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Well this is me but / if you have time / Do you want the house tour? / I could take you to the first, second, third floor
My house is on pretty girl avenue / My house was especially built for you / Some say it's a place where your dreams come true / My house / Could be your house too!
Overview: You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, a tale as old as time. Just like the one where they tell you about pretty, naive, broke girls getting swept off their feet by the murdering, satanic-worshipping rich man stalking them.
Oh... Do they not tell that one?
a/n: wrote this before I watched the movie and worried he would be OOC but I just finished it and yes, heâs just as psychopathic and needy as Iâd hoped
wc: 12.1K
more at: Belleâs 3K Extravaganza
All good things start with something memorable. Something that gets your blood racing and adrenaline pumping. You hadnât thought catering an old manâs party would be so titillating, but looking down at this NDA, you have a feeling your night is about to take a strange turn.Â
âJust sign on the dotted line, please,â Bev tells you, pointed nail tapping boredly at the bottom of the paper. The pen hangs limply in your grip as your eyes dart from her to the form.Â
Bev was doing you a favor, letting you tag along with her catering company and earn some extra cash. Things had been tight lately, bad enough that youâre worried about making rent next month. Still, as desperate as you were, entering the lionâs den of the rich and anonymous with a hefty NDA under your belt seemed beyond stupid.Â
Your friend let out a huff, offering you a stern glare. âYouâre not getting in that mansion without one.â
âWhat the hell are they gonna do in there? Eat us alive?âÂ
If only you knew then what you know now.Â
âThis is all of them?â Bev nods as she hands the richly dressed lawyer the thick stack of NDAâs. Your eyes narrow on your own, right on top with your messy signature.
Getting into the sprawling estate had been hell. The owners, some jagoffs by the name of Danforth, didnât want the help being seen by their guests. The catering vans had to circle the mile-long driveway and backroads before Bev finally found the back entrance. And then, because of that tedious delay, youâd all had to rush the food into the mansion.Â
One of you accidentally dropped a tray of some French shit you couldnât pronounce. That had cost Bev an extra half hour as the head of staff for the estate berated her. You could still see how red her cheeks had gotten while she tried not to cry.Â
Youâve barely been here an hour and already your hatred for the rich is deepening.Â
A stout woman in a classic maidâs outfit walks up and down the long line of Bevâs caterers. She holds herself with the severity and posture of a military man. Youâre afraid that if a hair slips out of place, sheâll make you drop and give her twenty. She comes to a sudden stop in front of you and you instinctively straighten, spine groaning as you force it into a better posture than youâve had in a year.Â
Her eyes narrow before she lets out a low huff. âSend ten out with the champagne,â she barks out an order and you hold your hand out instinctively for your tray. Bev gives the go-ahead to her assistants and they begin loading you all up with champagne worth more than your shitty apartment.Â
Before you can finally escape the kitchen, the older woman stops you. âWatch yourself,â she warns. Your brows furrow in confusion but sheâs already walking away, tugging at another girlâs skirt until the hem sits right. That didnât seem like a warning that meant âdonât get smart with the guests.â It felt more like you should have left before you even set foot in this dreary mansion.Â
With no other choice, you shuffle in line with the others and follow the leader out the swinging kitchen door. The noise is immediate as youâre led into a large drawing room. Low chatter and rich laughter that makes your wallet quake. Womenâs 4-carat diamond rings clink against champagne flutes, Rolexes flash as men sip their brandy. Each pass through the room makes you wish you had the skills to slip a ring or necklace off an unsuspecting socialite.Â
Youâre forced to dismiss the thought as a man whistles, snapping his fingers and motioning you closer. Your eye twitches as you bite back something rude; instead, you force a polite smile on your face, making your way over. âTook you long enough,â he gripes, rolling his eyes.Â
You offer a short laugh and your smile tightens. âDid you need something, sir?â Your tray is empty, clearly tucked behind your back. Five extra seconds of patience and you would have been refilled. But you doubt anyone in this room has ever had to wait for something.Â
