Chapter 14 Serena
Ifinish gushing about my most recent text exchange with My Masked Valentine to Kerrigan over a quick lunch, and she listens with hearts in her eyes.
The thing about my friendship with Kerrigan is that we don’t have secrets and we don’t believe in TMI. No information is too private or too anything when it comes to us.
“Ahh, you’re in loooove.” Kerrigan swoons, her hands clasped and tucked between her shoulder and neck. “I guess God really does have favorites.”
I roll my eyes, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “Oh, stop it. I am not.”
The ache in my chest that only exists when I think of him thrums intensely, my cheeks burning in response. I like him, more than I think I’m even ready to accept, but I’m not ready to say love, not until I see his face and know who he really is.
My phone buzzes on my desk, and my heart skips a beat before I even lift my hand and flip it over.
It’s a message from my dad.
Dad: Still planning on being your dad’s date to the gala tomorrow?
My heart expands, and a smile tugs at my lips.
I love him so much. I know that I’m his lifeline, and I’m honored to do my part.
I’ve been his built-in date my entire life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
He’s the best dad in the world, and even though he’d never admit it, I know that having me at his side makes the night a little easier for him.
He’s going to have to watch everyone and their partner enjoy the evening while he’ll be remembering his late wife, my mother. No matter how much time has passed, I still find the same painful sadness in his eyes that I’ve seen since my childhood.
If my dressing up and sitting through a fancy dinner, speeches, and auction brings him an ounce of comfort and happiness, then I’m honored to be there.
I wouldn’t miss it
Dad: Want me to pick you up? Or I can send a car
Whatever’s easier. Or I can get a cab
Dad: No, scratch that. I’ll pick you up
Sounds good. How’s your day going?
Dad: Pretty good. Just getting ready to head into a meeting. Call you later?
Sounds great. I love you
Dad: I love you too
I set my phone down as Kerrigan tells me about this hot guy’s application she just came across.
“Is it wrong if I match him with me?” she asks, studying his pictures on her phone. I can practically see her planning their future together in her eyes.
“Ethically? Yes.” I laugh after stating the obvious, which she already knows.
She groans. “Ugh. Come on.”
I pat her leg. “Sorry, babe.”
“But, hypothetically …” She pauses, waiting until I meet her gaze again. “If I met him organically and we hit it off …”
I glare at her. “Organically, as in … truly organically, or manipulated with the information you’re reading in his file right now? Like, oopsies, I ran into him at his favorite restaurant, gym, and job.”
Her lip curls with disgust. “How dare you accuse me of crossing unprofessional lines like that. Just rude, Serena. Uncalled for.”
My laugh bubbles into my nose, morphing into a snort. “Shut up. You know damn well that behind those innocent eyes, you’re already scheming.”
She taps her fingertips together like an animated villain. “You know nothing.”
My phone vibrates again, and I ignore her, checking it. I expect it to be my dad since we were just texting, but it’s him.
My Masked Valentine: Going to a gala?
You don’t miss anything, do you?
My Masked Valentine: Not when it comes to you
I’m never going to be able to plan surprises for you
My Masked Valentine: You don’t ever need to surprise me with anything
Only you get to have all the fun?
My Masked Valentine: My fun always includes you
So generous
My Masked Valentine: I aim to please the people
I don’t know why, but I feel oddly jealous at his words, of thinking that everyone might get this level of attention from him. I’ve never questioned his dedication and loyalty to me. But I think it’s just human nature to want some reassurance every once in a while.
Everyone?
My Masked Valentine: You know the answer to that question but if you want my reassurance …
My Masked Valentine: You’re the only person in this entire fucking world I think about. I’m only yours just like you’re only mine.
My Masked Valentine: I spend every second of the day watching, listening, and thinking of you. I don’t have time or reason to pay anyone else a sliver of attention
A burst of pain on my bottom lip makes me realize how hard I’m biting down, and I quickly let up. My stomach flutters and flips as I reread his messages before responding.
So intense
My Masked Valentine: You know what else should be intense?
What?
My Masked Valentine: Your water intake because you didn’t even finish your bottle last night. I’m going to need to see you drink at least two of those today
I start typing out a message, telling him to mind his business, but his next text beats me to it.
My Masked Valentine: Don’t even think about being a brat
That only makes me want to be a brat even harder
My Masked Valentine: I’m well aware
My Masked Valentine: Back to the gala. Who are you going with? What’s it for?
