The Dark Secret of the CEO by Sofia de Orellana

“…Isn’t it taking too long, Sir?”

“She’ll wake up. Soon. …Isn’t my daughter so pretty already?”

“Yes, yes…”

I hear someone chuckle, a deep voice. After a couple more seconds of struggle, I finally manage to

open my eyes. Oh, crap, it’s bright…

“Good morning, my Sleeping Beauty.”

A silhouette appears above me, blocking the light. I blink a couple of times, trying to distinguish those

facial features. A smile like a shark amongst a greyish, perfectly combed beard, and two piercing, ice-

cold blue eyes. …Who’s that? I can’t help but keep blinking repeatedly, my eyes dry as hell. Where the

heck am I? What’s going on? I want to move. My body’s so damn heavy… What’s that weird smell,

too? I try to move my head, look around. This place is so… white. All monochrome, white and metal.

Sanitized and cold like a hospital. No, wait. It looks like it must be cold, but I don’t feel cold at all. Nor

hot. Just… neutral. So weird…

I do feel something hard and sturdy underneath me. I’m not on a bed. A table?

“Can you hear us?”

I turn my head, finding another man on my right, seated and staring from behind his glasses. I do hear

them. I want to answer, but… my throat hurts! It hurts so much, like it’s completely dry, and raspy. I

want to talk, but I don’t even know how to breathe! I can’t feel any air moving through my lungs, my

throat… I try to inhale, but it feels empty, like my organs are moving for strictly nothing.

“Answer us,” the man insists. “Can you hear us?”

He’s wearing a white coat and scrubs? I just nod by reflex.

“I… I-I do.”

The air I finally feel seems so strange in my lungs, my throat. My own voice sounds different. Deeper,

raspier.

“Good.”

“Give me your hand, Dear,” gently says the bearded one next to me. “Let’s have you sit up first.”

I feel his cold hand grabbing mine, and very gently, he helps me sit up. My body feels so heavy, I

thought I’d get a bit dizzy or something, but there is none of that. Just some strange… nausea. I try to

ignore it and sit up, to finally realize where exactly I am…

“Is this a… mortuary?” I mutter, a bit confused.

I’ve never been into one, but there’s no mistaking it. I’ve seen enough crime shows for that. Those rows

of chrome cupboard doors with numbers on them, and this aseptic, cold hospital atmosphere, without

any patients… I look down, and notice I’m sitting on a silver table, like one they put the bodies on.

Except that I’m very much awake and alive, and not naked nor covered by just a sheet like I’d imagine

a corpse to be. Instead, I’m actually wearing a long-sleeved black dress I’ve never seen before…

“What the…”

“Seems like you’re a quick one,” says the guy in the doctor outfit. “Yes, this is a morgue. Your death

was pronounced at thirty-four minutes past one this morning, and it’s now… ten in the evening.”

“My… death? But I’m not…”

“Oh, no, you’re dead. According to the humans standard, you were dead the minute your heart stopped

beating, although you were formally pronounced dead a few minutes later. But you did die at around

one o’clock this morning.”

“This makes no sense,” I mutter.

The man with the beard next to me has been smiling all this time, staring at me like a proud father

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looking at his child, which seems incredibly strange given the situation. I don’t understand anything

that’s going on. Not only do I feel… extremely weird, but those two are making it even more

uncomfortable. There’s a man in a white coat giving me a lecture about my supposed death right now,

and another staring at me with… a creepy expression. What the heck is going on?

“How do you feel?” Asks the creepy smiling man..

I realize this guy’s got a British accent… Or is it Scottish? His blue eyes look as if he’s scanning me. I

slowly shake my head.

“Strange,” I mutter. “My t-throat hurts like hell, and… I’m feeling somewhat sick. Nauseous. But… who

the heck are you people?”

“My name is Richard,” says the British man. “Richard Heartgraves.”

“Ethan,” the guy behind him waves with a bored expression.

Ethan adjusts his round glasses and turns around to grab a paper on his desk, visibly unbothered. He

has short curly hair and a two-day beard. I turn my eyes to Richard. I feel such a strange… sensation

towards him. As if I know him, like a long-lost parent. Have I met him before? Even if my mind wasn’t

so fuzzy, I don’t think I could remember. No, I wouldn’t have forgotten someone with such a strong…

aura. I’m attracted to his eyes every time I try to look elsewhere. He dominates the room with that

strange… heavy, dark aura around him. It’s invisible, but it’s impossible to ignore, it’s suffocating. I feel

like a defenseless child. If he wasn’t gently holding my hand, I’d be terrified…

“You’re going to feel sick for at least the next forty-eight hours,” says Ethan, his eyes still on the paper.