âYes,â he stares at you as if youâd grown a second head. âChampagne,â he drawls in a tone that actively makes you wish for a gun.Â
You blink a few times, struggling to comprehend how someone could be so confidently stupid. âApologies, sir, my trayâs empty. But the bar is just over there,â you point toward the bartender, who is quite literally five feet from the man.Â
His perfectly maintained eyebrows draw in at your audacity. âGood, you have eyes. Go get me some.â
Tomorrow, you would congratulate yourself on such phenomenal self-restraint. Tonight, however, you bite your lip hard enough to hurt and force yourself to go grab some champagne.Â
When you swipe the flute from the bar, it takes everything inside you not to spit in the bastardâs drink. âHere you are, sir,â you force a jovial tone to your voice. He rolls his eyes. Those thirty seconds you took must have felt like a lifetime to the poor thing.Â
He waves his hand in dismissal and you canât help the astonished scoff that leaves you. Shaking your head, youâre about to turn away when you catch him fiddling with the ring on his pinky. You might as well already be gone for all the care he pays you as you linger behind him.Â
His ring pops open to reveal a compartment inside. You frown as he sprinkles powder from his ring into the drink. With a low sigh, he readjusts his tie and makes a beeline for the blonde in the center of the room.
The domineering presence that has commanded the party thus far. Youâre quite certain sheâs the one who hired Bev, with how easily she dismisses and beckons forth those around her, like an owner calling their dog to heel.Â
The man youâd just served sidles up to her, a smarmy grin on his face as he holds out the champagne. With a low sigh, you shake your head and rush forward. The rich might all behave like a bunch of well-dressed bottom feeders, but youâre not about to allow a woman to be roofied at her own party.Â
You jog up to the woman and reach out. She startles at your touch. Thereâs a man at her side you hadnât noticed before. Heâs on the shorter side, with salt-and-pepper curls and a tight jaw that looks like it's been itching to bite at someone all night. âYouâre touching me,â she drawls and you jerk your hand back.Â
Her lips curl with disgust, as if you got your poor on her. Clearing your throat uncomfortably, you glance over at the man you just served. His eyes narrow, but you donât think he even paid enough attention to you to remember your face.Â
âExcuse me, maâam, but youâre not supposed to drink that.â You gesture toward the champagne and she pulls it back from you.Â
âGood helpâs hard to find these days, isnât it?â The man laughs, eyes narrowing at you as he tries to remember how he knows your face. Jesus, these people are inhuman.Â
âAnd why shouldnât I drink my champagne in my home?â she demands, cutting her eyes to the man at her side. They both share a suspicious look that has you clamping up.Â
âUm, well-â
âAlright,â the man at her side finally steps forward, hands outstretched like heâs about to escort you out. Youâd really rather not find out how these people dispose of âbadâ help.
âHe put something in it,â you rush out, narrowly dodging her guard dogâs hands. They both pause and the blonde brings the drink to her nose. She takes a deep whiff while the blonde man across from her goes colorless.Â
She lets out a low chuckle and shakes her head. âReally, Brentley? Poison is a womanâs game; you should know better.â
Your eyes dart between the pair of them. Sheâs taking this a lot better than you would have. The shorter man redirects himself to the other man, ignoring you now. All three of them seem to have forgotten you were there. They began to act as if she were the one to make the discovery, icing you out of the conversation.Â
Itâs a blessing, you think. She seemed ready to cut off your hands for getting poverty on her silk dress. Slowly, you back away from the trio. When youâre sure no oneâs paying attention, you make a beeline for the kitchen. One attempted poisoning is more than enough excitement for the night.Â
Bev is surrounded by a cyclone of pans, cutlery, and splashing red sauces. Her white coat is absolutely covered in stains, and the stout woman from before is yelling at her for burning some hors d'oeuvres. Youâre a horrible person for leaving her high and dry, but you need to get out of here before you discover something so bad that not even an NDA can shut you up.Â
You drop your tray by the kitchen door and rip off your apron, making a run for it before anyone can spot you. If Bev asks, youâll tell her you got sick and had to leave. She probably wonât believe you, but you doubt sheâs paying much attention to whoâs missing right now.Â
