He looked at me—no, through me—as if I weren't even a person. Just a shadow of something he despised.
His lips trembled ever so slightly, but no words came out.Why would they?
There were no words that could bridge this gap. No words that could undo the madness stitched into the fabric of our lives.
His eyes… they weren't just black. They were empty—like a mirror reflecting only pain, twisted loyalty, and the kind of despair no being, not even the Demon King, should endure.
I waited. I wasn't sure why. My heart was screaming to hear something—anything. A reason. A truth.
And finally, he spoke.
"No father would hate their own child."
He muttered it, more to himself than to me.
Then he said,
"But…"
"You are not my child."
"…"
It was barely a whisper.But it hit like thunder.
The cold silence that followed crushed me. My breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred—not from tears, but from the sudden pressure in my chest.I had known it for so long, piecing fragments together over the centuries… but hearing it from him
It broke something in me.
He looked down. Not in shame. There was no emotion left in him. Just the lifeless submission of a puppet whose strings had long since snapped.
By the time Kiel was born, the Demon King wasn't a king anymore. He was her dog.
If she told him to sit, he sat.
If she told him to bark, he barked.
There was no resistance left in him. She had drained him dry—his strength, his will, his pride.
And yet, she never let the truth slip to the world.
Not because she feared anyone.
No… what did she have to fear?
The strongest being in the realm was her slave.
And she? She was just as powerful—if not more terrifying.
With a word, she could order the burning of kingdoms.
With a look, she could make immortals kneel.
But everyone—even demons—has a weakness.
Hers… was him.
My father.
My real father.
Before he was broken—before she reduced him to a beast with no soul—he was something else.Someone else.
A man with power, yes, but also a man with dreams, passion… hope.
A man capable of love.
Until he met him.
The vampire.
There isn't much I know about him. Just whispers. Hazy memories. A tall figure with crimson eyes and a voice like silk.
My mother brought him to the Demon King's castle. Boldly. Shamelessly.They had their romance in the same halls where my father once ruled. And the rumors… they spread like wildfire.
"The Queen is defiling the throne.""She's rotting the heart of the Demon Clan."
Some thought it was an opportunity—a way to finally challenge the power of the Lust Clan.They thought the Demon King would be outraged. That he would strike back.
But they didn't understand.He couldn't even look her in the eye—let alone defy her.She had already destroyed him.
She made him kneel at the edge of her bed while she made love to that vampire—right in front of him.
Naked. Humiliated. Powerless.
The only thing left inside him after that night… was hatred.But not for her. No—his soul was too broken to feel anger toward his master.
It was for me.
The child born after.
The daughter of that vampire.
He couldn't bear the sight of me.
And when the vampire fled—coward that he was—my mother felt betrayed. Furious.
She gave the order.
Her loyal dog obeyed.
He didn't just kill my father—he burned the entire Vampire Clan to ash.
Men, women, children… no one was spared.
And from that day on, he carried that hatred for vampires in every breath he took.
It was the only thing that reminded him he was once a king.
And I… was born a vampire.
Half-blood, yes.
But that didn't matter.
To him, I was the living scar of betrayal.
He never laid a hand on me.
He didn't need to.
Every look of disgust. Every silence when I cried. Every time he ignored my existence—
That was his punishment.
That was his truth.
He hated me.
And I hated him too… didn't I?
No.
No, I didn't.
Despite everything, I couldn't hate the man who stood before me.
Because this—this wasn't the man who once ruled the underworld with a single command.
This was just a shadow.
A ghost.
A puppet whose strings were tangled in lust, cruelty, and twisted devotion.
No matter what, the only thing I felt for him was not hatred.
Not love.
Just… pity.
He opened his mouth, about to speak again.
But nothing came out.
He just stared at me like I was a memory he wanted to forget—
And yet couldn't.
And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.