Chapter 2: Stumbling into debt
Year 1781
Though the Belmont family were no lords or dukes, they once lived a life far better than comfortable—until twelve years ago, when a conflict between vampires and humans tore through their community, forcing many—including the Belmonts—to abandon their homes and fall into poverty. In the remnants of what was once their vibrant life, a quiet desperation had settled in the corners of their modest dwelling.
Now, in the cosy living room, the soft ticking of the clock played a lullaby against the backdrop of clattering knitting needles as eighteen-year-old Ruelle sat beside her younger sister, Caroline. Each stitch was a breath of hope wrapped in wool, a silent testament to their struggle for survival and dignity.
"You know, the combination of these colours turned out excellent!" Caroline exclaimed with a bright voice. Leaning closer, she admired Ruelle's meticulous handiwork.
Ruelle held up the sweater, a warm flush of pride colouring her cheeks. "I'm glad they turned out alright! Can you imagine how happy Mrs. Clifford will be? I cannot wait to see their reaction!" A smile tugged at her lips.
"Alright?" Caroline laughed. "Mrs. Clifford is going to be positively delighted! She will pay handsomely for them! Isn't that right, Mother?" Her eyes sparkled with innocent hope.
Ruelle turned her brown eyes to their mother, silently pleading for acknowledgement—a nod of approval that had always felt just out of reach. Acceptance was a rare gift, one for which she yearned for more than the warmth of the sun.
Mrs. Belmont glanced towards Caroline first, a smile lighting up her face. "Oh, absolutely, dear. I'm sure she will be." But when her gaze flickered to Ruelle, it lacked warmth. The distance between them often felt unconquerable and hopeless. "Just make sure you finish quickly, Ruelle. The delivery needs to be done today," she added, her tone slightly curt.
Ruelle didn't pay much attention to her mother's lack of praise, and she nodded with a smile. She replied, "Yes, Mother." Determination sparked within her. No, she thought, she would make a better one!
They had laboured over twelve sweaters, each one stitched with care and hope, intended for Mrs. Clifford—a woman who soared above them, perched comfortably among society's elite. The money from this sale could close the growing rift in their finances, perhaps even restore a fragment of their lost dignity. Ruelle had always strived to help her family, driven not merely by duty but by the quiet whisper of love that hummed in her heart.
"Caroline, today when you go to the Clifford's mansion, you will be the one to speak with her," instructed Mrs. Belmont.
"Why me?" Caroline replied. "Ruelle handles people far better than I do!"
"Precisely why you should be the one to do it. You need the practice," Mrs. Belmont insisted, though the unspoken motivations lingered in the air—rumours of Mrs. Clifford's son, now of marriageable age, had come to her attention. With careful precision, Mrs. Belmont was weaving plans that stretched beyond mere sweaters and money.
Once Ruelle completed knitting the last sweater, she folded it neatly and placed it among the rest, ready to deliver them. But suddenly, their peaceful afternoon was shattered.
"OPEN THE DOOR!" The front door rattled violently. The clamour made Ruelle's heart leap into her throat. "OPEN IT NOW OR WE WILL BREAK IT DOWN!!"
"Caroline, get inside the kitchen. Now!" Mrs. Belmont urged. A flash of anxiety crossed her features as she turned back to the door, dread pooling in the pit of Ruelle's stomach.
Hesitantly, Mrs. Belmont flung the door open, revealing three men standing outside, shadows cloaked in menace.
"What do you want?" she questioned, her voice wavering with worry and caution as the men stepped right into their home.
Ruelle quickly noted they were vampires—once humans but now terrifying with their light red eyes. Fear coiled around her stomach and squeezed tighter as their fangs glinted in the light.
"Where is your husband? Harold Belmont?" the shortest one demanded, with a sneer twisting his lips. "He's been avoiding us. When he needs money, he asks for it, but he can't return it on time. Take everything of any value in here!"
