My Half-Vampire Son Painted Another Woman as Mom

I married my vampire husband ten years ago and gave him a half-blood heir, abandoning my career as a painter to become a full-time mother. Fortunately, my son inherited my talent. At just six years old, he held his first solo art exhibition, inspired by the theme "My Mother." But he never let me attend, and he never let me see his paintings. My husband said my presence would make Luke nervous---that I should stay home and do the housework as a good wife and mother, and wait for them to come back. I told myself he was just young and didn't know better, that he was only pushing back against my discipline, not truly rejecting me. Until the day I snuck into the gallery wearing a surgical mask pulled low. In the center of the crowd, my husband held our son's hand while tenderly pulling a woman in a red dress into his arms. He turned to the guests and announced: "This is Luke's mother---my wife." The three of them stood together, beaming with perfect happiness. And I---the one who'd stayed up all night setting up this exhibition---stood before the paintings while not a single person recognized me. That was when I finally understood. My seemingly gentle, caring vampire husband had long ago given our son a replacement mother. And I was nothing more than the human nanny who'd served her purpose by producing an heir. Chapter 1 Iris's POV I hid among the crowd, the world spinning around me. My husband and my son greeted the woman in the red dress with warm smiles, standing together at the center of the crowd like the picture-perfect family. Meanwhile, I stood with a surgical mask pulled low, invisible as a stranger. Lucien and Luke were still wearing the suits I'd ironed for them. I'd tied their ties that morning. Yet now, they were calling another woman "wife" and "Mom." "My mom is so good to me. She encourages my art and never pressures me. She takes me on trips and walks all the time. Most of the paintings in this exhibition are about my mom." My son flashed a bright, innocent grin, clinging to the woman's hand with complete trust. At home, he'd never once smiled at me like that. All I ever got was cold indifference and impatience. I'd thought it was because Luke was half-vampire, half-human---that the pressure of being different made him act that way toward me. Now I knew the truth. There was another mother out there indulging his every whim. "That's right, we go on family outings all the time so he can find inspiration in nature. My wife has always believed in nurturing through joy. She's poured her heart into cultivating our son's artistic talent. This family's happiness is all thanks to this selfless, devoted mother." Lucien pulled the woman in the red dress closer, his eyes brimming with tenderness. My entire body trembled. My nails dug into my palms until they nearly broke the skin. It was Lucien who'd told me Luke's artistic talent shouldn't go to waste, that I should devote myself to nurturing it. I was the one who'd stayed up countless nights contacting galleries, calling in favors from former colleagues, setting up the exhibition space until everything was perfect. Yet Lucien and Luke never let me see the paintings. Every time I finished moving the easels and hanging the frames, they'd send me away, claiming I'd criticize a child's work and hurt Luke's feelings. But I had never criticized his work. Even his basic brush-stroke exercises---I praised every single one. Still, Luke refused to let me see his real pieces. The moment I got close, he'd become visibly agitated. Lucien always said he was too busy to take me and Luke on trips together. The company was at a critical juncture, he couldn't get away. I was always understanding. But then he'd turn around and tell our son: "Your mother said your fundamentals still need work. You should focus on practicing at home instead of getting ahead of yourself." After that, Luke wouldn't speak to me for days, directing all his resentment at me. Every time I tried to explain, Lucien would stop me. "I'm already too busy with work. I'm barely home. If Luke finds out it's because of me that he can't go on trips, he'll resent me." Then he'd put his arm around me. "When Luke grows up, he'll understand. You're the one by his side every day---how could he ever truly hate you?" I believed him. I thought he was working so hard to give us a better life, so I couldn't bear to ruin his image in front of our son. I willingly played the villain in our family, never knowing that Luke would never understand me. Now, the other mother was gently stroking his hair, and Luke looked up at her with a radiant smile. As if they were the real family. The three of them counted down together and pulled away the cloth covering the centerpiece painting. In the oil painting, Lucien and the woman stood on either side of Luke, holding his hands, smiling with pure happiness. The background was a serene estate---the dream home I'd once described to Lucien. A swing, a garden, a small fountain inside a white fence---every detail exactly as I had imagined it. The pain hit me so hard I couldn't breathe. I couldn't watch anymore. Applause, congratulations, camera shutters---they piled up behind me as I walked away from the center of the