Page 20 of A Smile Full of Lies (Secrets of Stonewood #1)

Chapter

Fourteen

KNOX

She sat across from me like she didn’t know I was watching her.

Like she didn’t feel the weight of my gaze with every sip of coffee, every shift of her fingers around the mug. Like her hands weren’t still trembling, just a little, even though she was trying to hide it.

But I noticed. I noticed everything.

The faint circles of exhaustion under her eyes from lack of sleep. The tension in her jaw. The way her legs were pulled up beneath her like she wasn’t sure whether to bolt or stay.

She didn’t run though. She stayed.

I leaned back against the counter, letting the mug rest against my palm, watching her from under my lashes like she was something I’d hunted and caught, and now my pretty prey didn’t know what to do with her cage.

I didn’t say a word… not yet.

She needed this moment. To breathe. To come down. To realize she was still safe even after watching me tear a man’s career — and a whole company — to pieces in her name.

She’d understand… eventually. This was how I protected what was mine. Quietly. Absolutely.

She tucked her hair behind one ear and glanced up at me, unsure.

I didn’t smile. Instead, I just drank my coffee and let her sit in it.

She didn’t know yet. Not really. That the worst part of all this wasn’t the shut-down. Wasn’t even the obsession.

It was that I’d already planned her next step, and she hadn’t even unwrapped it yet.

I waited until she set her mug down, her fingers tight around the ceramic like she was holding on for balance. She looked like she might flee at any second, but she didn’t. That was enough for me to press.

I reached into the kitchen drawer by my hip, slid open the false back, and pulled out the matte black envelope I’d tucked away yesterday. Heavy. Unmarked. The kind of thing that already carried its own gravity.

Her birthday was October 31. I’d known that for years, logged it away without letting myself use it.

But now? She was under my roof. She’d chosen me over survival, and I couldn’t resist the pull anymore.

My spooky little siren.

Of course she was born on Halloween. Of course the girl who told an anonymous ‘stranger’ on the internet she wanted to be hunted and taken and ruined in the dark had been born under the veil.

I traced my finger over the envelope’s edge, knowing exactly what she’d find inside: the ticket gleaming sleek and foil-etched, her guaranteed VIP entry embedded in the code. Priority access. Staff would know her on sight as a VIP guest.

I could’ve kept her away from it. Could’ve protected her. Instead? I was luring her straight into my world. And this time, she wouldn’t even want to get away — except… maybe she would run for me. And maybe we’d both love every second of the chase.

I held it out to her. She looked at it, looked at me. I just waited.

Slow. Hesitant. Her fingers curled around the envelope like it might bite her.

“It’s not a bomb,” I said, voice low, steady.

She didn’t smile. Just opened the seal with quiet caution, sliding out the thick black card. She eased the card free, her eyes catching on the foil-etched letters.

The Hollowing: An Immersive Haunted Experience at Stonewood Manor.

Her body locked up like she’d been hit and she shot to her feet.

She read it again. And again. Her lips parted.

“No.”

“Yes.”

My tone didn’t waver.

“Jesus, Knox. That’s the house. That’s where it happened.”

“It’s good PR,” I said evenly. “For the book. If you decide to write it.”

Her eyes cut to mine, sharp and wounded.

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“You should. There’s already enough curiosity about my family’s unsolved murder to guarantee it blows up if you write it. Nina wasn’t wrong about that part.”

She flinched, like the weight of it was too much.

“Nina is fucking disgusting for even suggesting that I use you like that. I would never do that to you.”

“It’s not about Nina,” I said, voice low. “She wanted to use me. Twist what happened into clickbait. I’m not giving her that satisfaction. This is different.”

Her brows pinched.

“Different how?”

“Because it’s me asking you.” I leaned in, steady, relentless.

“Because it’s the only way my family’s truth gets told without somebody else cashing in.

You said you wanted to be a writer. You can be.

Not by bleeding me dry for Nina, but by standing with me and telling the story the way it deserves to be told.

