CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
LILA
The sight before me will be imprinted in my mind forever. My watch buzzes, a sharp vibration against my wrist, reminding me that my heart is racing. But this isn’t panic fueling my adrenaline. It’s something else.Something forbidden.
The music pulses through the speakers, amplifying the tension in the air, making the scene before me feel even more exotic.
The bedroom is drenched in deep, sensual shadows, where darkness and elegance intertwine.
A towering black upholstered headboard dominates the space, its luxurious bedding a siren’s call, luring anyone reckless enough to sink into its embrace.
On the nightstand, a crystal vase overflows with fresh, full, and almost too vivid red roses, which stand out against the moody palette.
Above the bed, a skylight allows a sliver of moonlight and stars to seep in, casting silver streaks across the silk sheets.
Velvet curtains cascade in dramatic waves behind the bed, framing the space like a stage because that’s what this feels like.
A private performance.
This is a room built for secrets. A hideaway from reality.
And at the center of it all, a blonde is on her knees in the center of the room, her long braid threaded with tiny purple flowers, a delicate gold tiara glinting on her head.
She’s dressed in a lavender strapless corset, a ruffled princess skirt hugging her curves as she takes him into her mouth, inch by inch.
She’s beautiful.
And I’m wet. Soaking wet for what’s in front of me .
She lifts her head, looking up at the dark silhouette as a low, masculine, haunting hum spills into the room. It slides down my spine like silk and leaves me desperate for more. I’m frozen, completely under its spell.
Who is she? Who is he?
She rises slowly, every movement graceful, as something sharp and electric stirs in the air. And then I see it.
She is me. There I am, standing before him. The Phantom. The man who feels like every wicked thought I’ve ever craved and every secret I’ve buried about myself. What I want in a man. What I ache for when no one’s watching.
He watches me with a hunger so raw it steals the breath from my lungs. I take a slow step forward. He matches it. The tension between us pulls tighter, a thread straining to snap. I tilt my chin toward him, body quivering for his touch.
He leans in, unhurried and deliberate, his mouth hovering just above mine. So close I can taste the heat of him. So close I can feel his breath brush against my lips.
“Please,” I beg silently. His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from my face with aching tenderness. A touch so soft it feels like a vow.
RING.
RING.
RING.
I jolt awake, blinking hard at the blinding daylight pouring into my studio. Disoriented. Shaking. I fumble for the sound, reaching blindly across the bed. It’s not the alarm. It’s a phone call. I squint at the screen.
Aster.
“Why do you always wake me up right before the kiss?” I mutter, voice rough and cracked.
“Uh, what the hell are you still doing in bed? It’stwo o’clock! ”
“Making my deepest fantasies come true,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Since real-life dick is clearly off the table. I’ve been surviving on sex dreams until you cockblocked me in my sleep.”
Aster giggles. “Oh, hun. That’s about to change tonight. Do you even remember what today is?” She lowers her voice to a sing-song whisper. “Leooooon day.”
My stomach drops.
Oh God. It’s the day.
But something inside me stays numb. Heavy. Like I’m not ready. Like I’m watching myself from the outside. Like, I’m not even real.
Everything feels muted. Distant. I don’t know how I am supposed to feel. Or if I even can. It’s like I’ve left my own body. Like I’m floating. Disconnected. Desensitized.
“Ugh, do I have to go? I don’t think I’m up for it today…”
“Something else is going to be up tonight…” Aster giggles.
“Seriously, Aster. I think I’m going to cancel. I don’t even have anything to wear and—”
“I’m sending it over now. Be ready by9:00 pm.”
“No, I’m not wearing your slutty clothes—!”
CLICK.
“Hello? Hello?”
She hung up on me.
“Ughhh!” I groan, flopping back onto the bed in complete dramatic frustration. I turn my head toward the vent, where the tiny camera still blinks quietly. “I’m going back to the club tonight,” I mutter. “If you’re really done with me… don’t show up.”
I stare at the ceiling. “Let me get over your toxic nonsense,” I whisper, like he’s sitting right beside me .
These men will be the death of me.
I practically peel myself off the bed.
Why did I dream about the Phantom? Those crystal-clear blue eyes still linger behind my eyelids. He’s not real. He can’t be. But that hum… it was the same one I heard from the Red Mask. Maybe, deep down, I want them to be the same person?
It was just a dream, Lila. No reason to overanalyze.
I shuffle into my tiny kitchen, where the counters are stained and the fridge groans with age. I pull my hair free from its messy bun, my fingers catching in the knots. God, I need a shower. Maybe even a shave.
As if I’ll actually get lucky tonight. Honestly, I’ve practically thrown myself at these men and still ended up alone. I hook my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and crank the only song that feels right, “Busy Woman” by Sabrina Carpenter.
The beat pulses through the space as I stomp around in my satin nightgown, barefoot and wild-haired, singing like a woman unhinged and ready for revenge. I open the fridge and freeze. It’s full. Stocked with food like it belongs to someone else’s life. I bite my lip, staring.
Kage. Damn him.
I grab strawberries and blueberries. Then, because I’m still me, I reach for the Honey Nut Cheerios. Add the fruit. Add the milk. I’ve lived like this for so long. It would feel wrong to eat anything else but cereal. But the fruit is a nice touch. One I could get used to.
A knock rattles the door. Sharp. Impatient.
I open it to find Aster’s assistant standing there, looking frantic and frazzled.
Her long black hair is twisted up in a gold clip.
Her tailored black suit hugs every curve.
The white blouse beneath it is marked with a coffee stain, probably from whatever chaos her morning started with.
"Sarah, are you good?" I ask.
"She’s got me running today, Lila."
"I’ll call her and tell her to go easy on you. Maybe mention you looked really stressed."
She smiles. "Thank you! She’s driving me nuts today. I think she’s on her period, but have fun tonight… wear protection!" She gives me a wink and a wave before disappearing down the stairs.
I was expecting a shoebox or something small. Instead, it’s a full garment bag with a note stuck to the hanger. “Break out of your cocoon and let your wings or legs spread tonight. Love, Aster.”
I unzip it slowly, and my jaw actually drops.
It’s… a butterfly. Not just a top, a sculpted, iridescent butterfly molded in delicate pastels, like it was pulled straight from a fairytale rave.
Its wings shimmer in purples, pinks, and opal blues, the colors shifting with every angle.
Crystals and pearls snake up from the bodice, curling around an invisible halter that drapes over the shoulders.
It looks like it was made for a goddess with a grudge and a hit list of every man who ever let her go.
The skirt, if you can even call it that, is made of soft, pearled chiffon that hugs the hips with draped pearl chains and sequins that catch the light like stars. It’s ethereal. Dangerous. Too beautiful to be real.
Too beautiful for someone like me.
I hold it up against myself and stare in the mirror. I look like I belong in a fantasy.
My phone buzzes. One new message.
THE RED MASK: Wear it. I want to see you fly .
He’s watching. He knows where I’m going. Which means… he’ll see me there.