Page 66 of Cursed

I sit in my car outside Sadie’s building, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The digital clock on my dashboard mocks me with its glowing numbers. I could have been here at nine PM exactly, the moment our mandatory separation ended.

Instead, I forced myself to wait and sit in my home office, staring at the monitors displaying every angle of her apartment as she paced, checked her phone, and eventually fell asleep alone in her bed.

Pathetic. I’m fucking pathetic.

I’ve never waited for a woman. Never counted minutes. Never felt this gnawing emptiness in my chest when separated from someone.

“Compose yourself,” I mutter, adjusting my white mask. I’ve worn it since leaving my penthouse, needing its protection when I face her again.

I’ve tracked her movements all day through the spyware on her devices. Watched her research me. Observed her reaction tothe BDSM video she accessed. Felt something twist inside me when she slammed her laptop shut.

Was it disgust I saw on her face?

The thought of her seeing those videos makes my skin crawl. I hate it. Hate that she’s glimpsed parts of me I keep hidden.

I check my watch again. Twenty-five hours and seventeen minutes.

“Perfect,” I say aloud. “She’ll think I didn’t care enough to come the moment I could.”

But we both know that’s a lie. The truth is, I couldn’t trust myself to run to her door the second the clock struck nine. Couldn’t risk her seeing the desperation in my eyes, the need that’s been clawing at my insides.

I exit the car and straighten my jacket. With each step toward her building, I rebuild my walls, seal the cracks in my composure. By the time I reach her door, I’ll be composed again.

I have to be.

Because the alternative—admitting how much I’ve missed her, how much I need her—is unthinkable.

I knock on her door with firm, unhurried raps. Assertive but not aggressive. I’ve calculated everything—from the timing of my arrival to the pressure of my knuckles against the wood.

When she opens the door, her eyes widen in surprise. “Landon.”

I push past her without waiting for an invitation, scanning her apartment. Everything exactly as I’ve seen through her cameras. “You didn’t disable my surveillance.”

“I know.” Her voice is steady. Too steady.

I turn, studying her face. She’s wearing loose pajama pants and a tank top. No makeup. Hair pulled back. She knew I was coming but chose not to prepare herself.

“You watched one of my BDSM videos.” Not a question.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Her eyes meet mine unflinchingly. “Is that what you want to do to me? Carve patterns into my skin while I’m restrained?”

A darkness pulses through me. “If I wanted to, I would have already.”

“What do you want at this time of night?” Sadie asks.

I shake my head. “The cooling-off period has ended. You’re mine now.”

She takes a deliberate step back, creating distance. “This isn’t the Hunt anymore.”

I close the gap between us. “The Hunt never ends, little butterfly. Not for people like us.”

“People like us?” Her eyebrow arches.

“Broken. Twisted.” I reach for her, but she sidesteps my touch.