gallery, step by step. Chapter 2 Iris's POV I walked toward the gallery entrance, looking at Luke's paintings one by one. I'd set this space up myself, staying up through the night. Even though the frames had been empty when I hung them, I'd poured my heart into imagining how Luke would portray me, his mother. That hope had kept me going. The first painting was a meadow scene. A woman shielded the sunlight with a parasol, sitting on a picnic blanket, peeling an orange for a child. The boy was laughing, practically tumbling into her arms. I stopped. The woman's face wasn't mine. Instinctively, I reached up and pressed the surgical mask higher against my face. I blinked hard, holding back the tears. The second painting was a nighttime beach. Wind swept through the woman's long hair as she held Luke's hand at the water's edge. Luke gazed up at her with bright, adoring eyes, hugging her leg. I stared at the ocean in the painting, and alarm shot through me. Luke could't go to the beach. Half-blood children born of vampires and humans carried vampiric strength, but in early childhood their condition was highly unstable---prone to fevers, prone to losing control. I'd been meticulous about controlling Luke's environment. I even scheduled regular cleaning for dust mites. Yet he still got fevers repeatedly. He hated when I dragged him to the doctor, but as his mother, I couldn't let him take any risks. The doctor had asked whether Luke had been to environments like the beach. For vampire hybrids, places with too many biological organisms and overwhelming scents could destabilize them, triggering their vampire bloodline prematurely and actually damaging their bodies. I shook my head every time. Impossible. I never took him to the beach. Even when we went out, I kept him bundled up and away from crowds. But in the painting, he'd been there. And he looked so happy. Once, he'd had a fever that wouldn't break all night. I held him in the emergency room hallway, my clothes soaked through with sweat. In his delirium, he kept crying out the same words over and over. "I don't want to go home." "I don't want Mommy." At the time, I thought it was the fever talking---just a delirious child in pain. My heart ached for him. Now I knew the truth. He just wanted to go back to the "Mommy" in the paintings. I kept walking. The third painting was indoors. A woman sat beside a piano while Luke lay nearby, drawing. She looked down at him with a gentle smile. Then I noticed the bracelet on her wrist---a string of rubies. Pigeon-blood red, the color of flame, matching the woman's eyes exactly. I'd only ever seen that caliber of jewelry on the wrists of my gallery clients. A bracelet like that was worth a decade of my income when I was young. My throat went dry. Lucien had told me many times that he wasn't the kind of vampire who lived off inherited wealth. Everything he had, he'd earned through his company. All his capital was tied up in projects and couldn't be touched, so he needed me to keep our household frugal. So I never asked for anything extravagant. The most expensive dress in my closet was one I'd bought before the wedding. After the marriage, I barely bought new clothes, spending the household allowance entirely on him and Luke. Until the year my father got sick. The medical bills piled up into a mountain. We couldn't make ends meet, and I had no choice but to ask Lucien for money. He was silent for a long time before finally saying: "I really don't have any available funds right now." He looked at me, and I suddenly remembered the way his vampire friends had looked at me at our wedding. A human marrying a vampire---it was only ever about money and immortality. Even though none of them had said it aloud, I could imagine what they whispered behind my back. I didn't want Lucien to doubt my love. I'd never asked him for money. After giving birth, my health had suffered, but I'd never brought up being turned, either. I said nothing. I went back to our room and opened the cabinet. Inside was the painting I'd treasured most from my youth. One of the pieces from my very first gallery exhibition. I'd never been able to bring myself to sell it. That night, I took it down, had it framed, and contacted a former client. The sale price was just enough to cover my father's treatment. Lucien held me afterward and said he was sorry, that once the company stabilized, he'd make it up to me. I'd even cried. And now, standing before my son's paintings, I stared at the priceless gems on that woman's wrist. The jewels glittered in the painted light. Lucien had probably never been short on money at all. He simply never trusted me---his human wife. Even after I'd borne his child, I was still in some endless, inescapable probation period, fit only to play the dutiful, penny-pinching nanny. The fourth painting. The woman and Luke sat in an upscale restaurant. On the plate was a steak, nearly raw---still bloody. In the painting, Luke's eyes crinkled with happiness. My chest seized. Luke shouldn't be eating steak that rare, practically dripping with blood. He was still too young. Activating his vampire bloodline this early would only burden his body and send his emotions spiraling out of control. I'd restricted him many times, enduring his