Not again, Ruelle thought, her mind racing. This wasn't the first time a debt collector had knocked on their door, demanding payment.
"He returned the money only last week!" Mrs. Belmont stated defiantly, bewildered by their audacity. "We have been paying on time."
"I was paid back only for what he had borrowed. Who's going to pay the interest?" The debt collector's eyes narrowed as he raised his hand, signalling his men. Panic spread in the room as they began to rummage through the meagre belongings. "Your daughters will be worth something too," he added, and Ruelle's world tilted dangerously.
Dread filled the air, thick and suffocating. Her father had borrowed more than he could repay, and now the time for repayment had come. Vampires—turned or not—were cruel and heartless creatures. She had to do something. Think, Ruelle, think!
"This is not the way to do it!" Mrs. Belmont implored, desperation colouring her voice.
"If you have money, we will take it and leave," the short man sneered, watching as his men picked through their meagre possessions. "You shall come with me too. I am sure we will find decent use of you."
"No!" Mrs. Belmont screamed, her eyes wide with fear.
"Wait! We'll pay you back today!" Ruelle blurted out, her heart racing like a caged bird seeking freedom. She caught the short man's gaze, steeling herself. "Once these sweaters are delivered, we'll pay you back. Please! Just give us a little more time!" All she wanted was for her family to be safe. The very thought of the vampires using them in such a ruthless manner made her blood run cold.
"That's right!" Mrs. Belmont frantically nodded in agreement. "We'll repay you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is too far off. Who knows if you'll all flee?" The debt collector clicked his tongue, sizing them up disdainfully. He pointed at Ruelle. "Make it quick. You have one hour to settle this before I clear out your house. We'll be right here, waiting."
Ruelle nodded, panic coiling in her stomach as she rushed to grab all the sweaters, hastily stuffing them into a gunny bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she assured her mother, "I'll be back soon," and dashed out the main door, her heart pounding against her ribs.
She ran down the streets as fast as her legs would carry her, her face marred with deep lines of worry. With each assertive step, she felt the shadows of uncertainty closing in. Her heart raced at the thought of reaching her father's shop to warn him about the debt collectors, but if those men had come to their home, it meant her father wasn't there.
The carriages didn't run at this hour, so Ruelle took the market route, hoping it would lead her to her destination faster. The path was slick with mud from the previous day's rain, and the earth pulled at her feet as if to drag her back into despair.
Once she delivered the sweaters to Mrs. Clifford, there might be enough money to pay the debt collector, she thought to herself. The flickering hope ignited within her, but doubts about her mother and sister's safety gnawed at her. Steeling her resolve, she ran.
"Make way, please," Ruelle called out politely, trying to manoeuvre through the crowded market, clutching the gunny bag tightly. The bustling human world around her felt alive yet indifferent.
In her haste to reach the mansion, her foot landed on a squashed tomato on the slippery ground. The world tilted as she stumbled backwards, colliding with something solid before falling to the ground. Her bag spilt open, leaving the sweaters stained and muddy.
"Ow!" Ruelle winced as pain radiated through her. Her eyes widened in horror as she surveyed the mess, dread swallowing her whole. "No..."
Quickly collecting the sweaters, she prepared to rise when a large hand suddenly caught her wrist, and she gasped.
Turning, Ruelle encountered a striking figure towering above her, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around them.
As her eyes adjusted, they fell upon a viciously handsome man—his black hair was tousled and wild, yet it looked neat on him. His dark brows framing brooding red eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. He appeared to be in his early twenties. It took her a moment to tear her gaze from him and realise that she had crashed into a vampire, and he looked far beyond merely annoyed—his irritation was evident and intense.
"What have you done?! You broke the last vials of Belladonna!" A stout man barked nearby, his gaze now fixated on the shattered vials scattered across the ground.
Ruelle followed his stare, her eyes widening at the glittering contents pooling in the mud. Panic surged within her. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to break them," she stammered, her voice trembling as she paled under the hawk-like intensity of the man who held her wrist in an ironclad grip, making it impossible for her to move even an inch.
