Page 50 of Creeping Lily

LILY

T he moment my hand brushes the doorknob and starts to turn it, a sharp, mechanical hiss slices through the air. My stomach knots. He wasn’t lying about the alarms.

I spin around, and from the ceiling, a massive flat-screen TV drops down with a low whir.

His masked face fills the screen, eyes like cold steel, locking on to me with a look that says I’ve crossed a line.

I let out a slow, frustrated breath and shake my head.

I shouldn’t have tested him. Now I know for sure—there’s no leaving unless he decides to let me go.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispers through the speakers, voice low and steady.

Then the screen goes black. My chest tightens. I don’t know how much trouble I’m in, but I pray it’s not enough to earn me another injection.

“Behave yourself, Lily,” I mutter under my breath, more like a warning to myself than a promise, as I drift deeper into the mansion.

Room by room, I search, letting curiosity pull me through its cold, echoing halls.

The place is a neo-Gothic marvel—towering ceilings, ornate crown moldings, and shadows that seem older than time.

Fourteen bedrooms between two floors, at least, but nothing personal.

No photos. No papers. No clue to who he is or what he wants.

He’s meticulous. Smart. Every trace of himself erased.

In the quiet, the walls seem to hum, whispering secrets of whoever came before. I open drawers, sift through shelves—nothing. Sparse furniture, polished surfaces, the kind of emptiness that feels intentional.

Finally, I find a room that feels different. His room. I pause in the doorway, half-expecting another alarm. Nothing.

Stepping inside, the scent hits me immediately—oud and sandalwood.

Rich. Masculine. Him. My feet carry me to the closet.

When I fling it open, I’m met with rows of shelves stacked with military precision.

Henleys in shades of grey and black. Sweatpants folded so neatly it’s almost unsettling.

Multiples of everything. Boxers in one drawer, navy wife-beaters in another. Every item perfectly placed.

I lift one of the Henleys to my face before I can stop myself.

The fabric is soft, and his scent clings to it like it’s soaked into every fiber.

I close my eyes and breathe him in, and just like that, I’m back in that alley the night of Bethany’s birthday.

The first time I saw him. Back when I didn’t know his face would haunt my every thought.

Back when I didn’t even know his name. I still don’t know his name.

The Henley is still pressed to my face when I realize I’m no longer alone. The air shifts. Heavy. Charged. My eyes snap open to find him standing in the doorway, a small, amused smile curving his lips.

“I’m glad you were able to entertain yourself while I was away,” he says.

Heat floods my face. I shove the Henley back on the shelf, but he steps in, retrieves it, and folds it neatly before setting it exactly where it belongs.

“Not becoming of you, Lily. I’ve seen how neat you keep your side of the room. I don’t mind you touching my things, as long as you put them back neatly.”

I silently curse myself, turning to leave, but his hand closes around my arm. In one smooth movement, he pulls me back, his body aligning with mine. The height difference swallows me whole.

“I think it’s only fair,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “Since you’ve had your sniff… that I get mine.”

Before I can react, he dips his head, burying his face in my hair. His inhale is deep, almost reverent. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are closed, his chest rising like he’s holding the breath in, savoring it. He exhales slowly, as if he’s tasted something forbidden and addictive.

“My very own brand of poison,” he says, fingertips brushing my cheek.

I don’t move. Can’t. My heart is a drumbeat in my ears, my mind a blur. All I see is him. All I feel is him. The rest of the world falls away until there’s only this—only him and me, suspended in a moment that feels like it could devour us both.

“Lily,” he breathes.

“I don’t even know your name,” I whisper back.

A pause. His eyes don’t waver.

“Titan,” he says finally, voice low and certain.

The name settles between us like a loaded gun—dangerous, solid, impossible to ignore. I turn it over silently on my tongue, a name that feels like it belongs to someone forged in secrets and shadows.

Titan.

Like the Titans of myth—mighty, unstoppable, carved from the kind of power the world feared.

The man with the beautiful name steps back and tells me he’s brought breakfast. But I barely hear him.

His name is stuck in my head, looping over and over.

My lips move soundlessly, testing it, tasting it.

Titan. Titan. Titan. Strong like one. Built like one.

“How long have I been here?” I ask as I take the seat across from him. The table between us is set with takeout containers—eggs, pancakes, avocado smash. A feast. I don’t even know where to start.

“Three days,” he says.

“My mom and grandma are strict about contact. Every two days, without fail. If I miss a check-in, they’ll send a search party.”

He sets his fork down, finishes chewing, and wipes his mouth with a napkin. Even that small motion feels deliberate—precise.

“I’ll let you call them,” he says, and the ease of it catches me off guard.

When he pulls my phone from his pocket and places it on the table, my pulse kicks up. I hadn’t even thought about it, had just assumed I’d lost it when he dragged me off the street. My eyes flick from him to the phone and back. It can’t be as simple as him just… giving it to me.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He picks his fork back up. “I trust you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Your faith in me is… weird,” I say, brows knitting. “You’re really just going to let me call?”

“After breakfast,” he says, taking another bite.

When I finally make the call, Mom’s disappointment is clear. She’s upset I’m not coming home for spring break. Grandma Jo smooths it over, saying Mom will be fine and that there will be other breaks. Surprisingly, she doesn’t press for details—doesn’t even ask why I changed my mind.

I hang up just as Titan reappears from the hallway, pulling a fresh black Henley over his chest. It clings to his body like it was made for him.

His mask is still in place, but without the hoodie, I can see the dark waves of hair brushing the back of his neck.

There’s something almost otherworldly about him—half man, half shadow.

Titan in all black is dangerous to look at. I’ve never had enough time to truly study him before, but now I see the way he moves—fluid, unhurried, every motion grounded in strength. He’s not just fit. He’s built like a fortress.

He heads to the fridge, pulls out two sodas, and hands me one before cracking his own. I watch as he tilts his head back, the column of his throat working with each swallow. When his eyes drop to mine, I decide to stop dancing around it.

“You killed that woman,” I say quietly, my voice steady even though my heart isn’t.

His gaze doesn’t waver. For a long moment, he just stares at me from behind the mask, and I wish to God I could see his face.

“I killed them both,” he says at last, blunt and unshaken.

The words hit like a punch to the ribs. My breath stutters. “You’re a monster.”

“Ask me why.”

I stay silent. I don’t want his excuses.

“Ask. Me. Why.”

Something in his voice tells me he won’t drop it until I give in. So I do. “Why?”

“Larry and Sheila Shine have spent years exploiting children,” he says.

“They trafficked kids on the black market. The ones who survived their torture chamber, anyway. There are six bodies buried on their property that we’ve recovered so far.

At least thirty-five others are missing, and we know it’s them. ”

My skin prickles. The room suddenly feels colder.

“So you killed them?”

“They would’ve kept going. There’s no justice system that was going to stop them.”

“That’s not the right way,” I shoot back.

“No?” His voice hardens. “What about justice for those kids who will never be named? The ones tortured, murdered, and dumped in the dirt like garbage?”

I want to hate him. I want to tear apart his reasoning. But I can’t. Not completely. Because in a world like this, I know monsters don’t always get punished—and children don’t get second chances.

“I don’t kill for fun, Lily,” he says. “But I do take great pleasure in doing it, especially when I kill the kind of people who make the world a darker place.”