tantrums while holding firm, managing his diet. Lucien always used work as an excuse, refusing to step in and discipline the boy, content to play the gentle, permissive father. I stood before the painting, my fingertips ice cold. I finally understood what all these paintings meant. The beach, the steak, the trips, the jewels, the smiles---it had all actually happened. Someone had taken photos of Luke with that woman, and Luke had preserved those memories in oil paint. I looked toward Lucien in the distance. He was holding the woman's hand, listening as Luke enthusiastically introduced each painting. Lucien seemed to sense my gaze and turned around, but I'd already stepped back into a corner. Chapter 3 Iris's POV I heard people murmuring behind me. "Luke is so lucky. His mom comes to every exhibition." Another voice chimed in with a laugh. "Yes. And the couple seems so in love. A talented kid, a perfect family." My body went rigid. "His mom comes to every exhibition"---those words pierced my ears like needles. So this wasn't the first time. This woman had always been there, always appearing as his mother. The sounds of the crowd surged back---laughter, congratulations, praise. They surrounded me, yet none of it was meant for me. An exhibition themed "My Mother," starring my husband, the son I'd carried for ten months, and my son's "Mommy." I was just the human who'd delivered Luke, the nanny who handled discipline and restriction. The love and joy of motherhood had long been handed to someone else by Lucien. Chapter 4 Iris's POV By the time I got home, it was evening. The house was empty and eerily silent. I walked in slowly, scanning the living room, seeing this place I'd lived in for ten years through an outsider's eyes for the first time. I laughed bitterly at myself---ten years as a nanny and I'd never even realized it. Lucien didn't like having strangers around and refused to hire help, so I'd always been the one keeping everything spotless. But today, the woman beside him had been wearing a flashy red dress dripping with jewelry, her hands smooth and delicate---hands that had clearly never touched a mop. I'd maintained this home like a model showroom, day after day, year after year. Now I realized I'd been the only fool investing in it. I looked up at the second floor. At the end of the hallway, the study door stood closed. That was where Lucien handled his work---a room I'd barely entered in ten years. He always said it contained confidential company documents I shouldn't touch. I'd respected his boundaries. I didn't even clean it unless he was present. But tonight, standing before the door, I didn't hesitate. I gripped the handle and pushed it open. It was unlocked. The desk drawers were neatly organized. The first held research materials. The second, contracts. When I pulled open the third, my fingers froze. Inside lay several dark velvet boxes. The kind used by high-end jewelers. I lifted one out, feeling the fine velvet beneath my fingertips. I slowly opened the lid, and the moment the light hit the stones, the brilliance nearly stung my eyes. A complete set of ruby jewelry lay nestled in dark velvet---necklace, earrings, bracelet, and ring. On the night of my twenty-eighth birthday, Lucien had come home late, claiming he'd been working overtime. He handed me a gift box, and I'd opened it with quiet hope---only to find a plain cotton apron, cream-colored with a small floral print. Now, standing under the study lamp, looking at this jewelry worth a fortune, the version of me who'd been grateful for that apron felt like a punchline. As I placed the velvet box back in the drawer, I noticed a letter underneath. I unfolded the letter. The first line stopped my breath. "To my beloved, Rebecca." "Thank you for everything you've done for me and Luke over the years. You've given him joy, freedom, and love. Without you, we wouldn't have the happiness we have today." Done for you? I repeated the phrase in my mind, thinking of Luke convulsing with fever in my arms through the night while I held him without sleep. I'd given up my career. Put away my brushes. Spent ten years revolving around the kitchen and the child. Those memories pressed down on me like stones, one after another---while Lucien praised another woman's sacrifices. Lucien had mentioned Rebecca before---a childhood friend, the girl next door. She'd supposedly been too busy to attend our wedding. Perhaps she hadn't skipped it because she was busy. I put the letter back and turned to the computer. I tried a few passwords. All failed. Then I typed "Rebecca," and the screen unlocked instantly. I opened the saved billing records. Jewelry, high-end restaurants, travel packages---the spending was enormous, consistent, stretching back years. I scrolled page by page, while a parallel life played out in my mind: my discount clothes, my budgeting spreadsheets, my abandoned paints, the painting I'd sold---my most precious one. I dressed like a nanny. I'd tried so hard not to be a burden, worked to keep him and Luke looking polished while I hid behind the groceries and the chores. But these numbers told me he'd never been short on money. He'd simply never intended to share his wealth with his human wife. When the front door clicked open