I tugged at the hem of my shapeless blue dress, already regretting not wearing something lighter.

"Those kids had way too much energy today. I feel like I just ran a marathon," I muttered, though a small smile tugged at my lips. "But... it was kind of fun."

Before heading out to the car, I slipped into the bathroom to fix myself up a little.

I stared into the mirror.

My chubby face looked back at me—round, soft, with a few freckles scattered across my cheeks. My hair, a light brunette mess of curls, was pulled into a small bun. The kids had been tugging at it all morning. I wasn't that heavy—just around 190 pounds—but I still felt like I needed to get in shape. Not for anyone else. Just... for me.

I adjusted my bun, smoothed the frizz around my temples, and took a breath.

Then I stepped out of the bathroom and made my way outside.

The air was thick and humid as I headed toward the car.

"So, where do you want to grab something to eat?" she asked casually, starting the car. "Maybe some Hacky Donnald's, or Mojo's Ice Cream—I know how much you love your sweets."

I hesitated, fidgeting with my hands. "Oh, I'm fine, Mom. I really need to lose some weight," I sighed, my voice dipping lower. "The doctor said I'm technically obese. I weigh 190 pounds. Don't you remember?" I glanced out the window. "Unless you know a healthy place, I'll just skip lunch and have a light snack at the house."

Her expression hardened instantly.

"Absolutely not," she said, her tone firm and final. "You are not skipping lunch."

I opened my mouth to argue, but I had a feeling it would start a fight.

"Okay... how about Oliver's Garden?" I offered, trying to sound casual. "They've got healthier options."

I relaxed slightly when she nodded.

"Okay," I said with a weak laugh. "But help me stay away from the high-calorie stuff. You know how much I love pasta." I gave her a look. "And that place is filled with pasta."

Mom pulled out of the parking lot. The hum of tires and tension filled the silence. I sat up straighter, eyes locked on the sunlit road ahead.

She tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully, then said with a little too much mischief, "Oh, by the way, I may have found you a match."

She grinned. "Twenty-two, church-going, handsome, polite. Honestly, what more could you want?"

I groaned, throwing my head back. "Mom, he's not my type!"

"And why not?" she pressed. "He's a good Christian man."

"Because I'm not looking to date anyone," I shot back. "And you know I like Henry."

Her warmth vanished. Her lips tightened.

"Anna," she began, her voice heavy with disapproval, "you know he doesn't go to church. He doesn't even believe in God. And you know you're not allowed to date anyone who isn't Christian."

"So what if he's not Christian?" I said, my voice rising. "I can date whoever I want. I'm not a child anymore." I paused, then added, "Henry's a good man—he's kind, thoughtful—"

"Enough." She raised her hand. The conversation ended with that single gesture.

Her voice was like stone. "Anna Miller, you will marry a Christian man. That's the end of it. Henry is not the man God intended for you."

The words landed like a bruise.

I sank deeper into the seat and turned to the window. I didn't trust my voice.

I didn't want to fight. Not today. But she had to start one anyway.

She knows what I want. She just wants me to fit into her little image of who I'm supposed to be.

And I can't do that. I won't.

I want freedom. Maybe I should move out. Maybe I have to.

We've been fighting more and more this past year. And honestly? I don't think I want to stay around her with all this tension pressing in like a second skin.

I took a deep breath as we pulled into the parking lot of Oliver's Garden. The green letters glowed against the beige walls like nothing had happened. Like I hadn't just been told who I was allowed to love.

The Oliver's Garden sign loomed ahead, green letters bright against sun-washed walls. Flowers spilled from planters, bright against beige concrete.

Inside, garlic and oregano wrapped around me like a memory. The world slowed.

A server greeted us, and for a while, I forgot about the quiet fight in the car. I ordered a small plate of chicken Alfredo and a room-temp water—easier to digest, or so I told myself.

We didn't talk much. The silence between us stretched long and heavy.

Halfway through the meal, I pushed my plate aside and stood.

"I'll be back, Mom," I said, placing my fork down and sliding my chair back. "Just need the restroom."

She nodded without looking up.

I wandered through soft lighting and warm wooden accents. The restaurant smelled like garlic and oregano—comforting, familiar.

After washing my hands, I stepped out—distracted.

I didn't even hear him coming.

I bumped into someone—hard enough to stumble.

Strong hands caught me. Steady. Unshakable.

"Are you okay?"

A deep, velvety voice. Smooth. Measured. Dangerous.

I looked up— and forgot how to breathe.

Olive skin. Thick lashes. Emerald-green eyes locked on mine. Jet-black waves curled around a sharp jaw and down to his shoulders.

He wasn't beautiful. He was unreal.

Time tilted. The world hushed.

"Oh, I... I'm so sorry," I stammered. "I didn't mean to—oh my gosh, I—"

"Hey, it's alright." That voice again—so gentle it rattled something loose in me. His smile was soft, but beneath it... something stirred.

A shiver slid down my spine.

"You're fine, sweetheart."

His fingers brushed beneath my chin, tilting my face up like I was porcelain.

"I love those ocean-blue eyes of yours. Dark one minute. Stormlight the next."

My heart skipped—then stumbled.

Something inside me lit up. Deep. Instinctive.

He felt... strange. Like something ancient. Like he already knew me.

"My name's Nick, by the way."

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it— and for a heartbeat, he broke.

"Damn," he muttered, voice darker now.

Then: smile reset. Mask reapplied. It didn't reach his eyes this time.

"Well, sweetheart, I hope to see you again."

And just like that— he turned and walked away.

Leaving me stunned. Breathless. Shaken to my core.

Wait. No.

I shook my head hard.

Why was my heart pounding?

I pressed a hand to my chest— it felt like my heart was about to leap out of my body. Each thud echoed in my ears, loud and relentless.

The warmth of his hands still burned into my skin. The hallway light flickered—briefly, sharply. Like something had passed behind it.

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Hey, lovely readers 🖤

Thanks for reading Chapter 3 of True Love's Bite. This is where the story doesn't turn—it coils.

Anna's world has been shaken, frayed, pulled tight with every conversation and quiet heartbreak. But when Nick stepped in—smooth voice, emerald eyes, and the kind of steadiness that feels rehearsed—something shifted.

He didn't ask questions. He didn't offer warnings. He touched her like he already knew her.

And somewhere under her skin... something ancient stirred.

Whether he's fate, danger, or both—you'll feel it in every line. And if the warmth didn't feel human... it probably wasn't.

Shoutout to Oliver's Garden: home of cursed pasta and unexpected prophecies. 😂

Drop your theories and favorite moments below—this chapter changes everything, and your comments might be the first breadcrumbs to catch what's really happening. 🩸

—Luna-chan 🥀

Next time...

She used to run to him when the world broke. Now she watches him break it. The house groans beneath memory— fractured frames, bitter echoes. But it's not just grief rising from the walls. Something older is listening. And soon, it will answer.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