Chapter 2
GALINA
For a second, or a minute, or an hour, or however long I stand there staring at him, it's as if time stops.
Like my reality is frozen and my brain refuses to believe what I’m seeing.
The Ghost Prince, the MaskTok content creator with almost as many followers as I have, is here.
And he’s clearly been here the whole time.
Watching me.
Me getting undressed. Me dancing. Me turning into…
Oh God.
With a choked sound catching in my throat, I whirl away, my hand coming up to cover the side of my face as my eyes dart to the bag containing my mask.
A deep, dark, modulated laugh rumbles through the darkness.
“A little late for obscuring identities, don’t you think, Galina?”
The shock of seeing him was terrifying.
The second shock, realizing I wasn’t wearing my mask, was jolting.
But the feeling that spreads through me when he says my name is chilling. So chilling that I just stand there frozen, still half turned away from him with my hand to the side of my face and my pulse whining in my ears.
…Until a draft teasingly wraps itself around my torso, and I’m reminded that I’m not wearing a top.
I dart for the bag with my schoolgirl gear, but that slightly robotic voice, like the one they use for the kidnapper in a movie, crackles through the darkness.
“Don’t even fucking think about it.”
That voice—or maybe the man behind it, or the raw, terrifying power in it—stops me cold.
A shiver ripples up my spine. I fold my arms over my chest before I slowly, haltingly, glance over my shoulder at him.
“It’s also a little late for modesty.”
My throat bobs, my heart hammering in my chest as my lungs fill and empty at a dizzying pace.
“Look at me, little villain.”
Fuck, that voice. It’s a weird cross between terrifying and sexual. A midpoint between a horror movie and a fantasy. It’s grating and chilling, but at the same time sends little ripples and flickers dancing over my skin and coiling in my core.
“Galina.”
Hearing my name through that modulator again sends a spike of adrenaline jolting through me.
“I said look at me.”
My throat works, my breath coming shakily through what feels like a noose round my neck.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
A whining alarm hums in my ears, my pulse thudding beneath the surface of my skin as I slowly turn to face him, still tightly hugging my chest.
“Good girl.”
Jesus.
I’ve heard him say it dozens of times before. Maybe even a hundred. Because I don’t just "know of" The Ghost Prince.
I watch his videos. Religiously.
I consume a lot of MaskTok content, and honestly, it really is usually for market research or just to make sure I’m staying on top of the latest trends.
But watching him?
Him I’ve watched far more often than anyone else. And not for “market research”.
So yes, I’ve heard him say those words before. But the second I hear them in the darkness of the library, I realize there is a vast difference between hearing them in a social media video, directed at almost a million followers, and hearing them in person, directed solely at me.
Good girl.
Why does that make my core tighten and my knees shake?
What the FUCK is wrong with you?
Well, that's easy.
MaskTok is what’s wrong with me. Because I’ve been living this double life where I spend half my time immersed in this shit. Creating it, even.
Normalizing it, and indulging in far too many dark romance books. There is no way, in any reality, where this situation should do anything but terrify me.
It definitely shouldn’t make my thighs clench together like this.
I glance to the side, my eyes landing again on the small bag with my shirt.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
His voice sends another heady mix of fear rippling down my spine and heat pooling in my core as I drag my gaze back to him. The Ghost Prince hasn’t moved. He’s still sprawled casually in that chair, a shirtless, dangerous predator.
I glance back at my bag and take a step toward it.
“Galina.”
I stop and glance at him again. He’s holding his phone up in one of those heavily tattooed hands that I’ve seen doing a hundred different embarrassingly tantalizing things.
Cupping his crotch. Stroking a knife as if it were a hard cock. Wrapping around his own throat. Running a thick finger down his chiseled eight-pack before sliding it into the waist of his black jeans…
“That was quite a show,” he growls. “I can see why your followers love you.”
He regards the phone in his hand.
“I'm a fan now myself. So big a fan, actually, that I simply don't think I can wait until you choose to release this content at some point.”
I can’t see his face. And yet, somehow, I know he’s smiling when he waves the phone.
It hits me like a punch to the stomach. Not only did he see everything, including me changing from Galina to Velvet Villainess, but…
He filmed it.
Holy fuck.
He’s got proof of Galina being Velvet Villainess on camera.
Everything goes still. Sound becomes just a high, thin whining alarm in my ears. When I blink, it feels like it’s happening in slow motion.
He could reveal me to the whole world.