downstairs, I closed the laptop and returned to the living room. Lucien paused when he saw me standing in the dark room, expressionless. Luke was draped across his father's arms, already drowsy. From the moment they walked in, my son hadn't looked at me once. "Iris, sorry to keep you waiting. We got back late---the gallery hosted a celebration dinner. I know you like having dinner as a family, so I brought you a takeout box." He set the container on the table. The packaging was elegant. I'd seen ads for that restaurant---reservation-only, in the city center, outrageously expensive. I looked up at him in silence. His expression was one of concern, as if he were the devoted husband trying to hold the family together, the long-suffering partner bracing for his wife's unreasonable complaints. Luke, visibly restless, slid out of his father's arms and wandered off to play with his tablet. In front of our son, Lucien performed the role of attentive husband, opening the container for me. "It's still warm. Eat up if you're hungry." Inside was a half-eaten, blood-rare steak. I'd never liked meat that undercooked. This was probably Luke's leftovers. Chapter 5 Iris's POV A wave of exhaustion crashed over me. I couldn't keep playing the uncomplaining mother inside this web of lies. My husband took off his coat, apparently waiting for me to take it and hang it up for him. When I just stood there with my arms crossed, Lucien glanced at Luke with a look of helplessness. Luke sighed, hung his head, and reluctantly walked over, stopping a couple of steps away. "Mom, I'm sorry. We came home late." I suddenly remembered how this had happened so many times before. I'd never asked the boy to apologize---I'd only wanted Lucien to step up as a father instead of spoiling him endlessly. But Lucien always "misread" the situation. He used "don't upset your mother" as an excuse to scare Luke into controlling his diet and cutting back on blood. He used "your mother isn't satisfied" as leverage to push the boy harder with his studies and technique. And he was the one who always swooped in afterward as the understanding, open-minded father. Even though he rarely took care of Luke himself---even though I was the one up all night whenever Luke was sick---in our son's eyes, Lucien was always the good father. Before, I'd told myself Lucien was just stressed from work and hadn't thought much of it. But today, I'd seen how happy Luke was with his other mother. If the three of them were the complete family---the model household---then there was no reason for me to keep playing the bad cop, making myself a nuisance. "I'm not upset. Go get some rest." Maybe it was the flatness in my voice, or the fact that I didn't reach out to pat his head the way I usually did. My son---who normally flinched away from my touch---seemed unsettled. He looked up at me, confused, his face a mirror of his father's. Now, when I looked at Luke and Lucien, all I could see was the two of them with Rebecca. The love I'd once felt for my husband and my child had been replaced by numb, aching hollowness. "Luke, you must be tired too. Go to bed." I turned away and poured myself a glass of water. Father and son exchanged a glance---that familiar, conspiratorial look between them---and the sight left me cold. Lucien put his hand on Luke's shoulder, ready to send the boy off to wash up and sleep. But Luke was still wired. I saw the flash of crimson in Luke's eyes and knew immediately---too much rare steak had triggered his vampiric instincts. Now all Luke wanted was more blood, his gaze fixed on the kitchen, on the refrigerator. Inside it was the animal blood I'd stocked for Lucien. "Daddy, can I have a drink before bed? Please?" Lucien stiffened and refused instinctively, his tone sharp. "No. You've had too much rare steak today." The moment the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. He paused, softened his voice. "Why don't you ask your mom? If she says it's okay, then fine." Lucien turned to me with a playful wink---still trying to charm me into being the villain. I looked at Luke and smiled faintly. I waited a beat, then said: "Go ahead and drink, if you want. Your father's right here watching you. I have no objections." Chapter 6 Iris's POV Luke froze, his eyes slowly lighting up. Then he bolted toward the refrigerator like a gust of wind. I didn't stop him. Didn't remind him to take it easy. I just stood there and watched the panic spreading across Lucien's face. Luke was still young. He didn't understand what was truly good for him---he could be easily won over and controlled by any adult willing to indulge him. Seeing that I had no intention of stepping in, Lucien visibly stiffened. "Luke, wait." He finally spoke up. Luke had already yanked open the refrigerator door. Cold air and the metallic scent of blood spilled out. He reached for a bottle of animal blood. Lucien crossed the room in quick strides and caught his wrist. "Not tonight," he said. Luke froze, his expression shifting instantly---the look of him about to throw a tantrum. "Why?" But Lucien immediately glanced my way, eyes flickering with urgency and expectation. Still waiting for me to play the villain. I stayed where I was, offering Luke nothing but a gentle smile. I didn't help. I