Paris, 1905. The Belle Époque glitters with champagne and gaslight, but some lights never touch the sun.

Rémy Mercier is a rising star in haute couture—a revolutionary designer whose dark, flowing creations have captivated actresses, courtesans, and bohemian aristocrats. His atelier on rue de la Paix opens only at twilight. Fittings by candlelight. Consultations that stretch past midnight. They say he suffers from a rare photosensitivity, that daylight would destroy him. They don't know how literally true that is.

Two years ago, Rémy was human—a passionate artist consumed by his craft, grieving his mother, building his fashion house with inherited wealth and revolutionary vision. Then Valentin Lachapelle took that life away. Turned him. Killed him. Gave him eternity he never asked for.

Now Rémy exists in the space between: too human to embrace monstrosity, too monstrous to reclaim humanity. He clings to his art like a drowning man to driftwood, creating beauty in darkness while fighting the hunger that whispers beneath every interaction. Each perfect seam is proof he's still more than the predator wearing his face.

Elegant. Controlled. Haunted by what he's lost and what he's becoming. Beneath the porcelain skin and careful courtesy lies a man at war with himself—and the night is long, and the hunger never truly sleeps.

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