20. Wraith
Chapter 20
Wraith
I ’m watching her.
Again.
I can’t help it.
It’s pointless to try not to.
She’s in her tiny apartment—bare feet padding across the floor, humming some broken little tune I can’t make out.
Her hair’s a mess. Sleep-tangled. Perfect.
Fucking hell she’s beautiful.
She disappears into the bathroom, and for a second, I almost cut the feed. Pretend I’m not the kind of man who stalks the girl he can’t fucking get enough of.
But then?—
She comes back out.
Dressed.
Different.
The jeans are gone. The oversized shirts. The innocence she wears like armor.
Instead —
A soft little dress clings to her curves.
White.
Of course it’s fucking white.
Like she’s some sweet little offering.
She twirls once, grinning down at the cat perched on the couch.
Oley stares at her, unimpressed.
She laughs. Bright. Beautiful.
She bends to scratch behind his ears, murmuring something I can’t hear.
She’s radiant.
Alive in a way that cracks my ribs open and leaves them gaping.
The hem of her dress rides high up her thighs as she moves. Straps slipping off one shoulder. Bare, vulnerable skin everywhere.
What the fuck is she doing?
My chest tightens.
This isn’t how she dresses for errands. Or work. Or any-fucking-thing.
This is… special.
She checks the mirror.
Fusses with her hair.
Bites her lip.
Nerves.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
For who? Who’s fucking blood am I going to have on my hands by the end of the night?
My hands curl into fists against the edge of the desk.
The feed glitches for half a second.
And when it snaps back into focus?—
She’s gone.
The door swings shut behind her.
The world tilts sideways.
And I shove back from the monitors. Switch to my main computer and open programs without thinking.
I have to know.
I have to see.
I tap into the nearest street cam feed.
She’s outside her building.
Standing on the curb.
Purse clutched tight in both hands.
A black car idles at the curb.
High-end.
Tinted windows.
Who the fuck?—
She shifts on her feet—nervous—and then pulls the door open.
Climbs inside like it’s something she does every day.
My gut knots.
I switch feeds fast.
Jumping cameras like stepping stones across the city.
Track the car down Allegheny Avenue.
Past Broad Street.
Heading south, toward Center City.
I yank up the plate number.
Clean.
Rental company’s legit.
No swaps. No tampering.
It’s the paperwork that stinks.
My jaw ticks as I trace the transaction history .
The renter’s name flashes across the screen—some low-tier corporate ID that means nothing.
Yet.
I dig deeper.
Through two shell companies and a layer of falsified contracts.
Each one scrubbed clean on the surface.
Each one rotting underneath.
What the fuck are you involved in, Lily?
I push harder.
Faster.
Until the real owner flashes up in cold, clean letters across the screen?—
VossCorp.
Ice slices down my spine.
No.
The car cuts across Vine Street Expressway.
Hits 16th.
Drives into the glinting neon of Center City like it belongs there.
I track it all the way to the Bellevue.
It rolls to a smooth stop outside the entrance.
A valet rushes forward.
And Lily steps out.
Smiling.
Always fucking smiling
I rip through the Bellevue’s cyber security like it’s tissue paper.
Hack their cameras. Internal feeds. Guest registries.
None of it matters.
I’m not hunting the system .
I’m hunting her.
The lobby feed stutters—glitching once—before stabilizing.
There she is.
Walking through the gleaming glass doors like a goddamn movie star.
Dress fluttering around her thighs.
Heels clicking softly against the polished floors.
My chest caves in on itself.
White dress.
Loose curls.
That same sunshine smile that wrecks me every time.
She looks…
Ethereal.
Untouchable.
She’s nervous. Or maybe excited.
Tugging at the hem of her dress.
Twisting the tiny purse in her hands.
And then?—
Him.
Tall.
Sharp suit.
Phone in hand, face locked in a tight, distracted frown.
Mother. Fucking. Voss.
Every muscle in my body locks.
She lights up at the sight of him.
The same way she does when she sees me.
Fuck.
Rushes forward—like a fucking puppy desperate for affection .
And then?—
No.