Slipping outside, you tug out your phone. Youâll need to get an Uber out of here; the estate is over an hour out of the city. Like hell youâll be able to make the walk in the heels they required you to wear.Â
Trying to open up Uber, you frown, no bars. Great, in this sprawling billion-dollar estate, they couldnât shell out some extra cash for a cell phone tower or something. Grumbling, you lift your phone to the sky, trying to see if you can catch a signal. You donât pay much attention to where you go, just walking until you get enough of a connection to call a ride.Â
After a few minutes, you find yourself outside of some strange shed. A bar comes to life and you let out a low noise of excitement, quickly ordering a ride. An odd noise to your right catches your attention and you shift your focus back to the shed.Â
Itâs wet, this noise, squishing as someone lets out a low groan. Your nose wrinkles, disgust brewing hot in your stomach as you risk a step closer to the door. Through the wooden slats, you can make out the form of a hunched man. Another low grunt and he lifts his arm, the metallic shine of a butcherâs knife catching in the dim light. You clamp your hand over your mouth, swallowing back your gasp as he slams the knife down.Â
A painful squelch and then you hear the pitiful sound of an animal breathing its last breath. Are they preparing the meat for dinner now? You ask yourself. How odd, even for the rich.Â
Tilting your head, curiosity overrides sense as you press closer to the wood of the shed. The man straightens and you recognize the greying auburn curls from inside the estate. This had been the little guard dog standing next to that blonde woman youâd helped. He lets out a low grunt and wipes his hands on his apron, stepping to the side.Â
Thereâs no stopping the sharp gasp that rips through you. It wasnât an animal he was butchering. No, it was the man whoâd tried to poison the woman. His mangled body was crumpled on the floor, blood swirling down a drain in the center of the shed. His fingers twitched with the last bits of life as his body began to cool.Â
You stumbled back from the shed with burning eyes, stomach turning as you tripped over yourself.Â
âWhat are you doing out here?â
You whipped around with a gasp, barely stopping yourself from screaming. The blonde woman stood behind you, hands propped on her hips as she scrutinized your form. The shed door creaked open behind you and you went still, already feeling a predator's gaze boring into your back.Â
âI was looking for a signal,â you whisper, holding up your phone.Â
âDid you find it?â The man calls from behind you. Youâre too terrified to turn. You canât face a murderer, not with the body of his victim still cooling behind him.Â
âYeah,â you squeak out, nails biting into your palm as your eyes desperately search for a way out of this.Â
The blondeâs head tilts and she offers a sharp smile. âYouâre the maid that told me about Brentely.â Oh, of course, now they can remember a face.
âMhm,â you hum, throat so tight you can hardly breathe.Â
Her eyes narrow for a split second before she waves you off. âRun along, little rabbit.â You hesitate and she tilts her head, almost daring you to disobey. It takes a second longer before youâre booking it back toward the main section of the estate.Â
âYouâre just letting her leave?â The man hisses.Â
âI know what she looks like, now. Besides, she did sign an NDA,â she mutters, leading him back into the shed.Â
That should have been the end of it. After all, you did sign an NDA. And without much knowledge of the legal process, you just assume that you canât tell another living soul what you witnessed. Itâs not like youâre actively looking to snitch, either. The guy had clearly been a scumbag and those people were far more powerful than the justice system.Â
Youâd looked them up after youâd gotten home. Trying to place where youâd seen them before. Titus and Ursula Danforth, the siblings whoâd hired Bev. People who could bury you if you ever tried to report them. You knew you werenât influential enough to pose a threat to them. And you know that they understood that, too.Â
So why the hell were you being followed?
Every night when youâd get home, a black town car would be parked outside your apartment. Too clean, too new, too rich for your neighborhood. Youâd see it throughout the day as you went grocery shopping, as you applied for new jobs, everywhere. Those tinted windows prevented you from seeing just who was trailing you. But you knew whoâd sent them.Â
You were nothing to the Danforths. An insignificant little bug whoâd just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why would they waste so much time on you?
