Since Esmeria and Elizabeth had left the mansion, Hugo had grown bolder with his research. The moment he confirmed no traps or traces of the vampire’s surveillance remained, he dove into his work with obsessive intensity.


    For María, this was no surprise. She’d always known Hugo would exploit their absence. What worried her was the mage’s worsening mood. Hugo had never been patient or friendly, but with each passing day, his temper frayed alarmingly. His brow stayed permanently furrowed, his tone sharper than ever, and whenever Aria pointed out an error in his work, his face twisted like a man on the brink of despair.


    María wasn’t versed in magic, nor did she care about Hugo’s convoluted studies, but even she could tell things were spiraling. It reminded her of her father—that same cornered frustration when household troubles mounted.


    Yet, with just two days left before Esmeria and Elizabeth returned, Hugo did the unexpected.


    “Don’t come to the research room today. I’ll be in my quarters alone.”


    María blinked.


    “Huh?”


    Even Aria, typically indifferent, glanced up from her book, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.


    “No training today?” she asked, tilting her head.


    Hugo shook his head, his tone final.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "No. Do whatever you want.”


    With that, he turned and strode down the hall, leaving no room for questions.


    María stood gaping.


    “That’s… weird,” she muttered.


    She’d expected Hugo to squeeze every second from his unsupervised days.


    But now, out of nowhere, he was taking a break?


    Why?


    As María puzzled over it, Aria shrugged.


    “If there’s nothing to do, I’ll go to the library.”


    She left calmly, as if this were any other day.


    María sighed, rubbing her temples.


    “How does she stay so unbothered by everything…?”


    Try as she might to carry on, Hugo’s odd behavior gnawed at her. Something felt off.


    Instead of her usual chores, she lingered by a mansion window, staring pensively at the entrance. The grounds were quiet—until a white carriage rolled through the gates and stopped at the front steps.


    María squinted.


    “Who the hell…?”


    Leaning closer, she watched as a woman in a gold-embroidered white robe stepped out.


    María’s eyes widened.


    “A priestess?!”


    Confusion prickled. What was someone like that doing here?


    Intrigued, she watched Hugo greet the woman and usher her inside. From afar, she couldn’t hear their words, but one detail stood out: the priestess was young.


    Very young.


    María arched a brow as Hugo led her to his room.


    “Well, well… so the old man’s got a type,” she muttered, crossing her arms. She’d always pegged Hugo as a grumpy hermit wedded to his work. But this?


    Interesting.


    When the pair vanished into his room, María’s curiosity flared.


    “This reeks…”


    With nothing better to do, she wandered to Hugo’s hallway and began “tidying” nearby—dusting shelves while straining to eavesdrop.


    Minutes ticked by.


    And by.


    And by.


    No screams. No sounds. The priestess didn’t emerge.


    María frowned at the door.


    “What the hell are they doing in there?”


    Hugo wasn’t the romantic distraction type.


    So… a ritual?


    Secret research help?


    Biting her lip, María debated: keep waiting or take action.