“It’s just the beginning, but it should subside, though. Eventually. Are you thirsty?”

“…My throat hurts,” I groan.

I don’t know if it’s due to the thirst, but it feels as dry as sandpaper. Ethan moves, and hands me a cup.

It looks like… wine? It smells good, and… appealing. Without thinking, I drink, and it’s… strangely

filling. It tastes vaguely familiar, a bit sweet and salty at the same time. I frown. The smell is… a bit off.

Or perhaps because it’s new. I drink, I keep drinking. No, I just can’t stop myself. I push all my thoughts

aside and drink more and more, unable to stop. The liquid’s cold, but it’s filling and warming me up

nicely. It’s almost calming, but it’s never enough. I want that feeling in my throat. It’s the most delicious

thing I’ve ever had… I feel like ten more of those won’t be enough… Soon enough though, I reach the

end of the cup, the last drop. I feel a bit better, but… unsatisfied. I glare at the empty cup.

“…Good girl.”

Richard takes the cup away from me before I can protest. Now that I’ve drunk a bit, I feel a bit better,

but also… even more confused. He’s visibly the man in charge, so I turn to him for answers. The

nausea’s getting worse, but I try to ignore it.

“What’s… going on?” I mutter. “What happened?”

“Do you remember?”

He slowly pulls down my sleeve, revealing the blood-stained bandages around my wrists… I shiver. I

remember. Vaguely, but I have a feeling. The pain, the loneliness. The rain against the windows, the

neon lights from the billboards, and the darkness of my room… The bathtub overflowing. The lukewarm

water, and that pain… The one in my chest, deeper and worse than the one dripping down my wrists.

…It’s like a nightmare that sticks to my mind. I start breathing heavily, erratically.

“I… I…”

It was no dream. I tried to kill myself. No… I fucking did. I grab my other sleeve, to find the same

bandage, the same blood stains on the other side. Ice runs down my spine, making me shiver even

more.

“Hera.”

Richard suddenly caresses my cheek, forcing me to look into his blue eyes again. He smiles, with a

hint of warmth, but more importantly, two visible fangs…

“Calm down, child,” he mutters. “You will be alright. This is all over. You’re mine now.”

“W-what… What did you call me?”

He smiles even more, and I start to feel… sleepy. Why am I sleepy now? So suddenly. My head feels

heavy…

“Sleep, my child,” he whispers. “You’ll feel better when you wake up again.”

I have no choice but to obey. My whole self dives into sleep before I can resist it.

I wake up slowly, with no idea where I am, or how long I’ve slept… I’m not in a proper bed either, but

leaning in a comfy leather armchair, a blanket covering me. There’s a strange, heavy buzzing in the

background. I grimace. I’m still feeling crappy, but it’s a bit better… The ache in my throat is gone. I

glance at the window next to me. It’s night again… But this isn’t a window. It’s a plane window… and

we’re above the clouds, too.

“Good evening, darling.”

I turn my head. In the seat facing me, Richard Heartgraves, again. He’s looking at me with that smile,

slowly swirling a glass of wine between his index and thumb.

“…Richard,” I mutter. “Where… are we?”

“Somewhere above the Atlantic ocean,” he says, glancing outside. “We will land in London in a couple

more hours.”

“London?” I frown. “Why the hell…”

“Is there a problem?”

I can tell by his smile he knows there’s one. I swallow down my protest. I guess I have a few bigger

issues than going back to that City for now… I try to remember what happened. It still feels like I’m half

in a dream, or in a weird daze. I look down, to notice I’m still wearing the same black dress as before. It

looks simple, but I can tell when a piece of fabric is expensive. That kind of lace and embroidered top

isn’t one you’ll buy at any store. I glance around. This is definitely a private jet, too… And while he’s not

wearing any jewelry but a couple of old rings, Richard’s suit looks brand new, and tailored. Perhaps

British. There’s a cane with a golden pommel by his side, too. The head is a roaring lion…

“…Who are you?” I finally ask. “Why… Why did you…”

I just have so many questions, and about as many wild guesses floating in my head…

“Why did you save me?” I mutter.

