Chapter 19 Lia
LIA
“Oh my god, you guys!” I laugh as James finishes his story about his disastrous first date with Dani after graduation. “I can't believe you still married him after that.”
Dani rolls her eyes but squeezes James's hand. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.”
The five of us are sprawled across my living room, wine glasses in hand. It's been over an hour since they showed up unannounced at my door, and despite my initial shock, I'm grateful for their presence.
“I still can't believe you didn't call us when you moved back,” Megan says, tucking her legs underneath her on my couch. “We had to hear about it from Elliot.”
I take a sip of wine to hide my grimace. “Sorry. It's been hectic getting the gallery ready. I meant to reach out once things settled down.”
“Well, we're here now,” Zoe declares, refilling her glass. “So spill. How was New York? Did you meet anyone special we should know about?”
My mind flashes to Vane and the Hunt tomorrow. My stomach tightens with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
“No one serious,” I say. “Work kept me busy.”
“Always the overachiever,” James teases. “Remember when she color-coded her study guides for the entire class before finals?”
I throw a pillow at him. “Those color codes got us all through AP Bio, so you're welcome.”
The conversation flows easily, as if fifteen years haven't passed. We reminisce about prom night—though I carefully avoid mentioning what happened after. The time Zoe got us all detention for sneaking into the school pool, and Mr. Peterson's infamous history pop quizzes.
With each story, the knot of tension in my chest loosens. For a few hours, I'm not Lia Morgan, soon-to-be prey in a dangerous game. I'm just Lia, hanging out with old friends and laughing about high school memories.
“We should do this again,” Megan says, checking her watch. “Maybe next weekend? Proper warning this time.”
I smile, nodding. “I'd like that.”
I don't mention that by next weekend, everything might have changed.
“So what made you come back?” Dani asks, leaning forward. “I mean, you were always the one with the escape plan. Ravenwood is too small for me, you used to say.”
I laugh, but it comes out more awkward than I intended. “I did say that a lot, didn't I?”
“Only every day of senior year,” James chimes in. “We had a bet going on whether you'd ever visit for longer than Christmas break.”
“Hey! I came back for your wedding,” I protest, pointing my wine glass at him and Dani.
“For exactly forty-eight hours,” Megan counters. “You literally flew in the morning of the wedding and left the day after.”
I feel a flush creep up my neck. They're not wrong. I'd always been the one with one foot out the door.
“I kept in touch,” I say defensively.
“Birthday texts and occasional FaceTime calls when you remembered,” Zoe says, but her smile softens the blow. “We get it. You were building your life. New York is the big leagues.”
“It wasn't personal,” I say. “I just... needed to prove I could make it on my own.”
“That's our Lia,” James says, raising his glass. “The master of the five-year plan. Color-coded and laminated.”
“I never laminated my plans!” I laugh, throwing another pillow at him.
“No, but you did have that ridiculous planner with the different colored tabs,” Megan points out.
“Organization is not a crime,” I protest. The planner still exists, now in digital form—my life neatly compartmentalized into categories and priorities.
“Meanwhile, the rest of us settled into boring old Ravenwood lives,” Zoe sighs dramatically.
“Nothing is boring about what you've all built,” I say sincerely. “You've got careers, relationships, homes. I just... took a different path.”
“The path that led right back here,” Dani points out, eyebrows raised. “Funny how that happened.”
I don't mention what brought me back. Vane.
Deep down, I told myself it was the salary and the opportunity of running a gallery myself, but the option to return to the town where Vane is had a bearing on my decision.
After they leave, I lock the door and lean against it, exhaling. The apartment feels emptier now, the silence amplifying my thoughts about tomorrow.
I walk to my bedroom and pull out the copy I made of the contract from my nightstand drawer. I scan through the document again, focusing on a paragraph near the end that I'd noticed earlier.
I didn't miss the small print about the option for the prey to be claimed by hunters for a year.
My finger traces over the legal jargon.
Upon capture, the hunter maintains exclusive rights to the captured prey for the duration of the Hunt and may, at their discretion, extend this claim for a period not to exceed twelve months following the conclusion of the event.
A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. Twelve months. A full year belonging to someone else. Belonging to Vane, if he catches me first.
I fold the contract and return it to the drawer. When I signed it, I told myself I was looking for the thrill—the rush of being hunted, desired, pursued. But deep down, I knew exactly what I was signing up for.
Vane's words echo in my head.
No other man will touch you during the Hunt.
The possessiveness in his voice, the fire in his eyes—I've awakened a dangerous hunger in him by signing this contract. And the most troubling aspect? Deep down, I want him to catch me. I want to know what it would be like to be his for a year—maybe longer.
I close my eyes, trying to push away the thought that's lurked in the shadows of my mind for fifteen years.
The truth I've never fully admitted to myself—I've always wanted Vane.
Not just for a night, not just for the physical connection that still haunts my dreams—but for something real. Something lasting.
Back then, I had my whole future mapped out. Columbia. An art career. The path my parents had sacrificed so much to help me achieve. The idea of throwing it all away for a boy from the wrong side of town wasn't just terrifying—it was unthinkable.
My parents would have supported me. That's what makes it worse.
They wouldn't have been thrilled about me dropping out of college for Vane, but they would have eventually come around.
Mom and Dad have always been my biggest cheerleaders, always putting my happiness first. They would have found a way to accept my decision.
And that's exactly why I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't bear the thought of disappointing them after everything they'd done for me. They had such hopes, such dreams—all centered around me getting the opportunities they never had.
Now they're living their best lives in that little beachfront condo in Florida.
Dad's finally pursuing his photography hobby, and Mom's joined a book club and a gardening society.
They call me every Sunday, voices bright with the joy of semi-retirement, always asking when I'll visit.
They deserve this happiness, this peace—confirmation that their daughter turned out fine, so they can finally focus on themselves.
What would they think if they knew I was about to participate in a hunt where I might willingly give myself to the boy—man now—they never truly got to know? The same one I ran from all those years ago?
I run my fingers over the contract again. The truth is, I didn't sign this for the thrill or the experience. I signed it because I've been running from the one thing I've always wanted but was too afraid to claim.