"You aren't going anywhere until you pay for it." His voice, though low, had a hint of huskiness to it. He loomed over her, the intensity of his red eyes locking onto her with a predatory gleam.
"Pay?" Ruelle asked in worry. "I—I will repay you. But I need to be somewhere important, so please let me go for now!"
Right now, she had more important matters on hand. She had to deliver the sweaters. But he didn't let her go.
What did he want from her? She had already apologised for her error. Ruelle tried to explain, "I didn't mean to crash into your things! I was only trying to walk from here when my foot slipped. I will pay—"
"A human like you cannot possibly repay what you've destroyed, even if you sold your soul." He regarded her with a cold, piercing gaze. "How typical of your kind—so blind to the consequences of your actions. Did you think that because you're insignificant, your mistakes would be overlooked?"
Ruelle frowned at his words and replied, "I acknowledge that it was my mistake, and I should have been more careful, but that doesn't give you the right to speak to me like that. I told you I was sorry."
"You have some nerve to use that tone with me after causing all this," the man holding her wrist glared at her, his eyes like molten lava, ready to engulf her. Ruelle gulped softly, instinctively trying to take a step back.
"I truly am sorry." Desperation clawed at her heart, and tears glimmered in her brown eyes, momentarily catching him off guard. "The ground was slippery, and I was carrying the sweaters… I need to clean them. Please…" Her voice wavered, sheer vulnerability laid bare before him.
With the ringing of the tower bell, the grip on her wrist loosened.
Ruelle yanked her hand free, dropping to her knees to gather the sweaters scattered across the muddy ground with trembling hands. As she tucked the last sweater away, she looked up to see him still watching her, his expression unreadable, before she bolted away.
Vanishing from sight, Ruelle fought the urge to glance back. She focused instead on the task ahead, spurred on by the memory of her family waiting at home, their needs burning fiercely in her heart.
When Ruelle finally arrived at the mansion, Mrs. Clifford's daughter, a young lady around her age, pointed and giggled with disdain as the mud-stained sweaters caught her eye.
Ruelle felt her heart sink at Mrs. Clifford's words. "I think we will not buy them after all."
"Is it because they're wet? I assure you they are still in excellent condition and will keep anyone warm, as we have crafted them using the finest wool!" Ruelle's eagerness spilt forth, laced with desperation, as she held up the best sweater. "This is a new design. I'm sure it will look lovely on you, Mrs. Clifford."
However, her daughter simply shrugged, a smirk twisting on her lips. "These look like they were used before, and you simply washed them to make them look new. Unfortunately for you, we don't wear hand-me-downs like you do."
Ruelle's hands tightened around the fabric, her knuckles whitening as frustration and hurt surged within her. "My family and I may be in a poor place now, milady, but we aren't the kind of people who would stoop so low as to sell anything less than the best we can offer. My sister, mother, and I have put our hearts into these. They have been made with love and care."
Mrs. Clifford's daughter remained unyielding. "We are no longer interested in buying them," she declared sharply.
With that, the door slammed shut in Ruelle's face, echoing the finality of her dreams fading along with it.
Chapter 3: Conflict of interest
As Ruelle approached her house, anxiety twisted in her stomach at the sight of the open door. Uncertainty gnawed at her. She was not only late, but she had also failed to bring the expected money.
Nervous, she stepped inside and immediately spotted the debt collector lounging on the sofa, his feet propped carelessly on the coffee table. A surge of panic coursed through her, but it quickly gave way to relief when she saw her father.
"Elle is back home!" Caroline exclaimed, relief mingling with a nervous smile.
"Finally!" The debt collector clicked his tongue, and swung his legs off the table, rising as if he owned the space beneath the very roof that sheltered them. "Let's see how much money your measly sweaters brought in now, shall we? Bring the money forward."
