Chapter 2
THE HUNT BEGINS
Luke
S he has no idea how long I've been planning this night, and watching her small, helpless form curled on my back seat fills me with a satisfaction so deep it's almost wrong. Like I'm a god who's finally claimed his most perfect creation.
I glance in the rearview mirror as I navigate the final winding curves of the forest road, drinking in every exquisite detail of the woman who belongs to me.
Even bound and unconscious, she's breathtaking in that vampire costume she chose so carefully— for me , whether she consciously knew it or not.
The fake blood from her makeup has smeared across her pale throat during the drive, and her dark auburn hair with that striking white streak fans across the leather like spilled wine.
She looks stunning, too pure for this world, and tonight I'm going to corrupt her so thoroughly she'll never want to leave me.
My night monster. My obsession. My beautiful, brilliant addiction that I've spent endless time and money to possess.
I grin beneath my devil mask as I check my watch—10:47 PM.
Perfect timing, just as I planned. The fog machines activated automatically twenty minutes ago based on the GPS trigger I installed, and by now the entire patch should be shrouded in that ethereal mist that will make everything feel like stepping into another world entirely.
Her world. The world I built specifically for her.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as anticipation courses through me like a drug I've been mainlining for fifteen months.
Fifteen months of planning, of obsessing over every little detail, and it all comes down to the next few hours.
I've thought through every possible scenario so many times I could execute this plan in my sleep.
I've run contingencies for weather, for equipment failure, for almost anything.
I have backup plans for my backup plans, because failure is not an option when it comes to her.
Never when it comes to her.
But there's still that familiar nervous energy thrumming beneath my skin—the same feeling I used to get before hostile takeovers, except this is infinitely more important than any business deal I've ever orchestrated. This is about claiming what's mine and proving that some men don't just love.
They possess.
They consume.
And they can mold the world in service of their obsession.
This is about her, and us, and showing her that I will literally tear down mountains and rebuild forests to own every piece of her soul. She just doesn’t know she’s mine yet.
The memory of the conversation that sparked all of this is burned into my mind, replaying in perfect detail every single day for fifteen months.
We'd been curled together in bed after I'd fucked her so thoroughly she could barely speak, her body still trembling against my chest while rain drummed against the windows.
She'd just finished reading some erotic horror novel— Carving for Cara —and when she was telling me about it— fuck —I couldn’t help but notice how breathless and needy she was, desperately trying to hide the darkness that book awakened in her.
But I saw it.
Does she even remember? Details of a one night stand are always hard to recall…
"Can you imagine?" she had whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on my skin like she was writing her deepest secrets directly onto my body. "Being hunted like that? Chased through a corn field and then fucked in a pumpkin patch?"
"Caught and claimed in the middle of all those pumpkins, with the fog swirling around you and no escape, no choice but to surrender completely to someone who'll never let you go?"
My cock twitches at the memory.
I remember the exact moment her breathing changed, the way she shifted against me like the very thought was making her wet.
The way she kept coming back to certain details over and over again—the Halloween setting, the genuine terror mixed with arousal, the way the female main character ultimately chose her captor over freedom.
Or was it that she found freedom from within him ?
Either way, my girl didn't just want the fantasy. She needed it. Craved it like an addict craves their next fix.
And I've spent fifteen months becoming the perfect dealer.
"The girl in the book fought at first," Seraphina had continued, her voice getting softer, almost confessional.
"She was terrified and confused and had no idea who he was or why he'd chosen her.
But by the end... by the end she didn't want to escape anymore.
She wanted to be caught. She wanted to be claimed and to belong to someone who would burn the world for her. "
That conversation planted the seed. And that seed grew into so many glorious things.
Does she even remember it?
I made it happen. Because that's what I do best—I fixate. And I don’t stop until I’ve satisfied that untamed hunger.
Because that's what this is. Total consumption. Complete possession. The willingness to burn down the world and rebuild it in a way that meets all of her desires.
The first call I made was to Jensen Landscaping, and I told them I needed to purchase and clear a specific section of forest about an hour outside the city.
I didn't sleep for three weeks while the land acquisition was being negotiated—I'd lie awake staring at satellite photos, measuring distances, calculating sight lines, mapping every tree that would need to be removed.
The cost was more than most people's houses, but money means nothing when you're building an empire for the woman who owns your soul.
I know it will be worth every fucking penny.
The clearing and initial earth preparation took another two months of me driving out to the site multiple times a week, watching the crews work, ensuring every detail met my exact specifications.
I hired four different teams to prevent any single group from understanding the full scope of my obsession.
One team handled the tree removal and ground leveling—I stood there for hours, directing them which trees to spare and which to destroy based on how I imagined chasing her.
Another installed the underground infrastructure—power lines, water access, and the network of pipes that would eventually feed the fog machine system.
The third crew planted the pumpkin patch earlier in the year and tended to it throughout the summer and early fall.
The fourth and final crew carved over a hundred pumpkins this week, equipping each one with a yellow-light candle on a timer to go off all night long.
This wasn't a matter of scattering some seeds and hoping for the best—I wanted variety, different sizes and colors and growth patterns that would create the perfect spooky setting for tonight.
Each one is a prop in the elaborate theater I've created to break her down and remake her.
Some are enormous—nearly two hundred pounds that she'll have to navigate around, creating natural obstacles.
Others are small enough to trip over, perfectly placed to send her stumbling when she's running in pure terror.
The variety creates chaos and confusion in the field, forcing her into panic decisions while I maintain complete control over every option available to her.
Every pathway leads exactly where I want it to go.
Every dead end was strategically placed to drive her deeper into my web.
Every route to freedom will be eliminated until surrender becomes her only choice.
The invoice for the carvers alone was more than Seraphina's annual salary, but I would have paid ten times that amount to ensure every detail was perfect. I need tonight to be perfect. For us.
But the most expensive part wasn't the labor or the materials—it was the technology.
The fog machine system required consultation with three different special effects companies before we found one willing to tackle the scale I had in mind.
We're not talking about a simple dry ice setup or a basic party fog machine.
This is a professional-grade atmospheric system with programmable density controls, scent injection capabilities, and GPS-triggered activation.
Because I wanted the fog to be rolling when we arrived. I wanted the atmosphere to be perfect from the first moment she sees what I've built.
Every detail serves a larger plan.
Every element is designed to give her the ultimate high.
The sound system was another challenge entirely. How does one create ambient audio for a pumpkin patch without making it obvious where the speakers are hidden? How does one ensure consistent volume and quality throughout such a large space?
Six months of acoustic testing and equipment trials.
Hidden speakers throughout the patch, synchronized to respond to proximity sensors.
When she runs, the sound will follow her. When she stops, it will surround her.
It’s an immersive experience.
I check the mirror again and see her starting to stir, consciousness returning right on schedule. The timing couldn't be more perfect if I'd planned it down to the minute.
Which, of course, I did.
The sedative was calculated to wear off exactly as we arrived. Dr. Williams was very precise about dosage based on her height and weight.
Everything has been calculated. Everything has been planned.
Except for how she'll actually react when she realizes what I've done for her. How far I’ve gone for her. For us .
That's the one variable I can't control, the one element that makes this entire thing either the most romantic gesture in history or a complete fucking disaster. I know she wants this—she literally described it to me in detail. But this…
Can she handle it?
She can.
She has to.
This is what she wanted.
This is her fantasy come to life.