could guess what had happened. At the restaurant, neither Lucien nor Rebecca had restricted how much rare steak Luke consumed. That was why the boy was now craving blood this badly. The air between us pulled taut, a wire about to snap. Only the two of us adults understood what we were really fighting over. Lucien was silent for two seconds, his hand still on the refrigerator door, his voice going stiff. "Luke. Listen to me." "No!" Luke's voice turned shrill. "You both said I could! Why can't I now?" This time Lucien didn't back down. He took the bottle away and shut the door. Luke went completely still. He looked up at his father, and his eyes slowly reddened. "You said if Mom agreed, I could!" Luke's voice pitched higher. "Mom said yes, and you still won't let me!" For the first time in this household, Luke was lashing out at his father instead of me. Lucien tried to pull the boy back, but Luke wrenched free of his grip. His eyes were blazing red---his hybrid bloodline had been triggered, and his emotions were spiraling out of control. "I hate you!" Those words were aimed at Lucien. The air seemed to freeze. Lucien's face went dark. He'd never been on the receiving end of Luke's defiance. Because in the past, I'd absorbed every last drop of it. He'd never had to be the one to say no to Luke. Now it was finally his turn. Chapter 7 Iris's POV Luke turned and bolted upstairs. His bedroom door slammed shut with a bang that shook the walls. The living room fell silent. Just me and Lucien. He stood there for a long moment, then slowly straightened and looked at me, his expression unreadable. "You did that on purpose," he said. I picked up my glass, took a sip of water, and said nothing. He watched me, his brow furrowed. "You know he can't have too much blood right now." "Lucien, so do you," I said. He didn't respond. For the first time, the space between us had no careful accommodations from me, no gentle veneer of harmony. He paused, then looked away uncomfortably. "You haven't been yourself lately," he said. "I know the exhibition upset you." "I know you're hurt that Luke didn't want you at the exhibition." He spoke quickly, as though rushing to reclaim the narrative. "I've told you so many times---he's still young, very sensitive right now, afraid you'll criticize his paintings. That's why he didn't want you there." "Afraid I'll criticize his paintings?" I cut in. "When have I ever criticized Luke's paintings? I've never even seen them---isn't that right? Or did you tell him something that made him believe I'd be harsh? That I'd expect too much?" He faltered. That split second of blankness on his face was more honest than any excuse. Lucien couldn't change his own vampiric pride and exacting standards. He wanted his son to excel but refused to be the one Luke resented for pushing him. So he dumped that thankless job on me. No matter what happened---no matter how much our son despised me or how he saw me as a mother---it was always my fault. Never the fault of his "gentle," "caring" father. And certainly nothing to do with his beloved Rebecca. Of course Luke would only love the parents who let him do whatever he wanted. "You're overthinking this, Iris. I'm your husband---why would I scheme against you? When have I ever refused anything you've asked for?" He could say that with a straight face because I'd never asked him for anything. Never demanded a gift. Even skipping our son's exhibitions---that had been my "choice," something I'd been "willingly" talked into giving up. I looked at the man I'd once trusted completely, loved unconditionally, and let out a quiet, bitter laugh. After a long silence, I raised my head and spoke evenly. "Alright. Since you say so---Lucien, let's go on a trip this weekend." He visibly startled. "What?" "Let's go on a trip this weekend," I said. "Bring Luke. Just the three of us." His expression locked up. "This weekend... I might have work." I looked at him, my gaze an unspoken challenge. He dodged my eyes. "We're in a critical project phase. I need to meet a client. Luke's tutor also said... there's a makeup class this weekend." "Which client are you meeting on a weekend?" I pressed him, and he was clearly caught off guard. Before today, I would never have pushed like this. The moment he mentioned being busy with work, I'd have backed off and comforted him instead. "... Not confirmed yet." "What day?" "Both days this weekend..." "What time?" "..." He stopped answering. The air went quiet. And the suspicion in my mind finally crystallized. Weekends were family time for the three of them---Lucien, Luke, and his other mother, Rebecca. Lucien looked at me as though sensing something, his tone softening. "Iris, don't overthink it. I really am busy---" I met his eyes. I could no longer hide the disappointment behind them, so I lowered my head and forced a smile. "Sure. It's fine. I'm tired. You should rest too." Lucien seemed to believe his compliant, understanding wife had returned. He pulled me into his arms. I leaned against his shoulder, my expression cold, already calculating how to gather evidence of his affair. After that final blow, I'd finally made up my mind. I was getting a divorce. And he would leave with nothing. This marriage---I didn't want it anymore.