The Villains Must Win-Chapter 341: Alistair Cain 1
Selene arrived at the Cain Mansion under a sky that never knew sunlight.
A perpetual mournful rain wept from the heavens, mist curling along ancient stone like fingers trying to claw their way back inside.
The great manor loomed over her—vast, solemn, its towers vanishing into the dark like they wanted nothing to do with the world of the living.
The carriage rumbled away, leaving her alone with the cold and the silence... and the lone figure waiting at the top of the marble steps.
A butler.
Tall. Pale. Severe.
He bowed just enough to acknowledge her existence.
"You must be Selene," he said, voice flat, carrying neither warmth nor disdain. "My lord has informed me of your arrival. Come with me and don’t touch anything or wonder off."
Selene fought not to tug at the suffocating Victorian gown cinched tight around her waist. The corset bit mercilessly against her ribs, the lace choked her collarbone, and the layered black skirt swayed like a mourning veil around her legs.
She’d barely drawn breath since Lord Eryx had ordered her dressed like someone’s tragic bride.
But she did not complain.
She followed.
Inside, the mansion swallowed sound whole.
The corridors were long, oppressive things—lined with ancient portraits whose eyes seemed too aware of her passing.
Only candles lit the way: tall pillars of wax trembling in sconces that looked like grasping hands. And yet, somehow, the light never seemed to reach the corners of the rooms.
Darkness lived here. It breathed with the walls. It watched.
Selene wasn’t afraid of the dark, but something about the atmosphere made even her steady heartbeat falter.
She cleared her throat to break the silence between her and the butler.
"May I know your name, sir?"
He did not stop walking. He did not look at her.
"You do not need to know," he replied, tone cutting in its simplicity. "You will not remain in this mansion long enough to require it."
Lovely.
A promising start.
The butler halted before a heavy door carved with blue and white roses and thorns—Cain motifs echoing through every inch of this place.
"This will be your room."
That was all.
He opened it just enough for her to enter, then shut it immediately behind her with a firm, decisive clack—as though sealing her fate.
Selene exhaled a shaky breath and surveyed her new prison.
A grand canopy bed draped in dark velvet.
A single arched window where rain tapped against the glass in restless patterns.
Shadows in every corner, thick as smoke.
She had no luggage. No belongings. No comforts beyond the ones she smuggled in her ring. So she perched on the edge of the bed, listening.
Listening to the mansion breathe.
She wasn’t alone.
Not really.
Not even an hour passed before she heard it— a soft, trembling sound from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Whispers.
A door opening.
Curiosity outweighed fear.
Selene slipped from bed and approached the door, pushing it just enough to see the hallway.
A girl was being led past her room—pale, trembling, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but could not. Her eyes were vacant, glazed... hypnotized. The butler guided her silently with one hand, holding a candle.
They walked toward the far, unlit end of the corridor.
Into the darkness.
And disappeared.
Selene swallowed hard.
Just how many girls were here? And how many remained?
She did not sleep that night.
Nor when the morning came—if one could call it morning when the sky never lightened.
A maid entered her room without knocking.
A vampire maid—skin white as bone, eyes a haunting crimson.
"Rise," she said. "The lord requires his maidens to assemble."
Maidens.
Right.
Selene dressed quickly, straightening the layers of her oppressive gown, and followed.
The dining hall was cavernous, lit by tall windows that let in not sunlight but endless grey rain. A long ancient mahogany table dominated the chamber.
And seated around it were five other women.
All of them young.
Frightened.
Beautiful in that fragile, trembling way humans are when placed before something that can break them without effort.
Their cheeks were pale.
Their pulses faint.
Some clutched hankies, others stared at their hands as though praying they would not be chosen next.
Each one of them a virgin offering to a pureblood lord.
Selene stood still, breath caught in her throat.
This wasn’t a home.
This wasn’t a mansion.
It was a sanctuary built for feeding.
A gilded cage where maidens were brought and then... led away.
One by one.
She took her seat slowly.
Not because she feared death—but because for the first time since entering this world, she understood why all the other hosts never made it past 17%.
This wasn’t a typical vampire romance story.
This was gothic horror wrapped in silk and seduction.
Everyone trembled—hands clasped, shoulders rigid, breaths shallow—everyone except one.
Selene’s gaze drifted down the table toward a woman with hair like pale gold and eyes the color of frost on winter glass. She was breathtaking, yes, but it was not her beauty that caught Selene’s attention.
It was her calm.
While the other maidens quivered like lambs awaiting the butcher, this one sat perfectly straight, unbothered, her expression distant, composed... almost cold. A strange sight in a hall thick with fear.
Intrigued, Selene studied her longer than she meant to.
The woman felt her stare, turned... and met Selene’s eyes with a brief, sharp glance.
Selene offered a small, polite smile—a tentative attempt at companionship.
The woman’s lips tightened.
She looked away.
Snubbed.
Alright then.
So much for forming alliances.
Selene sighed inwardly. She had hoped to coax at least one of these maidens into speaking—to gather scraps of information, hints, anything that might help her survive and advance the plot.
But if they wanted to remain terrified and mute, well... she couldn’t fault them. A place like this bred silence.
A sudden shift in the atmosphere made the entire table stiffen.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall—
measured, unhurried, heavy with authority.
The young Lord Alistair Cain entered.
The air chilled.
