Married To The Mad Vampire Lord - Chapter 554

Chapter 554: Letter’s_Part 1
Max walked down the familiar corridors and halls of the mansion, recalling how they had decorated it together as a family years ago, how excited and happy they had been to move into a new place and call it home.

He stopped in the main hall where the wall held portraits of their family, along with new additions that hadn’t been there a few years ago. One of them showed all of them in their adulthood, their parents seated on a couch, Rosey between them, while he and Finn stood behind, hands resting lightly on the back of the couch.

Max smiled faintly, then turned to look at his favorite portrait, the one their father had painted of them in the unfinished bedroom, the sunset streaming in through the open windows and bathing them all in a warm golden hue.

He recalled the deep sense of contentment he had felt then, how peaceful and happy he had been, and he tried to mirror that feeling now. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reflect it back into himself to ease the tight ache in his heart.

Instead of warmth, flashes of images forced themselves into his mind. In those images, his hands were covered in blood that don’t belong to him, his entire body soaked in it. He had horns on his head and claws on his hands.

His palms suddenly turned sweaty, and his heart began to pound violently, beating so fast it felt like it would rip out of his chest.

No, no, no. I don’t want to remember. No, please, go away. Don’t come back. Don’t make me remember. Please. He cried inwardly as the flashes began to blot out the happy memories he had been trying to cling to, replacing them with horror.

He saw fire. He saw bodies. His vision blurred as his chest tightened, and he staggered backward, away from the portraits. He stopped trying to fight the demons inside him or summon happy moments, because those happy memories only triggered his worst nightmares.

He didn’t realize when he turned on his heels and began to run. He only realized he had reached his room when he found himself on his knees, gasping for air, struggling to calm his racing heartbeat and the crushing sensation of the walls closing in around him, squeezing the breath out of him.

Max stayed there for hours, trembling and drenched in sweat, until the storm inside him finally settled. When he was calm enough to move, he reached into the inner pocket of his shirt and retrieved a cigar.

He lit it with his powers and brought it to his mouth, inhaling deeply before exhaling. Only then did he begin to feel a fragile sense of control return to his emotions.

He stared at the smoke curling from his lips and thought bitterly, Angel doesn’t smoke. You promised yourself you wouldn’t touch it again after those ten times. Yet here you are, doing it again. Put it away right now. You never even liked cigars, so why are you smoking it now like your life depends on it?

“Because my life depends on it,” he muttered to himself, taking another drag, knowing he couldn’t stop now that he had started again.

Only smoking or drinking made him numb enough not to think about what was hunting him. And afterward, the guilt of doing what he didn’t enjoy doing would consume him so completely that every other thought disappeared, including the horror. So let me smoke and feel guilty, he told himself. That feeling is better than remembering what I did.

He had accepted long ago that he was a liar and a coward. He had made his family believe that he still didn’t drink or smoke, and he intended to keep them in the dark about his wrongdoings, the very actions that had led him down this path, forever, if he could. He would not disappoint his mother or shatter her heart by telling her what had happened in Asterfall, what he had done there, and what it had turned him into. He would rather die than burden her with that horror.

His mama was too precious to him, precious to him from the very first moment he had begun to hear her voice while still in her womb. He would do anything, anything at all, except hurt her or disappoint her, because the thought of causing her pain was something he could never bear.

He finished one cigar and felt it wasn’t enough, and began reaching for another. He was lighting it when his gaze fell on the chest beneath his bed. His sister’s words in the study came back to his mind:

‘…I really hope you look through the letters, so you won’t find it difficult to face Elle when you meet her again.’

Earlier, he had wandered the halls because he didn’t want to look through any letters and feel the weight of guilt for letting Elle down, after promising her he would never be distant, only to become not just distant but completely silent to her. He had convinced himself it was better not to look at anything that would make him feel more like a monster.

But guilt was what he sought, because guilt was always heavier than his horror.

With a shaky breath, Max pushed himself up from the floor and moved toward the bed. Everything in the room was exactly as he had left it, neat and untouched, as though he had never been away. They had kept all his things clean, every sketch, every drawing he had made, still carefully glued to the walls.

He knelt beside the bed and pulled out the long chest his father had given him years ago to store his drawings. His slender fingers trembled as he ran them over the smooth mahogany wood. He unlatched the lock at the side and opened it.

Letters in envelopes of different colors were piled at the top. He recognized the stamps immediately, he could never forget them. In the past, he had opened so many of them with excitement, eager to read little Elle’s letters, where she shared every detail of her life with him, trusting him with her whole heart.