MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

Chapter 373: Invisible

Mimic shifted uncomfortably, her eyes fixed on Damien's defeated form. Her thoughts swirled like a tempest, a mixture of devotion, frustration, and barely suppressed jealousy. She looked at Damien who couldn't see her now because he was backing her and her thoughts spiralled out of control.

'After all these years,' she thought bitterly, 'he's still hung up on Rose. Why can't he see me? I've been here, faithfully serving him, doing things Rose never would. I've been his knight, his confidant, his... everything. But not his lover.

Never that.'

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms. The pain was a welcome distraction from the ache in her chest. Mimic's jaw tightened, the muscles in her neck straining as she fought to keep her face neutral. 'Am I not worthy? Is it because I don't look completely human? A different species of vampire?

Not... her?'

The thought of Rose sent a wave of hatred through her, hot and visceral. Her vision blurred red for a moment, and she had to take a deep, shuddering breath to regain control. 'She abandoned him. Chose Blake over him. And still, still he pines for her!'

'I've bled for him,' Mimic's thoughts raced on, each one stoking the inferno within. 'I've killed for him. I would die for him. And it's still not enough.' Her fingers flexed and unflexed, itching for action, for release. 'What more can I do? What more must I sacrifice?'

Mimic's eyes flashed with a dangerous mixture of desperation and rage. Her form shimmered slightly, unconsciously, as her control wavered. 'I could be anything he wants,' she thought, her mental voice rising to a fever pitch. 'Any face, any body, any person in the world. I could become his ideal, mold myself into the perfect partner. I could even be...'

Her thoughts stuttered, choking on the name. 'Rose. I could be Rose for him, if that's what it takes,' The idea sent a wave of nausea through her, but she knew she'd do it if he asked. She'd do anything he asked.

Her fingers twitched, and for a moment, her skin rippled, showcasing flashes of different textures and hues before settling back to her default form. 'I've spent centuries, CENTURIES, trying to earn his approval, his affection. I've changed everything about myself, again and again, trying to be what he needs.'

The memory of cold iron bars and dank stone walls flashed through her mind. 'I stayed in that godforsaken prison when I could have walked out any time. I endured that hell because he asked me to, because it served his purposes.' Her teeth ground together, the sound audible in the quiet room. 'What more does he want from me? What more can I possibly give?'

Mimic's breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest heaving with emotion. 'I've given him my loyalty, my skills, my very identity. I've molded myself to his every whim, been his perfect tool, his flawless weapon.' Her eyes burned, unshed tears of frustration gathering at the corners. 'I've sacrificed everything I am, everything I could be, all for him. And still, STILL, it's not enough!'

Her form flickered again, this time more violently, cycling through a rapid succession of shapes—tall, short, male, female, human, monster—before snapping back to her usual appearance. It was a visible manifestation of her inner turmoil, her identity fracturing under the weight of her unrequited devotion.

'What more?!' The question echoed in her mind, a desperate, primal scream. 'What more can I possibly do? What's left of me to give?' Her hands unclenched, then clenched again, over and over, as if trying to grasp the answer from thin air. 'I'd rip out my own heart and hand it to him if I thought it would make a difference. But it wouldn't, would it? Because it's not my heart he wants.'

The bitter taste of that truth threatened to choke her, even as she stood there, outwardly calm, the perfect picture of a loyal servant—a mask she had worn for so long it had become a part of her. But beneath that mask, Mimic was a maelstrom of pain, love, and barely contained fury, all swirling around the singular, agonizing question: What more?

The air around her seemed to crackle with tension, her aura pulsing with waves of barely contained emotion. Yet outwardly, she remained still, a perfect picture of a loyal servant—even as her insides churned with unrequited love and simmering resentment.

Mimic's inner turmoil must have shown on her face, because Damien's voice cut through her thoughts, startling her back to reality.

"I want to go back to my room," he said, his voice weak and raspy.

Mimic hesitated, then ventured, "My lord, perhaps... perhaps we should consider returning to the vampire city. Surely they could help-"

Damien's bitter laugh cut her off. "Return? So my fellow vampire elders can mock me? So my household -the Durello house would see their 'all-powerful and mighty leader' reduced to this pitiful state? No, Mimic. I won't give them the satisfaction."

Frustration bubbled up inside Mimic, momentarily overriding her usual subservience. "So you're just going to give up? Let everything go because you're not yourself?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "Right now, you're almost... pathetic!!!"

The moment the word left her mouth, she knew she'd gone too far. Damien's head snapped up, his eyes glowing an ominous red. Despite his weakened state, the aura of power that radiated from him in that moment was terrifying.

"You forget yourself, Mimic!!" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I am still your lord,"

Mimic swallowed hard, but something in her snapped. Years of unrequited devotion, of watching him pine for a woman who'd abandoned him, fueled her next words. "My lord is not who he used to be,"

Mimic's eyes flashed dangerously, her form rippling with barely contained rage. Years of pent-up frustration and resentment finally boiled over, her usual subservience shattering like glass.

"Your lord?" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "The Damien I swore allegiance to wouldn't cower in the shadows, licking his wounds like a beaten dog!"

She took a step forward, her entire body taut with anger. "Look at you! The great Damien Durello, reduced to this pitiful state. Where's your pride? Where's your power?" Her words were sharp, cutting. "You were once feared and respected, and now?

Now you're nothing but a shell, a ghost of your former self!"

Mimic's form flickered rapidly, her emotions causing her control to slip. "You speak of not giving them satisfaction? You're already doing that by wallowing in self-pity! The Damien I knew would have risen from the ashes, would have made his enemies rue the day they crossed him. But this?" She gestured at him dismissively. "This is pathetic."

Her eyes narrowed, glowing with an inner fire. "You claim to still be my lord, but my lord wouldn't hide from his own people. He wouldn't let a single setback destroy everything he's built. He was a leader, a conqueror!"

Mimic's voice rose to a near-shout, her words laced with disappointment and disgust. "But you? You're just a coward, clinging to the memory of a woman who chose another over you. Is this what the great Damien Durello has become? A lovesick fool too afraid to face his own reflection?"

She stood there, breathing heavily, her form still shifting erratically, a physical manifestation of her turbulent emotions. The air crackled with tension as she waited for Damien's response, knowing full well she had crossed a line from which there might be no return.