“Then you leave me no choice but to kill you.”

Alessia’s voice sharpened instantly. The sickly sweetness from moments before receded, replaced by her usual detached tone.

Kanata found this far more tolerable—at least it didn’t make her feel nauseated or repulsed.

*Gentleness?* This woman had no right to that word.

“The day you stop wanting to live is the day I’ll stop treating you this way. But you must live well—for Nozomi’s sake. And for Nozomi to live well, you must face me every single day. So… it seems fate has truly bound us together.”

Her logic was so airtight Kanata had no rebuttal.

Beyond the crushing weakness, a subtle heat began creeping through her body.

She recalled—it had been days since Alessia last drank her blood. Without daily feeding, both vampire and donor suffered equally from withdrawal symptoms: rising fever, flushed skin, sweat beading, senses sharpening to painful clarity, skin hypersensitive to the slightest touch, throat burning with unquenchable thirst.

Alessia had sipped blood-plasma drinks to dull the symptoms—but it was only a temporary patch. To truly ease it, she needed the one person she craved most.

Naturally… the very unwilling Miss Kanata.

Kanata barely understood withdrawal. Alessia had mentioned it a few times; she’d dismissed it. She’d thought this was just a fever—a night bundled under blankets would fix it. *But no.*

“You must be suffering too,” Alessia murmured. “There’s no cure for withdrawal except me drinking your blood. Only when my symptoms ease will yours follow. So… let’s make each other comfortable.”

As the Sovereign delivered these lewd lines, a suggestive smirk played on her lips while her hands busied themselves with equally inappropriate acts.

Her cool fingers traced slow, deliberate paths down Kanata’s smooth spine—from the nape of her neck downward, then back up again, repeating the motion.

Clearly meant to tease, laced with playful malice.

“You… stop… don’t touch me…”

Kanata clenched her teeth, forcing the broken words out. She’d rather die than admit that, thanks to this damn withdrawal, even a single touch sent strange tingles racing across her skin.

Her mind glitched. Thoughts scattered. Consciousness frayed at the edges.

No doubt—this withdrawal was brutal. Felt like her brain had blue-screened after swallowing an entire graphics card.

“Your mouth says ‘don’t touch me,’ but your body’s clearly enjoying it,” the Sovereign taunted. “If I teased you like this all night without drinking… I think you’d show even *more* interesting reactions by morning.”

Suddenly, she stopped. With a mischievous glint, she snapped a photo of Kanata—disheveled, clothes askew, utterly flustered.

Taking such a risqué photo was beneath a Sovereign’s dignity. But what did Alessia care? She lived by her own whims. No discussion. No limits.

*Click—*

The camera froze the “amusing” moment. Alessia sent the photo straight to Kanata’s sister.

“I’ve already sent it to Nozomi. She’ll surely lose sleep tonight.”

Kanata’s eyes locked on the screen: the chat with Nozomi, the suggestive photo, and right beside it—*Read*.

She was going to die. Right here. Right now.