Page 22 of Haunted

“Until now,” I add.

The thought of letting Mira go after just three days seems insufficient. I want more time to unravel her, to understand the complex machine of her mind, and to watch her struggle between attraction and resistance. This tumult would slowly swallow her whole.

I watch as my words land, cataloging their visible impact in the subtle dilation of her pupils, and the parting of her lips tells me everything I need to know about the conflicting emotions warring inside her. Disgust and desire, fear and fascination.

“You can’t possibly think I’d—” she starts.

“What I think doesn’t matter,” I murmur, my face now mere inches from hers. “What matters is what you feel.”

I close the distance between us until our breaths mix in the narrow space between us. Mira’s lashes flutter, and whatever hesitation was in her eyes shifts. Despite everything I’ve just revealed—that I know she’s investigating me, that I’ve manipulated her into participating in the Hunt—I can detect the eagerness.

She tilts her chin upward, an instinctive movement seeking contact. It’s too easy, this power I have over her.

When she leans forward, attempting to close the final distance between us, I allow our lips to barely brush—the ghost of a kiss, a promise of what’s to come—before pulling back.

Her eyes snap open.

“Get some rest, Ms. Sullivan,” I say casually. “You’ll need it for what’s coming in three days.”

I straighten my jacket.

“And your friend won’t be joining you,” I add firmly. “The Hunt isn’t a social event. It’s between you and me now.”

I turn away from her, savoring the echo of her quickened breath in my ears. The slight catch in her throat as I pulled away—that delicious mix of disappointment and relief. Perfect.

The corridor stretches before me as I walk, but I know she’s still watching; I can feel her eyes burning into my back.

Mira thinks she’s so clever, infiltrating my club, gathering information for her exposé. Instead, she’s fallen right into my carefully laid trap.

I flex my fingers, remembering the electricity when I touched her. That wasn’t part of the plan. Mira Sullivan disrupts my brain in ways I can’t explain. The way she stands her ground and challenges me directly—it’s refreshing. Most people cower, averting their eyes as if that might save them.

Not Mira. She stares back, defiant, even as desire darkens her eyes.

Three days. Just three days until the Hunt begins, and I can take what’s been tempting me since I met her. I’ve never wanted to extend my claim beyond the Hunt before. The women were entertaining enough for thosethree days, but ultimately forgettable once the game ended.

With Mira, I find myself considering possibilities beyond the Hunt. Reckless thoughts. Attachments are liabilities—soft spots waiting to be used. And yet, she gets under my skin in ways I didn’t plan for. That’s a problem. One I don’t hate.

I push through the door leading to my office, my sanctuary within Purgatory. She needs to be neutralized before she can cause damage, and claiming her during the Hunt is the most efficient solution.

If I enjoy the process more than usual, that’s simply a bonus.

10

MIRA

Istare at my phone, rereading the text I just sent to Cora.

Sorry, I can’t get you an invite. It’s complicated. Talk later?

Sliding my phone into my purse, I sling the strap over my shoulder.

Time to get out of Purgatory and process everything that’s happened. The weight of Xavier’s invitation and that damned NDA is already heavy enough without adding Cora’s disappointed texts to the mix.

I’m halfway to the exit when the main doors burst open. Cora strides in, determination etched across her face, designer heels clicking aggressively against the polished floor.

“What do you mean you can’t get me an invite?” She doesn’t bother with a greeting, eyes scanning the dimlylit club, as she strides to me, annoyed defiance dripping from each word.

My stomach drops. “Cora, what are you doing here? I literally just texted you.”