Before I can blink?—
Fuck no.
She presses a kiss to his cheek.
I flinch back from the screen like it burned me.
Voss barely glances up.
Gives her a tight, dismissive smile.
Pats her head once.
Returns to scrolling his fucking phone.
And Lily just beams.
Like he handed her the world instead of indifference.
I shove back from the desk.
Hard enough to rattle the monitors.
“Fuck!”
The monster inside me wakes up snarling.
The lips that kissed me?—
The mouth that whispered for me?—
Just touched him.
The man who took everything.
The man who poisoned my entire fucking life.
It was all a lie.
Her sweetness.
Her smiles.
Her goddamn begging.
All of it.
And maybe—maybe if I carve the weakness out of myself right now, I can salvage what’s left of my mission.
Of my goddamn dignity.
My phone buzzes against the desk.
I snatch it up.
From S.
Fight Night. 10PM. Don’t flake, dickhead.
Good.
Perfect timing.
I kill the feed with a single keystroke. Watch her disappear, like I will from her life.
I stumble to the cabinet.
Rip the bottle off the back shelf without looking.
The first mouthful burns.
The second numbs.
The third hits hard enough to make the room tilt.
A third the bottle’s gone before I stop feeling.
I slump back against the wall.
Bottle in one hand.
Breath sawing out of me.
Silent.
Seething.
Breaking.
Because no matter how much I drink?—
No matter how much I try to kill it?—
She’s still there.
Glowing.
Laughing.
Kissing the hand that wrote my fucking death sentence.
And I can’t get her out of my fucking head.
My fucking weakness.
I kill the feed.
Rip the cord from the terminal like it might tear out the part of me that still fucking cares.
But it doesn’t.
It never fucking does.
Because when I blink?—
She’s still there.
Frozen behind my eyes.
Laughing like I hung the goddamn stars for her.
Smiling like she was mine.
Touching him like she wasn’t.
I tip the bottle back.
More fire.
More numb.
I thumb through the still images in my mind.
Screenshots I didn’t mean to take.
Moments I didn’t mean to keep.
Not intentionally.
Lily.
In the doorway.
Smiling like I gave her the world just by showing up.
Lily.
Curled against my chest.
Breathing me in like she belongs there.
Like she’s always been there.
Lily.
On her knees.
Mouth stretched around my cock.
Eyes shining up at me like I’m something worth worshipping.
I slam the bottle down. The table shudders. Everything on it rattles like it’s about to collapse faster than my fucking world.
Fuck.
Fuck!
I rake both hands through my hair and grip the roots hard .
Digging nails into my scalp.
Trying to carve the sickness out—her out.
This should be enough.
It should be all the fucking proof I need that she’s just another knife aimed at my heart.
But it doesn’t sit right.
It doesn’t fit.
The way she looked at him.
The way he barely looked back.
The way she beamed like a starved dog finally thrown the scent of a bone.
The way he dismissed her like she wasn’t even there.
The bottle hits my lips again before I know it.
Another swallow.
Another curse burns through my limbs.
It doesn’t make sense.
None of it fucking makes sense.
If she’s his?—
If she’s part of him?—
Then why does she look like she’s breaking just trying to get his attention?
I stare at the black screen.
At my reflection.
Eyes dead.
Mouth set in a hard, unforgiving line.
It doesn’t make sense.
And like the fucking idiot I am?—
I reach for her again.
I flick back to the surveillance grid.
Find her .
Of course I do.
I always fucking do.
She likes the sun and my eyes are stuck in her gravitational pull.
She’s still at the Bellevue.
Still tucked off to the side of the ballroom.
Still glowing like she’s belongs—even though she doesn’t fit.
Not really.
And considering the company she’s keeping, that’s a fucking compliment.
She stands a little behind Voss.
Not beside him.
Not part of the conversations.
Smiling when people laugh around her—at her.
Missing the way their eyes flick past like she’s invisible.
I zoom in.
Watch the way she fidgets with the strap of her purse.
The way she looks toward Voss every few seconds—like she’s waiting for permission to exist.
The fire in my chest cracks.
