CHAPTER TWENTY
LILA
The smell of coffee hits my nose. I inhale deeply, hoping it will kickstart my energy. I couldn’t sleep. Not after that text. Not with the thought of him having my number and knowing my every move.
The Red Mask haunts my every thought, every breath I take.
I’ve been near him four times now, and each time, his presence consumes me.
Like smoke in my lungs, and I can’t exhale.
Like a fire that takes hold of every nerve in my body and refuses to let go.
But last night, I ignored his message on purpose.
I wanted him to come find me. To get angry. To punish me. But nothing. No double text. No knock at my door. Just silence. Ugh… not exactly how I pictured my sleepless night.
Lying in bed, waiting for a masked, raging psycho to come stomping through the door. For his hand to wrap around my throat like a collar made of pure desire. For us to push and pull, claw and crave, knowing sleep was never part of the plan. Just sweat, teeth, and lips. All. Night. Long.
“Good morning. Welcome to Heartford Cypher International. Do you need assistance with anything?”
I snap out of my thoughts. The doorman, a kind, older man with warm eyes, smiles at me.
Sadly, he probably took this job because retirement no longer covers the bills.
Between groceries, medicine, and rent, people are barely surviving.
Inflation has gutted the middle and lower classes.
In New York alone, homelessness has doubled in a year.
Most people can’t afford to stop working.
So, we keep going. Not to live, but to survive.
Inflation is cruel like that, and it doesn’t matter if we’re young or old, healthy or sick.
I watched it happen to my parents as it took and took, until our home was gone and there was nothing left to steal but who we were. My heart breaks looking at his smile, because I see straight through it.
“No, sir, thank you, though. Today’s my first day, and I’m a little nervous. Do you have any advice for doing well here?”
He smiles and gently pats my shoulder. “Darling, stay true to who you are. Because if you don’t… they’ll always find out what’s buried deep within your soul.”
The words send shivers up my spine. Each syllable sounds sinister.
They… Who? Beck and Kage? Someone else?
“Oh… well, ummm, thank you, sir. Have a wonderful day!” I walk away quickly, nerves prickling my skin as I try to shake off those chilling words.
Am I supposed to be scared? Should I fear them? Beck seems kind. He appears to be the type who would give someone the shirt off his back without a second thought. But Kage? Now that’s a different story.
I reach the gold elevators and watch as the numbers tick down from fifteen to one.
Each blink feels like a countdown to my own personal downfall.
My stomach tightens. My heart climbs into my throat, making it hard to swallow.
I’ve never been good at making friends, especially not at the Academy. Poverty made me invisible.
But I’m an adult now, so there’s no reason to feel like I can’t make friends… Still, the pain lingers like a bruise on my soul. Waiting to be rejected. To be ostracized by my peers.
Shit. I’m so pathetic .
The elevator opens, and I slide into the corner, hoping I’ll blend into the gold reflection. I look down and press floor ten as it lights up. Then I catch a figure entering my peripheral vision. I shove my anxiety down. “Good morning!” I say, overly perky.
“Oh God, not you…” He mutters, stepping back as if he can escape, but it’s too late. The doors close like a coffin lid. Perfect. Now it’s just me and Kage… the asswipe.
“Don’t you have a private elevator, so you don’t have to associate with peasants?” I ask, turning to look up at this sexy, arrogant son of a bitch.
His green supernovas burn into mine. “I do. But unfortunately, maintenance is working on it. So, I have to ride with you.” He looks me up and down like I’m a disease he doesn’t want to catch.
But why is there a flicker of heat in my lower belly? Why do I want to touch him? No. Ew. Absolutely not. I’m not turned on by him. That would be an abomination, Lila.
I cross my arms. “What the hell is your problem?”
He freezes, then a slow, dangerous smirk curves at his mouth. He reaches behind me and stops the elevator. We hang suspended between two floors. The lights hum quietly above us, and the world outside fades away.
My heart freezes the moment the elevator does. Then it starts pounding like it knows exactly what’s coming or what it’s secretly hoping for.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He just watches me. And somehow, that’s worse. The silence stretches into something sharp. Something forbidden. I feel it all over my skin. Prickling. Tingling. Like the ground trembling before an earthquake.
