Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I'm Stuck as Their Baby!-Chapter 157: Velmorian Bedtime, Part I

The bathroom mirror flared to life as I stepped inside, showing my face and also unnecessarily flashing a bar graph of "magical fatigue levels," as if I wasn't already aware that I was running on pure spite and stubbornness.

With a yawn, I grabbed my toothbrush from the silver cup by the sink. The brush was an experimental Velmorian model self-scrubbing, spell-infused, and apparently designed by someone with a personal vendetta against molars. The bristles flared with violet light as I muttered the activation charm.

It immediately lunged at my teeth like a caffeinated gremlin.

[Ah, yes, the toothbrush that hates you.]

I gargled in response.

[Just like Velka,] the system added thoughtfully.

I spat into the sink. "She does not hate me."

[She avoided eye contact for three hours.]

"She does that with everyone."

[She looked at the curtains like they'd betrayed her. They were inanimate. You, however, were not.]

I frowned at my reflection. My hair was still braided from earlier, silver strands catching the glow of the sconces. I looked tired. Older. A little like my mother, which was always slightly alarming.

"Do you think she's mad at me?" I asked aloud, then regretted it instantly.

[Darling, if she isn't, I want whatever potion you're drinking.]

I groaned, flinging the toothbrush back into its cup and splashing cold water on my face.

Back in my room, Smaug had now claimed the entire bed. His tail curled possessively around the footboard, one wing slung over a stack of pillows like he was nesting in royalty.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

"Move."

He closed his eyes.

"Smaug."

A slow exhale of smoke drifted from his nostrils, and he rolled over with the emotional weight of a thousand-year-old dragon contemplating taxes.

I shoved a wing off my blanket and collapsed beside him with a sigh.

My thoughts, of course, refused to let me sleep.

Verania's warning circled back like a song you couldn't get out of your head: You are mine. She is not.

But it wasn't just that.

It was the look Velka gave me when she thought I wasn't watching. That sharp calculation. That quiet burn.

It was the way she almost reached for my hand again yesterday, then pulled back at the last second like I was fire.

It was

"Ugh," I muttered, punching the pillow.

Smaug opened one lazy eye, blinked slowly, and smacked me with his tail in what I assumed was affection. Probably.

[Still brooding?] the system asked.

"I'm not brooding," I muttered. "I'm contemplating. There's a difference."

[There is. One is quiet. The other involves pacing in your head and internal screaming.]

I flipped onto my side, glaring at the ceiling. "It's just weird. She didn't even look at me today. Not really. And I thought maybe after all this time "

[You'd get a nice thank-you letter and a hand-written love confession?] the system guessed.

"…Maybe a nod."

[Tragic.]

"Why do I care so much?"

[Would you like the short answer or the one involving ancestral trauma and unprocessed magical bonding rituals?]

I was about to respond when a soft glow lit up the room.

My eyes narrowed.

A slip of parchment was now on the floor. Glowing with quiet violet runes, it hadn't been there a second ago and no one had knocked. No creak of the door. No sound at all. Magic-embedded stealth delivery.

I sat up, heart suddenly racing.

Smaug growled low, shifting beside me.

I picked up the note, the paper warm beneath my fingers.

In simple, elegant handwriting, it read:

"Midnight. Library. Come alone."

The glow faded instantly.

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I stared at the words, the faint trace of magical energy still buzzing across my skin.

"Well," I said.

Smaug opened one eye again, as if to say: Nope. Not this again.

I lay back slowly on the pillow.

[Want me to fake your death so you can skip the meeting?]

"No," I murmured, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "I think I want to see what she has to say."

[Of course you do.]

I stared at the note a little longer, tracing the edges with my thumb, as if the parchment might whisper something more. It didn't. Of course it didn't. That would've been too easy and probably a cursed scroll.

Smaug grumbled beside me again and rolled over, nearly kicking me off the bed with one oversized talon.

"Rude," I muttered, shoving his foot. He responded by draping his tail over my legs and letting out the most dramatic sigh I'd ever heard from a fire-breathing creature.

I turned the note over again in my fingers, but there was nothing else. Just those four words. Midnight. Library. Come alone.

The handwriting… was familiar. Sharp, a little too elegant, and far too careful for someone who wasn't trying to be mysterious on purpose.

Velka.

Of course it was her.

I flopped back onto my pillow, heart pounding harder than I wanted to admit.

"Why couldn't she just talk to me during breakfast like a normal emotionally unavailable vampire?"

[Because she's dramatic, and so are you,] the system said smugly. [Honestly, you two deserve each other.]

I glared at the ceiling. "You're fired."

[You can't fire me. I'm your destiny.]

"Figures."