He was the monster they warned her about.
And she loved him anyway.
Daniella Lockwood was never supposed to fall for Klaus Mikaelson. But somehow, between stolen glances, late-night painting sessions, and the gentle way he said her name, she did. Co...
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It had been a few weeks since the loss of the mayor. Things were slowly getting better—at least for Daniella.
She was still sad, of course. That wasn't something that would ever fully go away. But the weight was slowly getting easier to carry. It helped that she became everyone's top priority—especially after Jeremy caught her on the brink of doing the one thing that hurt her most.
Once Dylan found out, he'd been more attentive than ever. It helped. For a while.
But then he left for the weekend.
She didn't mind the space—it was the silence that bothered her. He didn't tell her where he was going. Every phone call was vague, quick, and cold. And that left Daniella spinning.
No matter how many times Dylan told her he loved her, her brain found a way to twist it.
Not because he was unfaithful—he wasn't. She knew that.
But she was terrified he'd leave her.
That someone better would come along.
That she'd never be enough.
To everyone else, Daniella Lockwood was perfect.
But to herself? She never felt close.
She stood in her room, getting ready for the Historic Mystic Falls Picnic—her favorite annual event, second only to the masquerade ball.
Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail, secured with a big, soft bow. She wore a crisp white top and a lilac skirt that brushed just above the knees. On her feet were her favorite shoes—white Valentino platform heels. A gift from her dad.
Even if she'd regret them later, she wore them proudly. They gave her height, but more than that—they made her feel strong.
At the picnic, everything had to be just right before she could enjoy herself. She helped set up, guided volunteers, and eventually found herself assisting a little girl with her lemonade stand—struggling to carry a box of lemons when two very different men approached her.
"Let me help—" Mason started.
But before he could finish, Damon had already taken the box from her hands without asking, earning a sharp glare from the werewolf.
"Where do you want these?" Damon asked casually.
She pointed to the table across the lawn. He walked off, and she turned to Mason, who was still glaring daggers.
"Oh, you hate him," Daniella scoffed. "What did he do to you?"
"Oh, nothing," Mason said too quickly. "It's... nothing, really."
