EPILOGUE #2
And then she smiles.
Not a flirtatious smile. Not calculated or performative or designed to get something from him.
Just... genuine. Sweet. The kind of smile that suggests she's actually sorry for bumping into him and wants to make sure he's okay.
In a room full of vipers and Elites and people wearing masks, Hazel Bloom smiles at Landon Ashford with nothing but honest kindness.
"I'm such a klutz." She laughs at herself, the sound self-deprecating but not bitter. "Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Landon doesn't respond. Just stares at her with those teal-blue eyes that are usually so carefully empty.
Except they're not empty now.
They're... softening. Widening. Something happening behind them that makes my blood run cold.
"Here." Hazel holds up one of the lilies she was arranging. The gesture is innocent. Childlike. "Do you want a flower? They're really pretty and they smell amazing."
She's offering a flower to a man who murdered someone with a fountain pen. Who threatened to kill my mother with the same pleasant smile he's wearing right now. Who is fundamentally incapable of normal human emotion.
And Landon—
Landon slowly reaches out. Takes the lily from her hand. His fingers brush hers for a fraction of a second.
"Thank you," he says quietly. His voice is different. Softer. Almost... gentle.
"You're welcome!" Hazel beams at him. "I'm Hazel, by the way. Hazel Bloom. I'm Aurora's friend."
"Landon." He's still holding the lily. Still staring at her. "Landon Ashford."
"Nice to meet you!" She gives him one more smile—genuine, warm, completely oblivious to the danger standing in front of her—and turns to walk back toward the kitchen counter.
The moment her back is turned, everything changes.
Landon's pleasant expression shatters. The warmth drains from his eyes, replaced by something dark and hungry and absolutely terrifying.
He stares after her. Watches her walk away with those slightly clumsy steps, humming softly to herself as she arranges more flowers.
And then—slowly, deliberately—a smile spreads across his face.
Not the warm, charming smile he shows the world. Not the pleasant mask he wears for Liam.
This smile is dark. Sinister. The kind of expression that belongs on predators right before they strike.
His teal eyes go pitch black. Pupils blown so wide there's barely any color left. Fixed on Hazel with the kind of intensity that makes my stomach drop.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no—"
Aurora tenses in my lap. "What's wrong?"
I can't answer. Can't look away from Landon's face as he slowly lifts the lily to his nose, breathing in the scent while his eyes track Hazel's every movement.
The expression on his face is pure, unadulterated madness.
Not lust like Lucius's—though there's an edge of that underneath. Not obsession like Tristan's calculated pursuit of Iris.
This is something else entirely. Something worse.
Landon Ashford—the golden prince who performs normalcy, who murders without remorse, who threatened my mother with the same tone he uses to discuss the weather—just found something that matters.
Someone who matters.
And I know—with absolute, horrible certainty—what that means.
"Evander." Aurora's voice is urgent now. "What's happening? Why do you look like that?"
"Landon," I manage to say. "He just—"
I can't finish. Don't know how to explain what I'm watching.
Lucius has lust. Raw, aggressive desire that's going to burn him and Skye alive.
Tristan has obsession. Calculated, methodical pursuit that's going to trap Iris in psychological warfare until she breaks.
But Landon—
Landon doesn't fall in love like normal people. Doesn't develop attachments through gradual emotional connection.
A psychopath like Landon doesn't just fall in love.
He imprints. Fixates. Becomes absolutely, violently consumed by the object of his focus.
And right now, watching him stare at Hazel Bloom like she's simultaneously the most precious and most dangerous thing in his universe, I know exactly what's about to happen.
He's going to destroy her. Not intentionally. Not maliciously.
But because that's what Landon does to things he decides to keep. He studies them. Learns them. Controls every variable until they exist in a perfectly constructed cage of his design.
Hazel—sweet, clumsy, genuinely kind Hazel who just smiled at a monster and offered him a flower—has no idea she just became the singular focus of the most dangerous person I know.
Landon's smile widens. His fingers tighten on the lily stem hard enough that I can see white knuckles from across the room.
And then—deliberately, possessively—he lifts the flower to his face again. Breathes in deep. His eyes slide closed for just a second.
When they open, they're locked on Hazel with predatory focus.
She's completely oblivious. Just humming to herself while she arranges flowers, occasionally stumbling over her own feet in that endearing way that would be adorable if it wasn't about to get her consumed by a psychopath.