“I didn’t,” he smiles. “I only took you.”

I guess that’s one way of saying it, but he’s obviously avoiding my real meaning… My eyes fall on his

glass.

“That wasn’t… wine that I drank earlier, was it?”

“No, darling. It was not.”

Richard slowly stands up, and goes to the mini bar, grabbing another glass. I didn’t realize how tall he

was before… It’s not only his height. He’s imposing. Square, broad shoulders, and a lean physique in

his dark grey suit. Despite his greyish hair and beard, it’s hard to pinpoint his age. I would guess in his

fifties from his looks. In his nineties from the way he spoke. In his twenties, from his sharp eyes… He

pours a glass and turns around to hand it to me, but I hesitate. Before, I wasn’t in my right mind, but…

“This time, it is wine, Dear,” he chuckles. “I promise.”

I take it. I could use a sip of that right now, I guess… He sits back facing me.

“…Why are you taking me to London?” I ask the easiest question I can think of.

“Because you’re officially dead, and having you appear in New York City would be quite troublesome,

at the moment. Your face is all over the media already, Dear.”

He suddenly takes out a tablet from the table next to him, handing it to me. I grimace. It’s already open

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onto the front page of a popular news journal, my face and name splattered all over it. Ugh, they had to

take one of those horrible pictures from my previous movie promotions… I only need to read the two

first lines, but the rest of the article is no news to me. My suicide is the main focus, with big words to

make the death of a b-rate celebrity more sensational than it has to be, and a tear-jerker paragraph

about my short, pathetic life to grab the readers’ attention. Of course, they probably mention my family,

too… They wouldn’t miss an occasion. I check the date. How quickly did they manage to write this

piece of crap that it came out the next day? I nervously comb my hair back, a habit I wish I’d given up.

“So you know who I am…”

“Of course. I didn’t pick you randomly. And it’s who you were,” he says. “You’re not June Starr anymore

now.”

“Then who… What am I?”

“You’re a Heartgrave. Hera Heartgrave.”

Hera… He called me that earlier. I’ve got a lot to say, but I’m somewhat… scared. Despite his gentle

voice and expression, this man intimidates me to no end. Being alone with him in just one room is…

suffocating. The Morgue guy was avoiding even looking in his direction all along earlier too. I force

myself to take a breath, and drink a sip of wine while I think about what to say next. It’s definitely wine

this time. The taste is… lighter and sweeter than I expected. Almost like I’m merely drinking some

juice… No, grape-flavored water. I can’t taste the alcohol either.

“…A lot of things will taste, smell, look and feel different from now on,” says Richard, as if he’d read my

mind. “Don’t worry. We will guide you through it.”

“We?”

“It’s not just me,” he smiles. “That’s why I’m taking you to London. Home. To your new home… And you

do need to meet the rest of the family.”

I want to ask, but a new wave of nausea suddenly makes me want to throw up that much too sweet

wine. I grimace and turn around. Please don’t throw up in a plane… And I certainly don’t want to throw

up in front of him. I spot a kraft bag right on the side of my seat, and I can’t hold it anymore. I throw up,

all my dignity gone in loud and ugly sounds. Shit… It’s like my stomach’s trying to tap out. I feel even

sicker, but at least, once it’s gone, my stomach feels better… I take a couple of seconds to catch my

breath, and Richard hands me a handkerchief, as if it was normal for him to hand me some expensive

piece of silk to wipe my dirty mouth with. I take it reluctantly, trying to gather my composure.

“Your current state is normal,” he said. “You’ll be sick for a few more hours. Your body is adjusting to

the transformation.”

“Transformation into… what?”

He smiles.

“You already know,” he whispers.

I think I know, but it’s… terrifying to think about. Hell, just a while ago, I was ready to die. I actually did. I

died. But now, I’m on a plane, far above the Atlantic and stuck in-between two continents in an

expensive private jet with a terrifying, imposing man facing me, and even scarier changes happening to

my body… I try to calm down, at least so I won’t throw up again. I glance outside, as if the darkness of

a night sky could help me. After a few seconds, I turn back to Richard.

“Did you… make me a vampire?”

He doesn’t answer; but his sinister smile tells me all I need to know.

So it’s true…

*Author Note: Thank you for reading! Hope you’re enticed by the story so far? Please do leave me your

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