Ruelle's fingers tightened around the gunny bag. When she hesitated, Mrs. Belmont furrowed her brow, her gaze shifting to the bag that looked fuller than expected. "Did you not visit the Cliffords?" she asked.
"I did…" Ruelle's voice trembled, fear crawling through her.
"Hm?" The debt collector's eyes raked over her, narrowing as they fell upon the gunny bag. "What is this?" Without waiting for a response, he snatched the bag from her grip and dumped its contents onto the floor.
Mrs. Belmont gasped, her hand clapping instinctively over her mouth as the drenched and dirty sweaters lay exposed. Caroline's mouth fell open, confused and shocked, struggling to comprehend how their efforts had unravelled so swiftly.
"What did you do, Ruelle?" Her father's voice sliced through the air, sharp and unforgiving like a bitter chill.
"I don't care what happened," the debt collector sighed in exasperation, clearly irritated by the familial drama. He turned to his henchmen with a dismissive wave. "Take everything from here and put it in the carriage. Take his daughters, too."
"NO!" Mrs. Belmont screamed, desperation reflecting in her wild eyes as she stepped protectively in front of Caroline.
"You are already planning to take everything valuable! Leave my family alone!" Mr. Belmont shouted in desperation. But the debt collector only laughed—a cold, humourless sound that reverberated through the room.
As the men began rifling through the meagre possessions, Ruelle felt the burden of guilt and responsibility pressing heavily on her shoulders. Her heart thudded wildly as despair washed over her. Just as the men prepared to step out with their meagre valuables, a tall figure blocked their path. His straight blond hair gleamed under the dim light, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
"If you are here to collect debt, stand in line and wait your turn until we are done," the debt collector said, clicking his tongue, irritation flickering in his dark eyes.
The stranger's gaze surveyed the worried faces around him before settling on Ruelle, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. For him, everything faded, leaving only the flickering candlelight that danced over her innocence, glimmering with fear but also an undeniable spark in his heart.
Breaking his gaze from her, the stranger stepped inside, his movements fluid and deliberate. "I was wondering what the ruckus was all about." He turned to Mr. Belmont, offering a respectful bow, before turning to the debt collector. "And pray tell, how much does this gentleman owe you?"
"Six and a half silver coins," the debt collector replied, his tone dismissive and haughty. "What are you going to do knowing about it?"
The stranger's hand slipped into his pocket. He produced two gold coins, their surfaces glinting like beacons of hope amidst the despair. "I have only two gold coins, but I am hoping it will be enough for them to buy some time before the rest can be settled."
The debt collector's expression morphed, glints of greed sparking in his eyes as he snatched the coins with a triumphant smile. "Fine. You'd better be prepared for the next payment next week," he growled, turning dismissively to the Belmonts with a wave that silenced their hope.
As the debt collectors finally withdrew, the remaining family members exhaled in unison, the weight of their despair lifting—if only slightly. Ruelle turned her gaze to the stranger.
"Thank you for aiding us. My family and I are ever so grateful for your help today when you didn't have to intervene," Mr. Belmont said, his voice low, infused with gratitude while his pride hurt.
"You don't need to worry about it. It was merely by chance that I happened upon your house," the man replied, a slight smile curling his lips as he regarded Mrs. Belmont. "A person in need should always receive assistance. Isn't that what humanity is all about?"
Mrs. Belmont replied, "What you did for us has saved us all. May I know your name, young man?"
"It is Ezekiel Henley, milady," he said, bowing slightly once more. His stature and demeanour spoke of groundswell dignity, a man who bore the weight of his lineage with grace.
"I am Megan Belmont, and this is my husband, Harold Belmont. These are our daughters—Caroline and Ruelle," Mrs. Belmont introduced her family quickly.
"You were like a prince in shining armour, Mr. Henley!" Caroline blurted out, her innocence unabashed and lacking subtlety.
As Ruelle's gaze met Ezekiel's, she offered him a respectful bow, her voice steady but soft. "Thank you for helping us, Mr. Henley."