I thought you knew everything
My Masked Valentine: I can find out. Trust me. I was just hoping you might save me the work
Hmm …
He goes silent for a moment, and my heart starts to sink that my attitude may have scared him off, but he responds after a few minutes.
My Masked Valentine: You’re going with your dad to the Saint Paul Sinners charity gala. Tomorrow. 7 p.m. He’s picking you up.
Jesus Christ, how did you figure that out so quickly?
My Masked Valentine: Are we answering questions now or should I evade that one like you did to mine?
Fair play
Creep
My Masked Valentine: you are just begging for it today, aren’t you?
no comment
My Masked Valentine: Get a dress for the gala?
I did. You’d love it. It’s red. Well, more like a deep burgundy, but still
My Masked Valentine: Now you’re just torturing me on purpose.
My Masked Valentine: I know you’re going to look so beautiful. Send me pictures when you’re ready.
I will <3
I’m exhausted by the time I get home, a little after five p.m. The day wasn’t overly hard or stressful, but I’m just drained by the time I shut the front door behind me.
I lower Freddie to the ground, and he trots off on his own, on a mission of some sort as he heads into the kitchen with purpose, his nose to the ground.
I kick my boots off and hang my coat and purse up, a shiver running through my shoulders because of the drastic temperature change, going from the chilly winter outside to my warm abode.
February is setting some cold records this month. As much as I love the coziness of the snow, I’m excited for it to start warming up a little bit.
A yawn takes all my remaining energy as I lazily stride upstairs, my legs dragging beneath me. I turn into my room and flick my light on.
Uneasiness raises the hair on the back of my neck, and it takes me a moment to register the sensation. Something’s different here.
There was a basket of laundry by my bed that I needed to put away. But it’s definitely not there now. The basket’s in the corner, empty, and I immediately know who the culprit is.
Thank you, Mystery Man.
There are totally pros to having a stalker—at least my stalker. Laundry done, dishes done, occasional clean house, warm vehicle … I could go on. A girl could get used to this princess treatment.
The one downfall is selling your privacy and sanity because if I didn’t know about the masked man who watches me, I would totally gaslight myself into thinking it was some weird ghost, obsessed with cleaning my house.
But instead of believing in the supernatural, I believe that this unknown man only wants what’s good for me when he breaks into my home.
If you had repeated that sentence to me a month ago, I would’ve laughed and said I’d prefer the ghost. The similarities between the two don’t elude me.
He is a ghost in his own right. Coming and going as he pleases, never lifting the veil between our worlds.
I know part of the allure of this entire situation is the secrecy, but at some point, that’s not going to be enough for me. The mask is going to have to come off one day.
The air shifts, the temperature at my back warming. I react too late. Run too late.
He’s already making his move, and I’m simply prey, caught in his crosshairs.
A shriek tears through me, instantly silenced by a warm palm before I even realize what’s happening, and the room slips into darkness. Rapidly, I open and close my eyes in the pitch-black, trying to figure out if there’s no light or if my vision is somehow being blocked.
Suddenly, a soft red glow casts over the room. It’s coming from behind me … from his mask.
He takes something into his hand. It brushes my lips as he lowers his grasp to my neck.
His other hand grabs my hip, keeping me in place as something cold and sharp settles against my throat.
It registers instantly.
His knife.
“Shh, shh, shh.” His deep, sultry voice invades my ear, warm breath caressing the shell. “We wouldn’t want your neighbors to call the cops on us, would we, Little Cupid?”
I can’t manage a single word. I’m barely breathing as is.
My nerves are violently erratic, my heart hammering out of my chest as I try to calm my mind, to convince it I’m not in any real danger. But it can’t understand it, still on edge, like a real intruder is in my home.
But that’s part of the rush, isn’t it? Knowing deep down that I’m safe but experiencing the adrenaline as if I weren’t. It’s a fine line but one that I love walking with him.
That’s why fantasies are fantasies. If a random man did this to me, I would fight like hell and call the cops.
But I’m not truly scared, nor do I feel like my life is in danger.
Kinks and fantasies are a way to explore desires, and they should be done with people you can trust and in a safe environment.
His blade shifts on my neck, and I’m thankful it’s not super sharp because, otherwise, I would be bleeding right now.