MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

Chapter 169: Far too late

Rose held Marlowe's gaze steadily, her expression unreadable. "Save your taunts, cousin," she said evenly. "I have no need to trade petty barbs with you."

A flicker of surprise crossed Marlowe's features before his lips stretched into an oily grin. "My, my, have we finally learned some humility in our exile?" He tsked mockingly. "How the mighty have fallen."

Rose refused to rise to the bait, keeping her emotions firmly in check. "I have not fallen, Marlowe. Merely...reassessed my priorities." She rested a protective hand on her swollen belly. "My goals are my sole concern. The games, the power struggles? They mean nothing to me anymore."

Marlowe's brows knit together as he studied her carefully. For a moment, Rose could have sworn she detected a brief flash of respect in his eyes before it was quickly extinguished.

"How...noble of you," he said at last, his tone laced with derision. "Though I shudder to think what sort of twisted existence awaits the whelp of a turned wretch like yourself."

Rose bit back the biting retort that rose to her lips. Antagonizing Marlowe further would only invite more of his poisonous vitriol. She needed to play this carefully, strategically.

"That should not be your concern," she replied, her voice level. "I will do as I see fit. Not you, not my mother, and certainly not any impotent council of withered relics can do anything about it,"

A muscle twitched in Marlowe's jaw, but he remained silent, gesturing for her to continue with a lazy wave of his hand.

Emboldened, Rose lifted her chin a fraction higher. "You can sneer and mock me all you wish, cousin. But know this - I will never subjugate myself to be mere breeding stock. I as much as everyone in this household are Shelly nobility, and I will be treated as such. Or there will be consequences."

The words hung heavy between them, weighted with the promise of retaliation. Marlowe's eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Is that a threat, Rose?" he asked softly, dangerously. "You of all people should know the folly of making threats you cannot back up."

"It is merely a statement of fact," Rose countered, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I am not so foolish as to make idle threats against my own kin. But neither will I idly stand by while my honor is trampled upon."

A tense silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken challenge. Finally, Marlowe gave a bark of mirthless laughter.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, I'll give you that," he conceded grudgingly. "Very well, Rose. Consider your...position noted. For now."

He began backing towards the door, his eyes never leaving her. "We shall see if you maintain that defiant spirit once you've had a taste of life in the servants' quarters. The relentless drudgery, the sneers and insults from those who once groveled at your feet..."

A cruel smile played across his lips. "It has a way of grinding even the proudest spirits into humble submission. We'll see how long your lofty airs last before you come crawling, begging for scraps like a whipped cur."

With a final contemptuous look, Marlowe spun on his heel and strode from the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding boom. Rose flinched slightly at the sound, but refused to show any outward sign of the turmoil churning within her.

Only once she was alone again did she allow the mask to slip, sinking heavily onto the narrow bed. Her hands shook faintly as she cradled her belly, seeking the steady reassurance of her child's movements.

"Do not fear, my love," she murmured, her voice trembling despite her efforts to remain strong. "No matter what torments await, I will never abandon you. We will endure this trial together."

The words rang hollow, even to her own ears. For the first time since her bitter exile, Rose felt the insidious tendrils of doubt and despair creeping into her heart.

Could she truly weather the coming storm, the unrelenting persecution that Marlowe had so gleefully promised? Or would the darkness prove too much for even her indomitable spirit, slowly crushing her beneath its smothering weight?

Rose pressed a trembling hand to her face, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. She had stared into the vast, empty nothingness of true oblivion and emerged unbroken. She had faced horrors and anguish beyond the nightmares of mortals.

But confronting the scornful judgment of her own kin, the very vampires who had once lauded her as shining beacon of their noble bloodline? A knot of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach at the prospect.

No... She could not, would not succumb to such weakness. Not now, when her child's future, their very survival hung so precariously in the balance. Rose had sacrificed too much, endured too many hardships to waver in the face of her cousin's petty taunts.

Drawing a steadying breath, she sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders as she rebuilt her faltering resolve brick by crumbling brick. She was Rose of the Shelly clan, a vampiric force to be reckoned with. She would not be cowed, would not have her pride stripped away one degrading slight at a time.

If the servants and knights wished to sneer and jeer, let them. It mattered not what the pathetic dregs of society thought of her. She was a lady of nobility, of breeding and pedigree that spanned generations. And though she may be exiled, banished to these squalid quarters for the moment, she would not resign herself to a life of subservience and shame.

No, she would bide her time, reconstituting her power and influence one strategic move at a time. The time of the battle may have shifted, but the war was far from over. Rose had been forged in the fires of adversity, had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of her own destruction time and again.

This was merely another obstacle to overcome.

A grim smile curved Rose's lips as her fingers traced idle patterns over her swollen abdomen. The pieces were already falling into place, lining up in cruel mockery of Marlowe's smugly delivered revelation. Perhaps he had intended it as a threat, a method of intimidation to quell her rebellious spirit before it could ignite into open defiance.

But in Rose's eyes, it was an opportunity - a tantalizing promise of potential rebirth and redemption.

If Damien did, indeed, secure a seat among the vaunted Council of Elders, it would grant him powers and privileges unfathomable to most vampires. And as his...consort, however distastefully the thought sat with her, Rose would have access to those powers by proxy. An inside track into the highest circles of influence, the epicenter of their society's power hierarchy.

It was a path fraught with dangers, both seen and unseen. Damien was a wild, uncontrolled force - capricious and volatile in his moods and desires. Granting him a position of such immense authority could prove cataclysmic for their entire race, should he allow his rage and bloodlust to go unbridled.

But Rose was no stranger to treading the razor's edge between order and chaos. She had danced the precarious dance of politics and manipulation for longer than most could fathom. This was simply another intricate set of steps to master, another grand stratagem to choreograph to perfection.

If it meant securing her child's legacy, ensuring their rightful place among vampire aristocracy, then Rose would pay any cost, make any sacrifice necessary. Even if it meant shackling herself indefinitely to the raging tempest that was Damien.

Her path was clear now, illuminated in sharp clarity despite the shadows of doubt clouding her mind mere moments ago. Rose was not some fragile, wilted flower to be trampled upon and discarded. She was a rose with wicked thorns, poised to lash out and draw blood from any who dared underestimate her tenacity.

Let Marlowe revel in his perceived victory for now. Let him and the rest of the shortsighted fools bask in their smug assumptions of her capitulation. By the time they realized the viper they had invited into their midst, it would be far too late.