Ezekiel's interest increased; intrigue danced in his stormy gaze. "I'm just glad everything is resolved and that you can all breathe easier for now."
"Why don't you take a seat, Mr. Henley?" Mrs. Belmont insisted, as she gestured towards the chairs.
"Perhaps another time, milady." Ezekiel's voice was polite yet firm. "I am on the clock right now and have somewhere to be. But I would like to return another time." His glance met Ruelle's again, a spark of interest lighting up his expression. "I dislike seeing good folks being harassed, and it's only right that I lend my support. Excuse me." With a slight bow, he turned and made his way out the door.
With the debt collector and his men finally gone, Ruelle felt the tension in her shoulders ease, if only slightly. They were safe for at least the next week, all thanks to Ezekiel Henley's generous nature. How fortunate they were that he had come along, she thought.
"Close the door, Ruelle," her father instructed, his voice clipped as if trying to reclaim authority in a time of disturbance.
She nodded quickly, walking to the door and carefully shutting it before securing the lock with a determined click. The moment she turned back, the atmosphere shifted—a storm brewing anew.
SLAP! His hand struck her cheek, warmth blooming into a sharp sting that spread like wildfire across her senses. For a moment, her vision blurred, swept away by the force of his anger.
"How dare you ruin an entire month's efforts?" His words cut deep and sharp. He glared at her, fury radiating from him with an intensity that felt almost unreal—the heat of his rage igniting the tension in the room. "We give you one job, and you manage to ruin it! Do you think the expensive wool was just handed to us without any expense or effort?"
Ruelle's hands trembled at his words, fear constricting her throat. She swallowed hard, struggling to explain as her head hung low, the weight of his disappointment pressing against her bones. "F—Father, the ground at the market was slippery. Due to the time constraint, I was trying to reach the Cliffor—"
"And did everyone in the market slip and fall?" Mrs. Belmont interjected in annoyance. "It's always you, isn't it, Ruelle? Everything just seems to happen to you."
The sting of their words held an unbearable truth, a talon of shame piercing through her. It wasn't as if she had planned to fall, crushing their hopes with the weight of her clumsiness. She had simply sought to help her family.
"Life is hard enough, and you only make it worse!" Mrs. Belmont clicked her tongue in frustration, her gaze shifting away.
Ruelle's heart raced as she attempted to apologise, her voice quaking with the tremors of her anxiety. "I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean for it to happen. I tried my best to clean them all. I will have them cleaned now"
"That's enough!" her father's voice echoed through the house. "You are nothing but a disappointment. You always have been, and you continue to be, even now." His gaze bore into her. "After all, what kind of child kills their own mother," he spat, the venom of his words shattering her spirit.
Ruelle felt a chill spread through her veins, his accusation striking her like another physical blow. A wave of helplessness washed over her, with tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she looked up at him in stunned silence. The painful truth hung heavily in the air: her biological mother had passed away right after giving birth to her, and her father had always held her responsible, convinced that she had stolen the life of his first wife.
Mr. Belmont didn't linger in the living room. He stormed off to his bedroom, Mrs. Belmont hot on his heels like his shadow, leaving Ruelle surrounded by the echo of her father's sharp words.
A tear slipped down Ruelle's cheek. She hadn't meant to disappoint her father. Despite his years of disapproval, she still harboured hope that one day, he would embrace her with open arms. Yet time and time again, the bloom of her efforts seemed to wither beneath the weight of his judgement. If only she had been careful, this wouldn't have happened.
"Elle!" Caroline rushed to Ruelle's side, concern lacing her voice. "Are you alright? Don't pay attention to Papa's words. He didn't mean it."
If it had been the first time, perhaps it wouldn't have hurt so much, but this was a pain woven into the fabric of her being, stitched into her since her childhood. Her father's ire had always been directed at her.
Ruelle nodded at her sister's words, a smile struggling to form but slipping away. She looked down, avoiding Caroline's gaze. "I'm okay. Father has been under a lot of stress, and it's my fault for ruining the sweaters."