Visions of my life crumbling to dust around me fill my head. A cold sensation crashes over me like a wave. My vision blurs and dims.
I imagine my friends distancing themselves from me. School kicking me out. Papa and Dad…oh my God.
Just thinking about the disappointed looks in their eyes if this got out…
“Breathe, Galina,” the mask crackles. “Just breathe.”
I draw in a shaky, gasping breath, trying not to think about the fact that I just did so at his command. When I do, I realize I was holding my breath. Instantly, the black spots swimming at the edges of my vision melt away.
“I’m not going to show this to anyone.”
I blink rapidly, staring at him as my arms tighten around my body.
“Y—you’re not?” I squeak out in a voice so haggard, scared, and weak that I don’t even recognize it.
The Ghost Prince shakes his head slowly.
“No. Because you’re going to be a good girl and do something for me.”
That same sickeningly confusing mix of arousal and fear runs excitedly through my system. I turn, my gaze landing on my bag as I wonder how fast I could grab it and get out the door before—
“Don’t.”
The voice is robotic, but somehow cold.
“Take one step toward that bag or make any attempt to cover yourself and…” He lifts a shoulder and holds up the phone again.
He doesn’t have to spell it out.
If I don’t do as he says, he’ll make sure the video he just took of me transforming into Velvet Villainess goes out to the whole world, and I’ll be destroyed.
“So,” the voice rasps. “Arms at your side.”
I tense, loathing the way my core tightens and my nipples harden to achy pebbles against my arms across them.
I glance at the phone in his hand again, my throat bobbing up and down.
I really don’t have a choice.
My arms drop to my side as I drag in a rasping, tight little breath.
The Ghost Prince says nothing. But, again, even with his face and eyes covered by that mask, I can feel his heated gaze sliding over my exposed skin.
The seconds tick by, until I feel like I’ll scream from the building tension.
The Ghost Prince sets the phone down on one of the arms of the chair. Then he brings up his hand, palm facing up, and beckons me with two fingers. When I stay where I am, he does it again.
“Come here, little villain.”
I shiver.
The Ghost Prince just turns his head and looks significantly at the phone sitting on the arm of the chair.
Goddamn him.
I force myself to take a step toward him.
“No. Not like that.”
I stop abruptly when he speaks, and I bite down on my lower lip as I force myself to keep my hands clenched at my sides instead of hugging my bare chest.
…Which he’s clearly looking right at.
“I don’t understand,” I choke in a tight whisper.
The Ghost Prince raises a muscled, tattooed arm, running his palm over the smooth material of the mask that covers his whole head.
“On your hands and knees,” he says. “Crawl to me.”
What?
“I—”
“Now, Galina.”
My lips purse as my gaze slips from his blank, masked face to the phone on the armrest. My jaw sets.
“What happens when—”
“You’ll find out when you get here,” he practically purrs through the vocoder.
For a second, I find myself wondering what his actual voice sounds like. Is it deep, like right now, or is that just the modulator? Is it warm? Confident? Or Is it screechy and nasal-y and awful, and that’s why he's altered it?
“If you think stalling is going to change anything…”
He trails off. We both know he doesn’t have to utter the threat.
The phone sitting silently next to him is doing that just fine.
My tongue slips out and wets my lips. My fingernails dig into my palms as I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, feeling his eyes on my bare tits.
I hate that he’s right, but he is. Me stalling isn’t going to change his mind.
And so, feeling like I’m watching from outside my own body, I slowly lower myself to my hands and knees on the floor. The Ghost Prince rolls his shoulders, settling into his chair a little more and resting his masked jaw on the “L” of his thumb and forefinger.
Watching me.
I can feel myself blushing as The Ghost Prince looks right at me through his blank black eyeholes. He lifts his hand once more, and I shiver at the throb of heat that tugs at my core when he crooks his fingers again.
Then I start to crawl.
There’s a big Persian rug on the floor, soft under my palms and knees as I slowly make my way toward him.
My hair, which was up in a messy knot under my Villainess wig, comes undone and falls around my face as I advance half-naked across the floor to the masked man with the muscles and tattoos and chilling aura sitting in the chair, never taking his eyes off me.
I stop when I’m looking at his combat boots and the hem of his black jeans.
“Stand.”
I shiver as I look up at him, my eyes wide and my face somehow hot and cold at the same time, like the battle between heated mortification and chilling fear hasn’t been won yet.
“It would be in your best interests to do as I say,” the mechanical voice drones. “So be a good girl and stand, little villain.”