"We need to warn her," Aurora says quietly. She's figured it out too. Seen the same thing I'm seeing. "Evander, we need to—"
"We can't." I pull her closer against my chest. Protective. Desperate. "Whatever's happening in Landon's head right now—we can't stop it."
"He's going to hurt her."
"Not physically." I say it with certainty. "Landon doesn't hurt the things he decides to keep. He just... owns them. Completely. Until there's nothing left that isn't his."
Across the room, Landon tucks the lily carefully into his suit jacket pocket. Right over his heart. The gesture is deliberate. Possessive.
Then he walks toward the kitchen. Casual. Unhurried. Like he's just getting a drink and not stalking his new obsession.
Hazel looks up as he approaches. Smiles again. "Did you want more flowers? I have extras—"
"No." His voice is soft. Gentle. Absolutely terrifying if you know what to listen for. "I just wanted to thank you properly. For the lily."
"Oh, it's nothing!" She waves it off. "I just thought you might like one. They're my favorite flowers. They mean—" She pauses, slightly embarrassed. "—purity and devotion. Which is kind of cheesy, but I think they're beautiful anyway."
"Purity and devotion." Landon repeats the words slowly. Testing them. "How fitting."
She laughs, not hearing the dark undercurrent. "I guess! Anyway, I should finish these before they wilt—"
"Hazel." The way he says her name makes my blood run cold. Like he's tasting it. Memorizing it. Claiming it. "That's a beautiful name."
"Thank you!" She's flushed slightly now. Flustered by the attention but not uncomfortable. Just... sweet. "My mom loved nature names. Hazel for the tree, Bloom for—well, flowers obviously."
"Perfect." His smile is gentle. Warm. Absolutely nothing like the expression I saw on his face thirty seconds ago. "It suits you."
She beams at the compliment, completely missing the way his eyes have gone dark again. The way his hands are clenched at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for her.
"I should let you get back to your flowers," he says after a moment. "But Hazel?"
"Yeah?"
"Save me a dance later." It's not a question. "Please."
"Oh!" She looks surprised. Pleased. "Sure! I'd like that."
"Good." He reaches out—slowly, carefully, like she might spook—and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch is brief. Gentle. "I'm looking forward to it."
Then he walks away. Heads to the bar where Lucius is still engaged in verbal warfare with Skye. Pours himself a bourbon with perfectly steady hands.
But I see it. The way his eyes keep tracking back to Hazel. The way his jaw is tight. The way he's gripping the glass hard enough that I'm genuinely worried it might shatter.
"Aurora," I say quietly. "When we get married—"
"When?" She turns to look at me. "Not if?"
"When." I say it with absolute certainty.
"When we get married, we're eloping. No big wedding.
No extended family. No chance for any of this—" I gesture at the room, at Lucius and Skye about to either fight or fuck, at Tristan psychologically cornering Iris, at Landon staring at Hazel like she's his new religion, "—to happen at our wedding. "
She laughs despite the tension. "Deal."
I pull her closer. Press my face into her hair. Try to find comfort in the one relationship in this room that isn't actively careening toward disaster.
Because the others?
Lucius is going to burn alive in his lust for Skye. It's going to be explosive and violent and absolutely devastating for both of them.
Tristan is going to trap Iris in psychological warfare until she either breaks or learns to fight back with equal cunning. It's going to be fascinating and terrible in equal measure.
And Landon—
God help us all.
Landon Ashford—the Golden Prince, the psychopath in expensive suits, the man who performs humanity while feeling nothing—just found the one thing that makes him feel.
And he's going to consume her. Completely. Irrevocably.
He's going to study her like a specimen. Learn every detail of her life. Arrange circumstances until she has no choice but to depend on him. Build a cage so perfect she won't even realize she's trapped until it's far too late.
Because that's what psychopaths do when they imprint. They don't fall in love—they become obsessed. They don't build relationships—they construct perfect simulations of relationships where every variable is controlled.
And Hazel Bloom—sweet, kind, genuinely good Hazel—just became the singular focus of that obsession.
I watch Landon across the room. Watch him sip his bourbon while his eyes track Hazel's every movement. Watch the dark smile that keeps pulling at his lips whenever she laughs or stumbles or does anything remotely endearing.
And I know—with horrible, absolute certainty—that we're about to watch the Golden Prince descend into complete madness.
"She has no idea," Aurora whispers. "Does she? She has no idea what he is."
"None." I tighten my arms around her. "She just sees the mask. The pleasant smile. The charming exterior."