Pregnant with the Vampire King’s Triplets

Chapter 1: The ignored Shadow

“Look at her,” someone murmured behind her, voice low but still enough to let her hear their hunting words. “That moonlit blood of hers…it's unnatural. No wonder Damien finally saw sense.”

The ballroom of the Throne Estate glittered with crystal chandeliers and every beautiful thing that made it ooze with power and wealth. Laughter was everywhere, champagne's clinging into toast. 

It was Victoria's engagement gala, afterall. The event of the season for the human elite who orbited the hidden vampire world like moths to a flame. 

And Isabelle Thorne? The one who could hear the murmurs of the people, stood near the edge of the crowd, a glass of untouched champagne in her hand, watching it all with a detached calm she had tried to keep over the years. Trying to be invisible in her own family. 

Her raven - black hair was swept into a simple chignon, her silver gray eyes scanning the room without lingering. She wore a midnight-blue gown that hugged her curves modestly. She hated anything flashy, anything that could draw attention towards her, but still, things never go unseen. 

“Huh, she's cursed.”

Isabella's fingers tightened around the glass. A moonlit blood. 

That was the curse they had pinned on her since childhood. It was a rare genetic quirk that made her scent intoxicating to vampires, a siren call filled in danger. It didn't make her one of them. It just made her a liability, a temptation, something to fear or better still, exploit. 

She ignored the comment, as she always did, and let her gaze drift to the center of the room where Victoria held court. 

Victory Throne— her half sister, glowed in a silk dress, her golden hair cascading in perfect waves, her emerald eyes sparkling as she laughed at something Damien whispered in her ears. 

Damien Hale, tall, charming, ambitious and the man Isabella had loved for two years. The man who had promised everything and a forever to Isabella, just six months ago. 

Ironic? Isn't it?

Tonight he wore a tailored black tuxedo that made him look every inch the rising star in the vampire court's inner circle. His hand rested possessively on Victoria's waist, and when their eyes met across the room, he offered Isabella the briefest, coldest smile before turning back to his fiancee. 

Fiancee.

Isabella could feel the pain sliding into her nose. 

Isabella overheard the conversation earlier that afternoon in the library — Lord Harlan's voice booming with approval as he congratulated Damien on “making the right choice” like the term. Of course, Victoria was the perfect child, the connected, beautiful, human enough to pass in daylight circles but willing to turn when the time came. 

With no complications, no curse blood to scare off investors or council members. 

Isabella had stood frozen behind the door, my heart hammering in my chest, waiting for Damien to defend her, say something. Just anything. 

However, he didn't.

Now, there was a ring on Victoria's finger, catching the light as Isabella saw a diamond ring the size of a small star. 

Isabella felt the last fragile thread of hope in her, snapping inside her chest. 

She set her glass on a passing tray and slipped toward the terrace doors. The night air would be cooler and sharper. It would at least help her breathe.

The terrace overlooked the city skyline, skyscrapers. She leaned against the balustrade, closing her eyes against the wind that tugged at her hair. For a moment, she let herself imagine a different life, one where she wasn’t the family embarrassment, where love didn’t come with conditions.

Isabella could hear footsteps behind her. But she didn't turn. 

“Isabella.” Damien’s smooth voice called.  She hated how it still made her pulse jump.

“What do you want?” she asked without looking at him.

“To explain.”

She laughed softly, bitter. “Explain? You proposed to my sister in front of everyone. There’s nothing left to explain.”

He stepped closer. She could smell his cologne. That of cedar and smoke, she could also get the scent of his vampire blood. He’d already started the turning process with Victoria. The thought twisted something deep in her gut. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said. “But Victoria… She's the future. The council needs alliances and your blood..”

“My blood,” she echoed, finally turning to face him. Her silver-gray eyes met his dark ones. “Say it. My moonlit blood makes me a freak. A risk. Better to marry the safe sister.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” She stepped forward, her voice low. “You told me you loved me. You said the blood didn’t matter, you said that we’d find a way. So, what went wrong?”

“I meant it then.” His gaze dropped to her lips, then away. 

“But things change. The council..”

“The council.” She nodded slowly. “Always the council. You never choose  me.”

There was a brief silence between them. 

Isabella straightened. “Congratulations, Damien. I hope Victoria makes you happy. I truly do.”

She turned to leave, but his hand caught her wrist. It wasn't hard, but of course, it was firm. Firm enough to make her halt to a stop.

“Isabella, wait…”

She yanked free, her eyes flashing. “Don’t touch me.”

He let go, his expression unreadable. “Your father has plans for you. The bride auction ..”

“I know.” Her voice cracked on the words, as though she would soon break into tears. “Lord Harlan made sure I knew. A death sentence dressed as opportunity. Sell the tainted daughter to the highest bidder. Maybe the Vampire King will want a taste before he discards her.”

Damien flinched. “It’s not like that. The King chooses lovers, not….”

“Spare me.” She stepped back. “I’m done being your consolation prize. Enjoy the gala.”

She walked away before he could respond, slipping back through the terrace doors into the ballroom’s warmth.

The music continued with laughter ripping through, but it all felt distant and a muffle.

Victoria caught her eye from across the room and smiled, a sweet, triumphant one.  Isabella didn’t return it.

Instead, she moved toward the exit, her heart pounding with a decision she’d been avoiding for weeks.

She wasn’t staying for the auction, she wasn't  staying for any of them.

She walked out of the ballroom. There was a club downtown, an exclusive, dangerous one, it was a kind of place where humans and vampires mixed without pretense. 

A place to disappear for a few hours. Or forever.

Isabella slipped out a side door, her heels clicking on the floor, then onto the street where the cool air hit her like freedom.

She hailed a cab, gave the driver the address, and leaned back against the leather seat.

Tonight, she would forget and run.

The cab pulled up to the discreet black door of Nocturne, the bass thumping through the walls.

Isabella paid in cash, stepped out, and paused at the entrance.

Just for one night. 

This is just for one night, she told herself as she pushed the door open. 

The club was just a replica of the ballroom she has just left. Just that there was no presence anywhere. 

Everyone was free with themselves. Vampires dance, bodies to bodies. 

Isabella made her way to the counter, ordered a whiskey neat, and tried to ignore the way heads turned as she passed.

Her scent. It was always her scent that usually made her seen even when quietly occupying the space.

She downed the drink in one swallow. 

Then she saw him.

Across the room, in a shadowed booth, a man sat alone. Tall, broad-shouldered, jet-black hair falling across his forehead. Even from here, she could feel the power rolling off him. It was old and looked controlled. 

His head lifted and their eyes met.

The world tilted.

Lucien Blackthorne, the Vampire King.

He rose slowly, never breaking gaze, and started toward her through the crowd.

Isabella’s heart slammed against her ribs. She should run, but her feet wouldn’t move.

And when he reached her, his velvet dangerous voice brushed her ear with a single word. 

“Mine.”