Chosen by the Living Reaper: But I Was the Succubus He Couldn't Resist

As a highborn succubus, I somehow managed to starve myself to death-thanks to my obsessive cleanliness and ridiculously picky appetite.

When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into Vivian Hartwell-the long-lost "real" daughter with a tragically cursed fate.

I had barely been taken back into the Hartwell family before they forced me to attend a so-called "death matchmaking" event in Kingsford-on behalf of Natalie Hartwell, the fake heiress-to meet Damian Blackwood, the infamous "living reaper."

Rumor had it Damian was brutal and bloodthirsty-every woman who'd ever been involved with him either ended up dead or driven insane.

At the event, over a hundred socialites were trembling on their knees, silently praying they wouldn't be the one chosen.

Just as Damian let out a cold smirk and reached to pick his unlucky victim, I took a deep breath from the back of the crowd.

The scent emanating from him was a rare, potent masculine essence-something encountered perhaps once in ten millennia.

For a painfully picky succubus like me, this was nothing short of salvation.

I kicked aside the girl blocking my way, my eyes practically glowing as I threw both hands up. "Pick me! Hurry, pick me!"