Yours. Mine. Ours. Cut her out of it. Own it. ”

She shook her head, clutching the card tighter.

“Knox, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You’re not.” My voice dropped. “I’m giving it to you.

You’d rather starve than betray me — I know that.

You already proved it. That’s why it has to be you.

No one else will handle it with the respect you will.

And it gives you what you’ve always wanted — a book with your name on it, without Nina pulling your strings. ”

I didn’t move.

She looked up at me like I’d just told her I was volunteering for a public execution.

“The book issue aside, I can’t believe you’re letting people into Stonewood Manor. Knox, that’s the house. That’s where the murders happened. ”

“Yes.”

“Jesus.” She shook her head, card still in hand. “You’re staging a haunted house in the place where your entire family was murdered.”

“I know.”

She stared at me like she didn’t recognize the man standing in front of her.

“This isn’t just your trauma,” she said. “It’s a crime scene .”

I leaned against the counter, voice quiet.

“Not anymore. It’s just a house.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

I met her eyes without blinking.

“I won’t be there.”

That was a complete lie, delivered perfectly.

She didn’t speak at first.

Just kept staring at the ticket like it might rewrite itself if she looked long enough. Like the house’s name would disappear. Like I’d take it back.

I didn’t.

“You’re not really okay with this,” she said finally, voice low. “You can’t be.”

I tilted my head.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s Stonewood Manor, Knox. It’s not just another location on a map. Your family ?—”

“Died there,” I finished for her. “I’m aware.”

“You talk about it like it’s just… a venue. ”

“It is.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked like she was trying to breathe underwater.

“I don’t understand how you can be so calm about it.”

I shrugged one shoulder, deliberately casual.

“Maybe I made peace with it.”

“Did you?”

No. Not even close. And if the bastard who gutted my family was still out there watching, maybe this circus would rattle him enough to crawl out of whatever hole he was hiding in. He wouldn’t know it, but I’d be watching and waiting, just in case he made a move.

I gave Ros a quiet smile.

“Does it matter?”

She hesitated.

“Yeah. It does. Because I don’t want to write a book that turns your trauma into clickbait.”

I stepped closer, voice low.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

“This is you owning it. Us owning it. Telling the story before anyone else can twist it.”

Her brows pulled tight.

“I never agreed to?—”

“But you will.”

She blinked.

“You sound awfully sure.”

I gave her a slow smile, the kind that made her forget how to breathe.

“Because you’re not scared of my past, Ros.”

I let the silence stretch.

“You’re scared of what it makes you want.

You’re scared that writing the book means you’re taking advantage of me and my trauma, but it’s not taking advantage if I’m giving you the story, welcoming you in, laying it all bare for you.

You’re scared that writing this book will make you a bad person, like Nina, but that’s not what this is, and you’ll never be like her, Ros. ”

“How can you be so sure I’m not like Nina?”

“You already showed me you’d rather starve than betray me, Ros. That told me everything I need to know.”

She went quiet, the black card trembling between her fingers. Her eyes stayed fixed on the silver lettering, like it might burn her if she looked away.

She turned and faced the kitchen sink, hands braced on the counter, back to me like she needed to hold herself up.

I didn’t make a sound as I closed the space between us. I didn’t have to.

She felt me there. Her shoulders lifted slightly, her head tilted just enough to track my approach.

I moved in behind her, close but not touching. Just enough for her to feel the heat of my body in that inch of space between us. Just enough to make her wonder.

Her breath caught.

“You okay?” I asked, low.

She nodded, but her throat worked like words had abandoned her.

“I meant what I said,” I murmured. “You don’t have to write the book. But if you do… this event will drag it into the light. People won’t be able to look away. It’ll stir up public interest in what happened to my family, at the very least.”

The air pulsed between us. I could feel her heartbeat in the space where our bodies almost met — could practically hear her thinking, remembering what it felt like to be pinned and hunted in her own fantasy.

