Sorry, I'm Just a Weak Little Vampire

The next day.

The heavy oak door to Lord Marcus's private study clicked shut behind Genevieve.

The room smelled intensely of old parchment and rich cigar smoke. Genevieve sat in the leather chair opposite the massive mahogany desk, her internal alarms screaming.

Lord Marcus sat behind the desk. He adjusted his cuffs, his face unreadable. He pushed a delicate crystal vial across the polished wood. The thick, dark red liquid inside caught the dim light.

"A high-tier blood alchemy potion," Lord Marcus said, his voice flat. "Consider it compensation for my... harshness yesterday."

Genevieve stared at the priceless vial. The image of Rosalie's helpless, fragile face flashed in her mind.

She reached out with both hands. Her fingers hovered over the crystal. Right as her skin brushed the smooth glass, she forced her wrist to jerk violently.

The crystal vial slipped from her grasp.

It hit the edge of the desk and plummeted onto the expensive Persian rug. A dull, heavy crack echoed in the quiet room.

The glass shattered. The thick, potent smell of high-tier blood magic exploded into the air, suffocatingly sweet. The dark red liquid seeped into the intricate threads of the rug, ruining it instantly.

Lord Marcus's eyebrows snapped together. He opened his mouth to speak.

Genevieve beat him to it.

She slapped both hands over her mouth. She sucked in a sharp, loud breath, perfectly mimicking Rosalie's signature startled gasp.

"I'm so stupid!" Genevieve cried out, her voice trembling violently. "I can't even hold a simple bottle. I've ruined it. I've disappointed you again, Lord Marcus."

To sell the performance, Genevieve reached under her long skirt and pinched the soft flesh of her thigh with brutal force. The sharp physical pain brought instant, genuine tears to her eyes. Two fat drops spilled over her lashes and rolled down her pale cheeks.

Lord Marcus stared at her. He watched the exaggerated trembling of her shoulders. A wave of sheer absurdity washed over him.

Instead of exploding in anger, Lord Marcus let out a short, dry laugh. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in defeat.

He stood up. He walked around the heavy desk, carefully stepping over the shards of broken crystal. He stopped right in front of her.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silk handkerchief embroidered with his family crest. He held it out to her.

Genevieve shrank back. She pulled her shoulders up to her ears, acting like a stray dog expecting a kick. She didn't reach for the silk.

Lord Marcus sighed. The sound was heavy in his chest. He reached down, grabbed her cold hand, and gently but firmly pressed the handkerchief into her palm.

"I apologize for my lack of control yesterday," Lord Marcus said, his voice dropping low.

Genevieve's heart did a victorious flip. But on the outside, she kept shivering. She brought the silk to her face and clumsily wiped at the tears.

"I will have the alchemist brew a purer batch for you tomorrow," Lord Marcus promised, stepping back.

Genevieve bent forward in the chair. She lowered her head until her chin almost touched her knees, adopting the most submissive posture possible.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," she babbled, her tone dripping with pathetic gratitude.

Lord Marcus rubbed his temples. Looking at her cold, beautiful face twisted into this pitiful mask was giving him a migraine.

He pointed to the plush leather sofa against the wall. "Sit there. Tell me the truth. Is your body truly failing?"

Genevieve seized the opening. She pressed her hand flat against her chest.

"My magic is draining," she whispered. "The sunlight burns my skin now. Even the wind in the hallways makes me dizzy."

Lord Marcus frowned. He stepped closer and held out his hand, palm up. He wanted to check her magical core.

Genevieve didn't pull away this time. She placed her wrist in his hand.

As his cold fingers pressed against her pulse point, Genevieve dug deep into her Antediluvian bloodline. With absolute, terrifying control, she suppressed her roaring magic. She forced her veins to mimic a shattered, dried-up magical circuit. She made her pulse weak, erratic, and full of holes.

Lord Marcus closed his eyes to focus. When he felt the pathetic, broken state of her magic, his eyes snapped open. The last trace of suspicion vanished from his face. A heavy shadow of guilt settled over his features.

He let go of her wrist.

"You are excused from all family hunting duties," Lord Marcus announced, his tone final. "You will stay within the Court and rest."

Genevieve let out a shaky breath of relief. The plan worked.

She stood up to leave. She made sure her knees buckled slightly. She swayed on her feet, walking toward the door with clumsy, uneven steps, looking like she might pass out at any second.

Lord Marcus watched her fragile back. The crease between his brows deepened.

The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind her, Lord Marcus slammed his hand onto the call button.

The butler entered immediately.

"Investigate everyone," Lord Marcus ordered, his voice dark and lethal. "Find out who poisoned or cursed Genevieve. Turn the outer clans upside down if you have to."

Out in the hallway, Genevieve stood perfectly still.

The pathetic slump of her shoulders vanished. Her spine straightened. The fake weakness melted off her face, leaving behind her usual cold, sharp expression.

She looked at the closed door of the study. A slow, mocking smile curved her lips.