MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

The battle raged on, its end nowhere in sight.

The klieg lights blazed as Becky stepped onto the makeshift stage, her expression one of grim determination. A hush fell over the throng of reporters and protestors gathered outside Shelley Technologies' headquarters.

"My name is Rebecca Owens," she announced, her voice ringing out over the crowd. "And I'm the one who brought you the truth about Rose Shelley and her ageless secrets."

A roar of approval rose from the masses, fists pumping in solidarity with the self-proclaimed whistleblower. Becky allowed herself a satisfied smile before continuing.

"For too long, Shelley Technologies has operated in the shadows, conducting unethical experiments and exploiting the powers of the undead for profit. No more!" She raised a defiant fist. "Today, we pull back the veil and expose their sins to the world!"

The crowd ate up her words, fueled by their collective outrage. Becky basked in the adulation, her ego swelling with each passing moment. This was her time, her moment to bask in the spotlight she had long craved.

Across town, Elena Shelley paced the floors of her opulent mansion, her manicured nails drumming against the polished wood of her desk. The situation had spiraled out of control, and drastic measures were required to protect the family legacy.

With Damien Durello's permission, she summoned the mimic vampire enforcer who had handled the job of burning down Shelley Tech.

"You know what must be done," she murmured, her voice laced with a chilling undercurrent. "Silence the journalist, by any means necessary."

The mimic offered a curt nod, her expression impassive. "Consider it done."

"Ensure there are no loose ends," Elena added. "Stage the attack to implicate Rose and her... pet."

A cruel smile played across her crimson-painted lips. If she could not control the narrative, she would sow the seeds of chaos and watch everything burn.

***

While the world analyzed and dissected Rose's every word, she herself remained a recluse, sequestered within the confines of her penthouse fortress. Only Blake was permitted to move freely, a decision that would prove to be a fateful mistake.

It began innocuously enough – a simple errand, a brief foray into the world beyond the gilded cage. Blake stepped out into the city streets, his head down and his stride purposeful, determined to avoid any unwanted attention.

'Get a good charger this time,' he thought to himself as he walked towards a mall.

But the paparazzi had other plans.

They descended upon him like a pack of wolves, cameras flashing and voices clamoring for his attention. Blake quickened his pace, but the horde was relentless, closing in from every angle.

"Blake! Blake, over here!"

"Is it true what they're saying about Rose's experiments?"

"How does it feel to be with a monster?"

The questions bombarded him, each one more invasive than the last. Blake's jaw clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead, but the onslaught showed no signs of abating.

In the midst of the chaos, a solitary figure lurked, their features obscured by a fedora and dark sunglasses. The mimic, Damien's loyal servant, moved with calculated precision, slipping through the throngs of people like a serpent through tall grass.

As Blake pushed forward, the mimic moved in, her movements a blur of preternatural grace. In a single, deft motion, she brushed past him, her body making the briefest of contact.

Blake felt the faintest whisper of a chill, a fleeting sensation that was gone as quickly as it had come. He barely registered it, his mind consumed with the task of extricating himself from the relentless paparazzi.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he broke free of the crowd, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears as he made his way back to the sanctuary of the penthouse.

It wasn't until later, when the night began to take form that the first tendrils of unease took root.

A feverish chill crept through his body, his skin clammy and his muscles aching. Blake dismissed it as a mere cold, the inevitable toll of the stress and sleepless nights that had plagued him in recent weeks.

Rose noticed the change immediately, her brow furrowing with concern as she pressed a hand to his forehead. "You're burning up," she murmured, her voice laced with worry.

Blake managed a wan smile, waving off her concern. "It's nothing, just a little under the weather. I'll be fine."

"Hmm... there's this front scent on you. I can't place my hand on it. But it's giving me a chilling sensation. Did you happen to run into anyone today?" Rose asked, perceptively.

"No. I just went to get my charger and returned like I told you," Blake said, leaving the paparazzi part out. He didn't want to just unnerve Rose unnecessarily. She was going through a lot already and didn't need to worry about anything asides important things.