I leaned in, letting my breath brush her ear.

“I hope you enjoy the experience,” I whispered.

That was when she finally turned her head, just enough to whisper, “I’ll… think about it.”

Not a yes. Not yet. But not the hard no she’d given Nina either. It was progress.

She set the envelope down like it weighed a hundred pounds, then pushed back from the counter.

“I need some space to think.”

“One more thing.”

She stopped, half turned, and looked back at me.

“I know that you’ll tell me I shouldn’t have, but this is about safety. I paid off your overdue phone bill. I don’t want you going anywhere without a working phone. You may be able to use it over wi-fi here, but everywhere else… So, please just accept it, OK?”

“You… paid off my phone bill? That was hundreds of dollars! And you expect me to just accept it, after everything else you’ve done for me?”

“Yes.”

I made my voice hard, made it sound the way it did in corporate meetings, when I didn’t want anyone to argue. She swallowed, and I could see her fighting with it – her need to argue, even though she knew that it really was about safety.

“I… OK. But don’t you dare do anything else like this. Now I really need to think – a lot.”

With that, she turned, her steps just a little unsteady, and headed toward the guest room.

I let her go, watching the sway of her hips as she disappeared down the hall. A door clicked softly shut between us. The moment she stepped out of the room, I pulled out my phone and unlocked the encrypted folder.

Obscura Ops.

Final updates were already filtering in — staffing confirmations, set adjustments, lighting tweaks for the wine cellar beneath the west wing. Everything was ready.

She wouldn’t wait in the general line. No need to rub elbows with every drunk asshole in Stonewood. She’d be ushered into the VIP line , reserved for guests who’d paid a sickening amount of money for one specific thing:

To have the chance to be hunted by Nox Obscura.

The VIP list read like a thirst trap directory.

MaskTok fans. Content subscribers. People who knew exactly what the fuck they were signing up for.

They weren’t there for jump scares or cheap gore — they were there for power exchange.

For primal screams and breathless begging and masked strangers who knew how to chase down a fantasy and pin it to the floor.

She’d hear my name.

Not Philip Knox . Never that.

But Nox Obscura.

And when she did?

Maybe her breath would hitch. Maybe something in her chest would twist. Maybe she’d remember the words she’d typed into her DMs on that anonymous forum in the dark, not knowing who was on the other end.

Since Josh gave me complete creative control of the haunted house, I’d personally reached out and hired several other thirst trap creators to chase the VIPs, but only one guest was going to get the full Nox Obscura experience, and that was Ros.

Sure, I’d make enough appearances to thrill my fans who were specifically buying tickets to come see me make an appearance at this haunted house.

But none of them were going to get the kind of experience I intended to give Ros.

I closed the window, locked the folder, and tucked the phone back into my pocket as I looked toward the hallway she’d disappeared down.

She was already walking into my web, and she didn’t even know it.

I listened to make sure she was staying in the guest room with her door closed, trying to pretend like any of this was normal.

Then I went to my office, to the desk drawer I always kept locked.

Middle right. Under a false panel. Not because I was hiding it - no one besides me ever came in here. But because some things deserved reverence and intention.

I slid the panel open and pulled out the mask.

Black leather. Sharp contours. Sleek. Tactical. Wired with thin neon X’s over the eyes and too-wide stitched mouth, bathing them in a violet glow when it was turned on. My signature.

The mask of Nox Obscura.

It was cool against my fingers, smooth and heavy like it meant something. Like it knew what it was for.

I ran my thumb along the edge of the mouthpiece. I’d worn this thing in hundreds of scenes. Posted clips that made strangers come just from the sound of my distorted voice. But this time?

This time it wasn’t for strangers. This mask would touch her.

She wouldn’t know it was me — not with the lights down and the world turned upside down. But some part of her would feel it. In the weight of the chase. In the grip of the hands that caught her. In the breath against her neck when she begged to be taken.

She’d run.

And I’d follow.