My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 77: Cruel Nightmare

Chapter 77: Cruel Nightmare

Zylan moved stiffly across the ballroom floor, his disinterest radiating from every calculated step. His body swayed in time with the music, but there was no passion in his movements—just a cold, detached precision that betrayed his utter lack of enthusiasm.

Anna, however, was all too aware of his indifference. It gnawed at her, the realization sinking in that this wasn’t the kind of dance she had envisioned. His hand, which should have been firmly placed around her waist, instead rested loosely on his back, as though even the act of touching her was too much effort. The melody, soft and elegant, only served to highlight the awkwardness between them. Or perhaps, it was just her.

Anna’s fingers curled tightly around the fabric of her gown as she fumed silently. This wasn’t part of her plan. How could she make Naomi jealous when Zylan wouldn’t even meet her gaze? He hadn’t so much as glanced at her, let alone given her any semblance of the attention she craved. His posture spoke volumes—his broad shoulders stiff, his expression unreadable but distant. It was as if the mere idea of holding her was repulsive.

And yet, the truth of the matter was painfully clear. Zylan had agreed to this dance not out of politeness or interest, but solely because of her connection to Naomi. To outright reject her, Naomi’s sister, in such a grand setting would have caused a scandal—a spectacle he had no patience for. But his reasons were not out of concern for Anna or societal norms. No, the only thing Zylan cared about was Naomi. Any situation that could bring her pain was unacceptable to him, even if it meant enduring this farce of a dance.

Anna’s pride simmered dangerously close to boiling over. She refused to let herself appear weak, not in front of Zylan, not in front of the watching crowd. Summoning her courage, she lifted her chin and spoke, though her voice wavered despite her best efforts.

"I must say, you look stunning tonight, Mr. Zylan," she said, her words measured, each syllable chosen to draw his attention.

For a fleeting moment, his cold gaze shifted to her. His steel-gray eyes, sharp and unyielding, met hers with the precision of a blade slicing through air. The silence that followed stretched unbearably long, his lack of response making her shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"I always do," he replied finally, his voice as cold as the winter winds. His words were devoid of humility, spoken with a quiet confidence that left no room for doubt. But then, his tone softened—not with warmth, but with an icy reverence reserved for one person alone. "But my wife surpasses me. If anyone here deserves to be called stunning, it’s her."

The words hit Anna like a slap. His casual dismissal burned more than if he had outright insulted her. She opened her mouth, searching for a response, but none came. Her carefully constructed mask of confidence faltered as humiliation and rage twisted within her.

Before she could gather herself, the music came to an abrupt end. Zylan didn’t wait. As though relieved by the interruption, he stepped away from her without so much as a parting glance and began weaving through the crowd.

Anna stood frozen, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her breathing was uneven, each exhale carrying the weight of her anger. Her knees wobbled beneath her gown, but she refused to crumble. Not here. Not now.

Her nails dug into her palms as she watched him walk away, his every step measured and deliberate. The resolve in her chest hardened. Nothing—nothing—was going to stop her from claiming him.

Zylan, oblivious to Anna’s turmoil, had only one thought on his mind: Naomi. His eyes scanned the grand hall, searching for the golden-haired figure that occupied his every waking thought. But she was nowhere to be seen. His jaw clenched as a faint unease crept in.

Where is she?

He cursed under his breath, his irritation mounting with every passing second. His gaze flicked to the back door, the one leading to the garden outside. If she wasn’t in the ballroom, there was a good chance she had sought solace there. Without hesitation, he strode toward the exit, his long legs covering the distance with ease.

The crisp night air greeted him as he stepped outside, his eyes immediately drawn to a familiar figure descending the grand stone staircase. Naomi’s golden hair shimmered under the faint glow of the garden lights, her hurried steps betraying her unease.

A surge of panic coursed through him as he took in her unsteady movements. The stairs were steep, and her reckless pace made his chest tighten with dread.

"Naomi," he called out, his voice firm but laced with urgency.

She didn’t stop.

Her foot caught the edge of a step, and time seemed to slow. Zylan’s heart dropped as her body tilted forward, gravity pulling her toward a painful fall.

He moved without thinking, his instincts taking over. In a blur of motion, he was at her side, his arm shooting out to catch her before she hit the ground. Her body collided with his, and he steadied her effortlessly, his grip firm but gentle.

Naomi stiffened in his arms, her tension palpable. Slowly, she straightened, pulling herself out of his hold without so much as a glance in his direction.

Without a word, she turned and resumed her hurried descent, her steps more cautious but no less determined.

"Eaglet," he called after her, his voice breaking through the silence. "Where are you going?"

"Please don’t follow me," she murmured, her tone low and bitter. Her throat tightened as she spoke, a lump forming that made her words falter. "I see you have something serious to attend to."

Zylan froze, her words cutting deeper than he expected. His brow furrowed as he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to catch her arm.

"Let go," she said sharply, her voice like ice.

He didn’t release her.

"Damn it, Naomi," he said, his tone softening, almost pleading. "Please, look at me."

Naomi stilled, her body rigid as his words hung in the air. Did he just... beg?

"Zylan, don’t touch me," she said finally, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "Go away."

Her words were like a dagger to his chest. He could feel the anger radiating off her, but he couldn’t understand it. What had he done to make her so upset?

"Eaglet, don’t—" His voice faltered as her foot slipped again. This time, he caught her easily, pulling her close and steadying her trembling form.

Naomi’s hands pressed against his chest, her golden eyes blazing with defiance. She tried to push him away, her palms firm against the cool, unyielding surface of his suit. But his hold didn’t waver.

"Did you drink?" Zylan asked, his tone low, the tension in his voice unmistakable. His piercing gaze darkened as it swept over her, studying every detail.

He could tell. The faint scent of alcohol lingered on her breath, interwoven with the familiar notes of jasmine and grape that marked her usual fragrance. Her cheeks were flushed, her movements slightly unsteady, and her golden eyes held a hazy, unfocused gleam. It was clear she had been drinking—something he doubted she would have done of her own accord.

Naomi avoided his gaze, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. The guilt she felt should have made her wilt under his intense scrutiny, but instead, it fanned the flames of her defiance.

She had taken alcohol, and she knew her body wasn’t equipped to handle it. But she couldn’t bear it anymore—the sight of her husband dancing with another woman. The image replayed in her mind, tormenting her like a cruel nightmare.

It wasn’t just jealousy. It was something deeper, something far more terrifying. She realized she was beginning to feel something for him—an emotion she couldn’t afford to let take root. It was dangerous.

Naomi lifted her chin, her golden eyes shimmering with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. "So what if I did, huh?" she challenged, her voice trembling but sharp.

She continued, her voice trembling, laced with frustration. "Why can’t I take alcohol? You were comfortable dancing with another woman, so why can’t I drink?"

The pain in her chest intensified as she spoke, her words faltering slightly. Was she being greedy? Wanting something she shouldn’t, feeling something she couldn’t admit—even to herself?

Zylan’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as realization began to dawn. Her boldness, her erratic behavior—this wasn’t just the alcohol. Something about her demeanor was off.

His sharp mind worked quickly, piecing together the clues. Naomi wasn’t the kind of woman to drink herself into this state willingly. She was too composed, too in control of her actions. Yet now, her defiance and anger seemed almost... uncharacteristic.

His jaw tightened as the pieces fell into place, his thoughts darkening with the only logical conclusion.

This eaglet of his... she’d been drugged.