Page 105 of Haunted

The rules exist for a reason.

Twenty-four hours. It’s not long, but it’s what she’s been given. What we agreed on long before tonight changed everything.

My phone buzzes with a text from Vane.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Too late for that. I’ve been doing nothing but stupid since I set eyes on Mira Sullivan.

I force myself to leave her apartment, locking the door behind me. Tomorrow morning, she’ll be mine for a full year. And deep down, beneath the contracts and rules and games we play, I know it won’t end there.

Twenty-four hours. I can wait twenty-four hours.

40

MIRA

The knock comes at exactly eleven fifty-nine a.m.

One minute early. Of course, Xavier would be early—probably been circling the block for the past hour, counting down the seconds.

I know it’s him before I even look through the peephole. Three measured raps, perfectly spaced. A man who controls everything, even the rhythm of his knocks.

“Just a second!” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.

My reflection in the hallway mirror shows someone I barely recognize. The woman staring back now has secrets. She’s been claimed by a Blackwood, and it shows in the way she holds herself and the shadows under her eyes.

I’m wearing jeans and a simple sweater—normal clothes for a normal day that will be anything but normal. The two suitcases by the door mock me withtheir practicality, as if I’m going on vacation instead of surrendering my life.

When I open the door, my breath catches despite every preparation.

Xavier leans against the doorframe in black riding leathers that cling to every muscle. His hair is slightly mussed from the helmet tucked under his arm, and his gaze scans me from head to toe.

“Ready?” His voice carries that familiar authority that made me surrender in the maze.

“I think so.” I gesture toward the suitcases. “I packed light, but?—”

“Leave them.”

The command stops me mid-reach. “What? But these are my things. Clothes, books, my?—”

“A driver will collect your belongings later.” He steps into my apartment without invitation, those eyes scanning every detail of my space. “You’re riding with me.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I process his meaning. The motorcycle.

“I don’t have a helmet.”

Xavier’s smirk is pure sin. “I brought you one.”

He produces a sleek black helmet from behind his back, holding it out like an offering. Or a leash.

“Xavier, I can’t leave everything?—”

“Rule one, Mira.” His voice drops to that dangerous whisper that makes my knees weak. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.”

I huff and snatch the helmet from his hands, myfingers brushing his leather gloves. The contact sends an unwelcome spark up my arm.

“This is ridiculous.” But I’m already following him toward the elevator, my feet moving without a second thought. “I have a perfectly good car downstairs.”