Caroline wrapped her arms around her, her voice soft and warm. "I was so worried when you didn't return within the hour."
Ruelle placed her hands over Caroline's. "Everything is fine now. We just need to wash the mud stains and sell the sweaters. They'll be as good as new."
As they returned to their shared room, Ruelle began tying her hair into a messy bun when she heard Caroline speak.
"Was there so much mud on the ground? If they had been picked up sooner, maybe they wouldn't have had time to soak in so deeply, don't you think?" Caroline inspected one of the sweaters, which now looked dirtier on the inside than on the outside.
Ruelle stuck a stick into her hair to keep it in place and muttered, "It is all because of him."
"What do you mean?" her sister inquired.
Ruelle iterated on what had occurred at the market and ended with, "It's all because of him. All vampires are the same—arrogant and rude." She huffed, her lips twisting into a frown. She then said, "Had he not stopped me, the damage wouldn't have been this bad."
She couldn't shake the memory of encountering that stranger—the vampire who had loomed over her like a dark shadow. He had made her feel so small and insignificant under his dark red eyes. He looked like he was ready to end her, she thought, a chill running down her spine.
Vampires rarely ventured into human towns, which made her question the purpose of the vials and the reason for his visit.
"Why am I even thinking about this?" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head to dispel the lingering thought. She hoped not to run into him again.
"Thank God for Mr. Ezekiel! I can't imagine what would have happened if he hadn't walked by," Caroline said, her voice filled with gratitude. "Not to mention, he is handsome."
Ruelle had barely noted the man's appearance, fixated instead on the kindness he had shown. "We must repay him," she replied. "I'll wash these sweaters and find another buyer for them."
Within a week, Ruelle had not only found a buyer for the sweaters, but she had also earned more coins than Mrs. Clifford had initially offered.
On a sun-drenched afternoon, when the world felt vibrantly alive with possibility, Mr. Henley arrived at their doorstep. Her mother and Caroline had ventured out to procure more wool, leaving Ruelle alone in their home.
"What is this, Miss Belmont?" Mr. Henley asked, a look of mild surprise crossing his handsome features.
"One gold coin and two silver coins, Mr. Henley. It isn't the full amount you paid to the debt collectors on our behalf, but I felt it was only right to return a portion to you now that we are in a position to do so," Ruelle said, holding out the coins.
Mr. Henley's gaze shifted from her hand to her face. "Please hold on to them until you and your family are in a comfortable position. The debt collector might return soon, won't he?" he replied, his tone gentle yet firm. "Perhaps you should consider giving it to them instead. I'm in no hurry to be repaid."
Ruelle stared at the gentleman before her, hesitating as she lowered her hand for a moment. Gathering her resolve, she pulled out the two silver coins. "My family and I would feel terrible if we couldn't repay you anything at all. Please, Mr. Henley," she implored, a plea woven with gratitude.
The man's expression shifted, a flicker of conflict crossing his features as he regarded her. With a reluctant sigh, he accepted the coins from her hand. "Thank you," he murmured.
In gratitude, Ruelle offered Ezekiel a cup of tea, and as they chatted, she started to understand why he had helped her family the evening before. He told her that he came from a humble background, where his own family had also struggled with debt collectors, just like hers. It was rare to see someone as striking as him show such genuine kindness, and she felt a deep sense of respect for him.
When Mrs. Belmont and Caroline returned home, Ruelle and her sister went into their room to sort the wool, leaving Ezekiel alone with their mother. During their conversation, Ezekiel said,
"Mrs. Belmont, if I may be so bold, I would like to offer my assistance to you and your family." Mrs. Belmont's brow arched in both intrigue and surprise. He paused before saying, "I would like to ask for your daughter, Ruelle's, hand in marriage."
However, a conflict of interest loomed, as Mrs. Belmont had been eyeing Ezekiel Henley as a prospective match for Caroline, hoping to secure a better future for her daughter.
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