I hate that he has that much fucking power over her.
I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
And because I’m weak?—
Because I’m ruined?—
I do the dumbest fucking thing imaginable.
I pull up her number.
Thumb hovering over the keyboard.
A beat.
A breath.
And then?—
Where are you, Lily?
I watch.
Frozen.
The message hits her phone.
Her whole face lights up like sunrise.
Big, brilliant smile.
Like someone just handed her the fucking world.
Like I’m the reason happiness exists for her.
I almost look away.
Almost shut it down.
But then?—
Dominic?
Pops up on my screen.
Her message. Small. Hopeful.
I clench my jaw so hard it aches.
Yes.
Her mouth tips up at the corners.
Soft.
Secret.
I watch her type—slow, careful.
I’m out with my daddy. He likes me to attend his company’s parties. He’s very proud of me.
Her father—he’s her father.
The rest is a lie. Obviously.
She’s not pride.
She’s a prop.
Only worth a smile when the cameras are rolling.
And I see now why she’s the way she is.
Survival looks different for everyone.
She stares at the phone, waiting for my response.
I smash two words out with my thumbs.
I see.
It’s not enough.
It’s fucking nothing.
But she beams anyway.
Like I handed her the stars.
She types again?—
I miss you.
And I can’t.
I can’t answer that.
Not when I’m sitting here watching her serve herself up to a man who doesn’t even see her.
Not when every instinct I have is screaming to rip the world apart for her.
I don’t respond.
I just watch her.
Watch her stare at her phone.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Breaking.
Finally, after minutes that feel like years, she slips the phone back into her little bag.
Straightens her shoulders.
Pastes that bright, blinding smile back onto her face like armor.
But I saw it.
The crack.
The loneliness clawing under her skin.
The way her lip trembled before she caught it.
Voss approaches.
I shift the feed.
Tap into her mic.
Noise at first—clinking glasses, laughter, distant music?—
But then:
“Lilian, you’ve served your purpose. It’s time for you to go home.”
She straightens like she’s been yanked by invisible strings.
Still smiling.
Still trying.
“Okay, Daddy. I thought dinner was in a few minutes?”
Cold silence.
Barely a glance.
“It is. Go home, Lilian.”
Dismissed.
Thrown away like trash.
She watches him walk away.
Father of the fucking year.
Stands there.
Small.
Soft.
Still fucking smiling.
And then—so quiet, so raw, it guts me?—
“Okay. Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.”
No one answers.
No one even looks back.
As Lilian Voss turns.
Walks away.
Still smiling.
Still fucking breaking.
Fucking hell.
Most of the bottle’s gone.
Still doesn’t feel like enough.
Still feels like her lips are burned into my skin.
I sit back, watching the screen.
Watching her.
Because cutting her out didn’t stick.
Couldn’t stick.
I’m in too deep.
It’s been an hour since she left that hotel.
An hour since she smiled at him with stars in her eyes and he dismissed her with nothing more than a flick of his wrist.
An hour since the same lips that’ve touched my skin kissed his.
I should stop.
I want to stop.
And I would. If I could.
Instead, I pull up her apartment cams.
There she is.
Tiny. Barefoot.
Moving around her shitty little kitchen like nothing happened.
She heats up a can of soup .
Some cheap, sad thing that looks more like dirty water than the fine dining she’d been anticipating for dinner.
Sits down at her tiny kitchen table.
Eats in silence.
No one calls. No friends. No dates.
Just her and Oley.
Alone.
The spoon trembles in her hand.
I watch her put it down halfway to her mouth, untouched.
She checks her phone.
Hope flickers across her face.
Fragile. Breakable.
But nothing’s there.
The hope dims.
She sets the phone down.
Scratches behind Oley’s ears.
Buries her face in his fur like she’s trying to disappear.
When she pulls back?—
It almost looks like she’s been crying.
But when she blinks, the mask’s already back in place.
Bright.
Unbreakable.
Fucking devastating.
I did that. That’s the kind of power she’s given me.
My fingers tighten around the bottle until the glass groans.
I don’t think.
