CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
LILA
I open the door to my shitty apartment and let my bag drop to the creaky hardwood floor.
I cried the whole way home. It was incredible with Kage, but I was already attached.
And when he rejected me again, it cut deeper than I expected.
It feels like my heart is bleeding. My chest hurts.
The tears behind my eyes haven’t dried yet, which means I can cry more. And I probably will.
Why do I do this to myself? He warned me.
Beck warned me. How could I be so stupid to think I would be different to him?
That I could fix him? What’s crazy is that I broke my own heart by imagining a future he never promised.
He told me not to catch feelings, and I did it anyway.
This is my own fault… my own hell that I have created in my mind.
I slowly undress at the door, trying to shed the night like it never happened. But the scent of him, spearmint and sandalwood, still clings to my skin. I want it gone. I want him gone. My naked body feels exposed now. Insecure. Thoughtless.
I cover my breasts as I walk toward the shower, ashamed. I turn the hot water on and let the steam build, warming the icy bathroom. The heater in this shithole barely works, but for now, the rising steam wraps around me like a false comfort.
I step into the water and close my eyes as it pours over my skin. And still, I imagine him. His kisses. The way it all felt so natural, so right.
“Hey Siri, play Taylor Swift.” My phone shuffles, and of course, it lands on “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart.”
Perfect .
I sink to the floor of the shower and wrap my arms around my legs, pulling them to my chest. I start making up my own lyrics in a sad, off-key tone.
“I am so obsessed with Kage, and he runs from me like I’ve got the plague.” I let out a bitter laugh.
I’m losing it. I’ve officially cracked.
I hear my phone vibrate on the counter…
Maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s apologizing. Maybe he’s about to show up and fuck me into oblivion.
I shoot up and grab the phone, breath catching. But when I see the screen, everything inside me drops.
THE RED MASK: Are you okay?
I throw my head back and laugh.
Of course. Not Kage. Just the other dick in my life. The one who dropped his mask and left me in the dark with nothing but questions. Wow. They have more in common than I thought.
I slam the phone down on the bathroom vanity, hard enough to make the bottles rattle.
Maybe he saw it on one of his creepy little perv cams. I hope he did. I hope it pissed him off.
I grab a towel and wrap it around my goosebump-covered body. I’m cold. But inside, I’m seething with anger.
I am so sick of these punk ass men.
If you want someone, tell them. If you don’t, leave them the hell alone. My phone buzzes again. Ugh.
THE RED MASK: I can see you’re ignoring me.
I snatch it up and stomp to the bed, making sure he sees me crawl under the covers completely naked. Let him look.
THE RED MASK: Okay, you’re pissed. Valid.
LILA: What do you want? Why are you still watching me when you dropped off the face of the earth ?
THE RED MASK: Because I can’t have you, but I care about you. So, this is all I can do. Sit. Watch.
I sit up with a huff, exhausted from these mind games.
I just want honesty. The truth.
LILA: Why can’t you have me?
THE RED MASK: Because I don’t deserve you.
LILA: Isn’t that my decision?
I wait, picking up the phone, then putting it back down. Waiting again. When finally…
THE RED MASK: It was never your choice to carry the weight of who I am.
The words gut me. Not because they’re cruel.
Because they’re heartbreaking. Because some part of him truly believes them.
He doesn’t think he deserves me. He doesn’t believe he’s worthy of love or connection.
He says it like he’s already lost. Like he’s made peace with being alone forever.
I grip the phone tighter, my jaw clenching as a wave of frustration rises in my chest.
LILA: Cut the shit. Who are you?
For a moment, there’s only silence. The kind that presses into your ribs and steals the air. Then the reply lights up the screen.
THE RED MASK: A walking nightmare.
He probably expects me to be scared enough to run, but the past few weeks have been scarier than anything he could say. I laugh at his vagueness because I’m over it. Over him. Over Kage. Over all of it.
I toss a pillow over the vent camera and roll my eyes, slinging the blanket over my head. That’s when I hear a knock at the door.
What the hell? Who could be knocking at 12:30 a.m.?
I stumble to the dresser, grabbing the nearest clothes. My legs are shaking .
I probably shouldn’t open the door, but what do I have to lose? It’s not like anyone would care.
My phone vibrates again on the bed. I ignore it.
Because if he cared, he would be here. And if something were wrong, he would let me know.
He has cameras everywhere in this building.
I grip the old doorknob and turn it. At this point, if it’s Volkov or his men, maybe they’ll put me out of my misery.
But my expression twists into a frown when I see what’s waiting on the other side. A man stands there, holding a massive vase of roses. The arrangement is so big I can’t even see his face behind it. They’re beautiful. But completely eerie.
This is precisely what I meant. Receiving flowers at this time of night is scarier than anything else.
Are they from Kage? Maybe an apology for being an ass. Maybe Leon is trying to ask me on a date in the most dramatic way possible. Or maybe… the Red Mask.
“Special delivery for Lila Anderson?” he asks.
“Umm… thanks. Do you know who they’re from?” I try to sound casual, but my voice gives me away.
The man is tall and broad-shouldered, with skin as dark as midnight and a presence that makes my stomach twist. There’s a slow, sinister curl to his lips.
“There’s a card,” he says. “You’ll have to find out.”
He hands me the flowers. I take them. “Thank you… Sir.”
I shut the door behind me, making sure to lock it, then rush to the bed with my heart pounding. But when I grab my phone, my breath catches. My smile fades into a stern frown. My wristwatch buzzes again with an alert. My limbs go cold. Panic grips me .
THE RED MASK: LILA, DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR! HE COULD HURT YOU.
I drop the phone. Everything spins. I lunge for the flowers, tearing through the bouquet with shaking hands and no breath in my lungs. And there it is. The note.
SNITCHES GET STITCHES, LITTLE BITCH… OR A BULLET.
YOUR DECISION. YOURS TRULY, VOLKOV.