Then he steps forward. Not fast. Not aggressive. Just slow and certain. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, my back presses against the mirrored wall. I try to hold still, but I can’t. I feel every inch of his presence closing in on mine.
He moves like the Grim Reaper. Cold. Deliberate.
Like he’s here to steal something vital.
Like a man who doesn’t need to ask. Like a man who always gets what he wants.
And right now, he’s looking at me like I might be it.
And I hate how much my body responds to him.
My eyes drag down his frame before I can stop them.
The black Prada suit he’s wearing outlines his every defined muscle.
It hugs his chest, his shoulders, his thighs.
But something is off with it… There are creases in the fabric near his chest, as if someone had clung to him.
Like someone needed him the way I’m afraid I do.
His shirt is white. Crisp. Clean. But the collar is open.
The top button is undone, revealing just a hint of golden skin beneath.
His tie hangs low, loose, and slightly crooked. It appears to have been tugged on.
At least one of us is getting some.
I swallow hard, the knot forming in my throat. His hair is a mess of soft brown waves, tousled just enough to look like it's effortlessly messy… or like someone ran their fingers through it while moaning his name. A flicker of desire pulses where it shouldn’t.
He’s probably married.
I glance down, searching for a ring, but his hands stay buried in his pockets.
Dammit.
His jaw is sharp, covered in the kind of stubble that would leave marks on your thighs if you let it.
His lips are full, smooth, and unapologetic.
But what draws me in most is the small freckle on the upper right side of his lip.
They are parted just slightly, like he is already imagining saying something filthy, even though he hates me, even though he seems to live just to torment me.
His scent hits me next. Sandalwood and something warmer beneath it. Something masculine. Clean. Expensive. There’s no smoke. No leather. No spearmint. At least I know he’s not the Red Mask.
Thank God.
He doesn’t touch me. Not yet. But he doesn’t have to.
The tension between us is already alive.
Already throbbing in the space we haven’t closed.
I blink, trying to find my voice, trying to breathe.
He stops just inches away. His eyes burn into mine.
Green fire. Pure control. And I know if he so much as touches my wrist, I will come undone.
Right here. Right now. In a gold elevator between two floors.
And the worst part? I think he knows it.
I don’t want him. I don’t want him. Idon’twant him.
He cages me in with his arms, one on either side of my head, palms flat against the elevator wall. Not touching. Not speaking. Just hovering, like he’s daring me to move first. His breath stays steady. Controlled. Mine’s anything but that. My pulse is pounding in my ears. My skin buzzes.
This can’t be attraction. It’s fear. It has to be fear.
But fear doesn’t make your thighs clench.
“You’re my problem, Lila.” The way he says my name is slow, like he’s savoring it.
It makes my stomach tighten. No one should sound like that.
Not someone who looks at me like I’m beneath him.
My breaths come shallow and uneven while the air is charged with tension.
This elevator isn’t just small. It feels like it’s closing in around me.
Like it’s pressing me into him. Or maybe he’s pressing into me without ever touching me.
He’s so close. Too close. If I leaned forward even an inch, my lips would brush the warm skin of his neck.
And I hate that part of me that wonders how he’d taste .
I should back away. I should tell him to fuck off. Instead, I whisper, “What did I do to you?”
He leans in. His lips hover by my ear. Close enough for me to feel the ghost of his breath trailing along my skin.
My pulse stutters. My knees threaten to give out.
The heat rolling off his body is suffocating.
Not just warmth. Pressure. I don’t move.
I can’t move. Every nerve in my body is pulled tight.
Screaming for contact. One inch. That’s all it would take.
One inch and I’d feel his mouth on my skin.
And God help me, I want it. Just a little. Just enough to ruin me.
“You exist.” He presses the button. The elevator jolts.
We’re moving again. It’s not until the doors open that I realize I’m breathless.
My chest is heaving. My body is trembling.
My heart is a complete traitor. I shove his arm aside and step out.
Like, I’m not seconds away from collapsing to my knees.
Like I’m not drenched in confusion, heat, and shame.
As I walk away, I feel him watching me. Silent. Unapologetic. I don’t look back. But then I hear him speak.
“Careful, Lila… You’re starting to interest me.”