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As a financial journalist tracking scandals, I should have been recording Alexander Knox's crimes with my voice recorder, but under the gaze of his deep, mesmerizing eyes, I forgot my entire interview outline. Only when I glimpsed the sharp fangs flashing between his lips did I realize I had fallen in love with this vampire leader who had lived for three hundred years.

His acquisition of century-old establishments wasn't for profit, but to search for traces of his kind; he violated vampire law by sheltering me under his wing, only because I was the sole person to stir his heart in his long, lonely existence. When the excruciating pain of transformation tore through my throat, I looked at the vertical pupils of my newly reborn self in the mirror and finally understood: this love was never about walking into darkness, but about the faint light created by the collision of two worlds.

In the smoke of the vampire civil war, with the conservatives' silver arrows aimed at my heart and human hunters' bullets piercing the night, I held Alexander's hand and used my journalistic instincts to uncover buried truths—vampires were never devils, just a misunderstood branch of evolution. When the flag of "Harmony Bridge" was raised at the council building, I stood at the intersection of two races, finally living to become my own legend.

From an investigative journalist exposing scandals to a queen commanding the fate of vampires, Yvette Morris's story proves: love can make fangs retract their sharpness, and understanding can give hatred wings to fly away.