Besides, he could very well take care of himself.

Rose stared at him for a short while and Blake caught a glance of disbelief in her eyes. Almost like she thought the information he gave to her was a lie. Could she possibly be thinking he went to meet someone else? Perhaps another woman?

If there was any scent on him at all that she could perceive and he didn't then it had to be from the paparazzi and nothing else. He decided it was not worth worrying about knowing in his mind that he didn't go out to do anything out of sorts.

But as the hours ticked by, his condition only worsened. The fever spiked, his body wracked with tremors and a bone-deep fatigue that left him bedridden. Rose fretted at his side, her usual poise cracking under the weight of her concern.

In the shadowed corners of the city, the mimic watched and waited, her transformation already underway. Bit by bit, her features shifted and contorted, her form began to peel away like a snake shedding only to be replaced by a more radiant skin and toned physique belonging not to her.

She was molding herself into a perfect facsimile of Blake's visage.

"I mimic, the last of my kind with the copy ability never miss. But this mortal, you have tarnished that record kept for centuries. It's only right I carryout my own personal judgement whilst I perform the duty I'm tasked with. Your face, your scent, your voice, I embody them all!!"

When the time was right, she would strike, unleashing a final act of vengeance in Elena's plot.

The days blurred together for Blake, lost in a haze of fever dreams and fitful slumber. Rose remained a steadfast vigil, her own weariness etched into the lines of her face.

It was on the fifth night that the mimic made her move.

Blake roused from his fevered sleep, his mind clouded and disoriented. He decided to take a walk outside. He had been in doors for far too long and the bed was probably sick of his company anyways.

He walked out, passing by Reggie who mounted the pool area of the house. The house was heavily guarded as instructed by Rose. He and Reggie exchanged a nod as he passed by. The two never really talked much since the fire incident. It was just awkward learning who they truly were in that manner.

Blake was going to find time to have a word with Reggie and thank him for that day.

For now, it turned out the decision to take a quick stroll outside was a bad idea as he felt the night's chill so he headed back inside.

Again, he nodded at Reggie who this time looked at him with a weird expression on his face. Blake noticed Reggie looked at him as though he was seeing a ghost.

"What was that all about?" Blake mutterer as he continued to his bedroom.

"Didn't he just walk in a second ago or do I also need sleep?" Reggie spoke to himself, quite confused as he scratched his head.

Blake got inside and closed the door behind him only to notice something was odd about the room. A familiar figure stood at the foot of the bed, silhouetted against the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

"Blake?" Rose's voice echoed. She had gone into the bathroom to freshen up for the day since she spent all day watching after him.

"Are you awake?" She called out but no answer.

"Are you hungry? I'll be out in a minute to get you something," Rose said from the bathroom.

Blake howeverblinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Something wasn't quite right, a nagging sense of wrongness that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

The figure moved closer, and Blake's breath caught in his throat. It was him, his own face staring back at him with an unsettling blankness.

"Wh-what..." he rasped, his voice little more than a croak. "What's going on?"

The mimic didn't respond, her gaze fixed and unblinking. In one fluid motion, she produced a syringe from her pocket, the gleaming needle catching the dim light.

Blake's eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest. He opened his mouth to call out, but the mimic was already upon him, her hand clamping over his mouth with inhuman strength.

The needle pierced his flesh, the cold rush of medication rushing through his veins. Blake's struggles grew weaker, his limbs growing heavy as the drug took hold.

The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was the mimic's face – his own face – twisted into a cruel parody of a smile.

"Sleep now. Let the better version of you take over,"

Then, oblivion.

When Rose returned to the bedroom, she froze at the doorway, her eyes widening at the sight that greeted her.

Blake lay motionless on the bed, his face pale and his breathing shallow.

She rushed to Blake's side, her hands trembling as she listened to his heartbeat.

"What is this?!"

"Reggie!!!" Rose called out.

The mimic had struck, unleashing her gambit in Elena's twisted scheme.

But to what end?