laugh—wild, unhinged, the kind that echoed like madness. "You think you're strong enough to take on all six of us? I think not!"
I didn't flinch. Instead, I smiled—slow, sharp, the kind that comes just before a storm.
"Oh, my poor, delusional brother... Do you really believe I can't handle the six of you? I was the one who stood unbeaten in every training match Father forced on us. Every single one. While you all stumbled, I rose. And when Father wasn't around to throw us into blood and bruises, I was with Mother—learning discipline, strategy, control. Back when she was alive. Back when someone still gave a damn.
Tell me, Jase—who patched your wounds when you cried through the fever? Who trained through the night, even when my body screamed for rest? Who fed you when Father was too drunk to lift a damn finger, let alone a spoon?
I was your sister. Your soldier. Your caretaker. Your shadow. I know my strength—every scar, every hour, every drop of sweat has taught me.
But you... do you even know who you are without me?"
Albert stepped in front of Jase, his shadow long and deliberate. His eyes gleamed with something between pity and disdain, and a cold smirk curled across his lips."Spare us the act, Annabella. This little performance of strength? It's transparent... and frankly, pathetic. You've always needed us, whether you'll admit it or not."
He let the silence drag, savoring the moment, before slowly extending a folded letter between two fingers like it carried poison."Still, duty calls. We were instructed to deliver this—for tonight's shift."
He leaned in, voice low and edged in warning."You might want to read it carefully. Something tells me this hunt won't go the way you expect. And if I were you... I wouldn't walk into the dark thinking anyone's coming to pull you out."
I stared at the letter, then met his gaze—calm, sharp, unblinking. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a blade."Funny, Albert. You talk a lot for someone who's always hiding behind someone else's orders."
I stepped forward, snatching the letter from his hand without breaking eye contact."You think I'm weak because I walked away. But deep down, you know I left because I was strong enough to survive without you."
A smirk of my own touched mine lips, colder than his ever was."And if the dark's waiting for me tonight... tell it to be afraid."
Then they turned without a word and slipped out of the café, the bell above the door giving one last mournful chime. I remained frozen, my eyes fixed on the letter they had left behind. Its edges shimmered with gold trim, catching the low amber light. At its center was a wax seal I didn't recognize at first—deep crimson, almost black in the shadows. I leaned closer.
A hummingbird, wings spread wide, held two cherries in its beak. Delicate. Strange. Beautiful. But something about it unsettled me. I had heard whispers of that symbol before, in the kinds of stories people only tell when the candles burn low and the windows are shut tight. A crest of nobility, yes—but not the human kind.
I peeled back the flap of the envelope with care. The parchment inside was thick, textured, and smelled faintly of roses and ash. Someone had gone to great lengths to craft this moment.
And then I read the words.
Ms. Annabella Moon,
By decree of the Order, you are hereby summoned to infiltrate and observe one of the vampire clubs operating within the city.
Dress code: formal.You are to blend in.You are to be silent.You are to remain unseen.
Your charge is to ensure that no humans enter their domain.Failure will not only cost you your position—it may cost you far more.
This letter is not to be shown.This mission is not to be discussed.The eyes of the Night Court are upon you.
Do not disappoint us.
There was no signature. No insignia. Just that haunting seal again—now slightly smudged by my thumb.
I read the letter twice, maybe three times, before it truly sank in. Then I folded it slowly, tucking it into my coat pocket, heart pounding with the weight of what had just been asked of me.