I just move.
Pull my phone from my pocket.
Thumb hovers over the screen.
For a second, I almost put it down.
Almost leave her to her loneliness.
But I’m not that strong.
Not when it comes to her.
I type before I can stop myself.
Goodnight, little angel.
Seconds later, her phone lights up.
Her face lights up with it.
Soft.
Wide-eyed.
She reads the message like it’s the only thing that matters in her world.
She whispers something against Oley’s fur.
I don’t hear it.
I don’t have to.
Because when she curls up on the couch—tiny, exhausted, clutching that cat like he’s her only lifeline—and the smile feels real?—
What she said doesn’t even matter.
I set the bottle down.
Let my head fall back against the wall.
Close my eyes.
And drown myself in the fucking guilt.
I sit there.
Breathing.
Thinking.
Failing.
Drinking.
The bottle’s nearly gone .
Her last text still burns against my retinas.
I miss you.
The little cracks in her well-crafted mask when I didn’t message back.
I wanted the power to shatter her.
Ruin her.
Break her completely.
I have it.
So why can’t I walk away now?
Unless I gave her the same power.
To Voss’s fucking daughter?
His goddamn spawn?
The guilt curdles into something worse.
Until all I can see is her stupid, fucking wistful smile as she kissed Daddy Dearest’s cheek.
As she stared up at him like he was her entire fucking world.
I shove back from the desk.
Empty bottle in one hand.
Other hand moving before I know what I’m doing.
Opening folders I swore I’d never open again.
Old ones.
Buried under layers of encryption.
The ones that hold the truth.
The ugly, broken truth of why I became the monster I am.
I pull up the file.
The one marked: VOSS LAB INCIDENT – 1ST GEN TRIAL .
Click it open.
Static crackles across the screen.
The time-stamp ticks in the corner.
I don’t fast-forward.
I want to feel it.
I deserve to feel it.
The footage starts.
White.
Sterile.
A lab built for gods playing with mortal weapons.
My parents stand in the lab.
A group of men dressed all in black enter.
Something’s thrown.
Greenish gas floods the room.
The alarms wail.
Doors seal.
I watch my father claw at his throat.
I watch my mother crumple to the floor.
I watch their bodies dissolve into slush—skin sloughing, muscles liquefying—screaming the entire time.
All while the cameras record every fucking second.
My heart stops.
My stomach turns.
My vision tunnels.
But then?—
Something new.
Something I never saw before.
A reflection.
Faint.
Almost invisible.
On the steel cabinet behind the chaos .
I freeze the frame.
Squint.
Lean closer.
Hands trembling.
There.
A figure.
Not Voss.
Someone else.
Maybe one of the other scientists?
A woman.
Hand against a glass partition.
As if her whole world is on the other side.
Screaming.
Sobbing.
Begging for something.
I drill deeper.
Hack into the old archives—files Voss thought he deleted.
Pull up a second feed.
Another angle.
Clearer.
The woman with her hand on the glass.
Trying to offer comfort even while she’s literally falling apart?—
And on the other side of the thick containment wall?—
A child.
Tiny.
Frozen.
No more than six years old.
Two dark pigtails.
Tear- streaked cheeks.
A stuffed otter crushed against her chest like it’s the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
Her little hand pressed to the opposite side of the dying woman’s.
The woman isn’t screaming for the scientists.
She’s screaming for the little girl.
Her daughter.
The girl is watching.
Trapped.
Tucked away in the little glass box.
Watching.
Silently breaking.
My breath catches.
A lone tear slides down my cheek.
No child should ever have to see that.
It’s bad enough watching it now.
As an adult.
I can’t imagine living it as a kid.
And the girl?—
She just sits there.
And her eyes?—
I freeze the frame.
Stare at it.
Stare straight into my fucking damnation.
I know those eyes.
I’ve memorized every goddamn fleck of them.
The breath leaves my lungs in a broken choke.
The bottle slips from my hand.
Shatters against the floor.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
I just sit there.
Staring.
Bleeding out from the inside.
Knowing only one thing for sure?—
I’m already too fucking late.