MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

The bitterness of failure had become an all too familiar companion for Rose in the wake of her staggering setback. The truths she had risked everything to unearth, the evidence that should have proven Blake's innocence beyond any doubt, lay in smoldering ruins - dismissed as mere circumstantial trivialities by those too mired in dogma to see the truth staring them in the face.

Her counsel's words echoed through Rose's mind like the peal of a rusted knell, each syllable a hammer strike against the sputtering flame of hope she fought so desperately to keep alive. Not enough...circumstantial...the system too entrenched to truly deliver justice.

An inarticulate growl of fury rumbled up from the depths of Rose's being, her hands clenching into white-knuckled fists that trembled with the force of her barely constrained rage.

Her beautiful face scrunched up to a subpar comparison of the beauty it held.

How could they be so blind, so utterly unwilling to see the reality that had been laid bare before their very eyes? The mimic - that vile, shapeshifting aberration - had been the architect of Blake's downfall, the perfect instrument through which his ruination had been achieved.

Yet still, the so-called powers that be, turned a willfully blind eye, shackling themselves to outdated constructs of proof and evidence that could never hope to encompass the true breadth of the evil they faced.

It made Rose want to scream, to lash out and tear down the very foundations of the decaying edifice that had doomed Blake to such undeserved suffering. But what good would her rage do, her anguish and pain, when arrayed against the monolithic weight of obstructive tradition?

They would never sanction the revelation of the truth, for to do so would be to draw back the veil that had clouded mortal eyes for centuries untold. The council were not that selfless.

No, they would uphold the antiquated values that had been their society's lodestone for far too long, sacrificing Blake's life and freedom in the name of discretion and the perpetuation of the lies that kept their kind shrouded from scrutiny.

The realization struck Rose like a physical blow, the hot lance of betrayal cutting deep into her very core.

But if they would not help her, would not take up Blake's cause with the zeal and determination it deserved, then she would have to force the issue herself. The decision solidified within the roiling crucible of Rose's mind, an inviolable truth tempered in the fires of loss and the soul-deep yearning for the justice that had been so callously denied.

She would start at the root of the poisoned tree - Elena, that bitter, jealous harpy whose naked ambition and pettiness had made her the perfect pawn for destruction. Her lips twisted in a mirthless smile as she contemplated the delicious irony of choosing her own treacherous sister as the first domino to topple in her relentless pursuit of the truth.

Yes, Elena would face the full, implacable force of Rose's fury, her transgressions laid bare alongside the depths of her betrayal. Let her cower and whimper, let her wallow in the ruins of her shattered envy and ambition. This reckoning was long overdue, and Rose would be merciless in its execution.

Pivoting on her heel, she stalked from the room, each measured stride thrumming with scarcely leashed menace.

Summoning Reggie, Rose revealed they were going on a short trip back to somewhere they visited not long ago.

The drive through the darkened city streets passed in a blur, little more than a collection of indistinct smears of light and shadow beyond the polarized windows of the sleek black town car that bore her ever onward.

It was only as she swept up the marbled steps of Elena's ostentatious mansion, the sprawling manse all but buckling beneath the weight of its own gaudy opulence, that the haze of Rose's single-minded determination lifted enough to admit the barest sliver of doubt.

'Perhaps there is another way?'

A precipitous voice whispered from the shadowed recesses of her psyche, questioning the wisdom of such brash confrontation, the risks inherent in lashing out before all the pieces had been arrayed.

But the momentary qualm was ruthlessly quashed, torn asunder beneath the unstoppable force of Rose's diamondesque will.

There would be no more prevarication, no more circuitous gambits or half-measures taken in the name of discretion or prudence.

This path, for good or ill, was set - a highway paved in truth that would lead her inexorably to the justice they had denied Blake for far too long.

Or so she vowed as she rapped her knuckles against the baroque double doors in a perfunctory mimicry of courtesy. The hollow booms seemed to reverberate through the cavernous front hall, each percussive burst underscored by the thunderous cadence of Rose's own resolve.

There was no turning back, not now. Not when the tantalizing scent of truth was so palpable upon the air, whetting her appetite for the reckoning that was to come. If Elena proved recalcitrant, then she would be made to face the consequences of her folly...by whatever means were required.

A feral smile curved Rose's lips as the echoes of her knocking finally roused a response. The first rat had taken the bait - now to see if it would scatter before the implacable advance of the serpent's unforgiving coils.

The door creaked open with ponderous reluctance, revealing a liveried butler whose carefully schooled expression of impassive professionalism faltered ever so slightly in the face of Rose's forbidding mien.

"Lady Shelley," he stammered, bobbing a fractional bow before the weight of her imperious scowl seemed to visibly cow him into silence.

"Elena," Rose intoned, the single word ringing like the peal of a death knell through the marbled expanse. "Inform her that I have arrived...and that any delays in granting me audience will be met with..." Her smile took on a predatory edge. "Distinctly unpleasant consequences."

To the butler's credit, he rallied admirably in the face of such naked threat, inclining his head in a shallow nod before turning to slippered footsteps carried him back into the depths of the ostentatious manse.

Rose allowed herself a faint huff of sardonic amusement as she waited, idly wondering what grandiose affectations Elena would indulge in before deigning to grace her imperious sister with her presence.

Doubtless she would seek to play the role of the imperious hostess, dolled up in the latest fashions and arrayed upon some absurdly overwrought throne like a tasteless waxwork figurine given false life.

Yes, that seemed deliciously in keeping with her dear sister's practiced vanities and interminable hunger for power - even the pale, insipid facsimiles of it she deluded herself into believing she wielded.

The gradual swell of footfalls from somewhere deep within the estate's opulent confines heralded the arrival of Elena at last. Rose steeled herself, calling upon every iota of her hard-won mastery over her seething emotions as she prepared to confront the one who had dealt Blake's cause such grievous harm.