It didnât make sense, and thinking too long about it made it harder to muster up the courage to leave the house. So, you tried to forget about them. You tried to forget about the town car parked across the street as you ran into the hardware store. But it was difficult to pretend it was a normal day when you turned the aisle and saw Titus Danforth standing at the other end.Â
His hands were in his pockets as he observed the axes and picks with an upturned nose. Your eyes widened, and you caught yourself, trying to slowly back out of the aisle. But your stupid, cheap shoes squeaked against the linoleum, and his head snapped toward you.Â
Your entire body froze under his empty stare. Those eyes, sharp as a blade and completely void of any emotion. It felt like staring down a shark, and youâd just chummed the waters.Â
âYou,â he muttered.Â
You could try to make a run for it. Youâd probably beat him to the door. But then what after that? He keeps following you, keeps having you tailed and you spend every waking second looking over your shoulder? Your life was shit enough already; you couldnât give him so much power over it.Â
âMr. Danforth,â you greet. Titus felt too comfortable. Too familiar for the man stalking you.Â
His head tilted at that, eyes flitting over your form as he appraised you. Youâre sure he found you wanting for something. You were so far below him on the social ladder that you donât even think thereâs a rung for you to hold onto.Â
He takes a step closer to you and it feels as if the air around you grows colder at his presence. You canât bring yourself to meet him halfway, but you refuse to back down. Holding your ground, you eye him warily.Â
âHave you been following me?â Itâs posed as a question, but you can both hear the accusation in your tone.Â
His eyes narrow, lips quirking slightly as he scoffs. âDo you think I have the time to follow everyone who sticks their nose in my business?â
âClearly, you do.â Itâs probably stupid to goad the man who could kill you right here and walk away scott free. But youâre not going to let him make you feel like youâre going crazy. âI donât see any other reason youâd be somewhere like this,â you gesture toward the run-down store and his nose wrinkles. His disgust gives him away.Â
âMy sister thought it wise to let you go. You helped her; that was her returning the favor.â
âAnd you donât agree?â He doesnât have to say anything; his presence is enough of an answer. You risk a step closer, ignoring how his stare makes your hair stand on end. âYouâve been watching me, you know I havenât done anything to earn your suspicion. I know how to keep my mouth shut.â
âDo you?â He prods, your brows furrow at the dig.Â
âSarcasm is a lot different than accusing someone of-â you stop yourself, biting your tongue before you blurt out what heâd done in the middle of the hardware store.Â
His brows pique, seeming disappointed you hadnât just proved yourself wrong. âIf you didnât think you could trust me, whyâd you let me go that night?â
A spark of emotion, just the slightest bit of anger on his face, before his calm facade slips back in place. âIt wasnât my choice,â he grits out. You draw back, eyes narrowing. So, his sister calls the shots then. You wonder if sheâs aware her dog has sprung his leash.Â
âLook, I have enough to deal with without you making my life hell. Frankly, youâre not worth the fucking trouble it would take to report you. Just⊠let me be, please.â
Heâs silent for a moment and you donât know how to take that. When it gets to be too uncomfortable, you start to walk away. âYouâre bold for someone whoâd be so easy to erase.âÂ
Tensing up, you risk a glance over your shoulder, but heâs already gone.Â
A few nights later, you find yourself standing outside a shitty bar. Youâd spent the night making it up to Bev for ditching her by buying her cheap beer you could barely afford. Now, youâre staring down at what it would cost to order yourself a car.Â
Bev had taken off with some guy sheâd picked up, leaving you stranded. You rock back on your heels, bare legs growing colder the longer you stay still. âFuck,â you hiss, shoving your phone in your purse. You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself and turn to make the trek home.Â
Itâs beyond stupid, walking home like this, buzzed and in skimpy bar clothes. But you donât even have enough money in your bank to pay your water bill. Let alone afford a ride back to your apartment.Â
It doesnât take long to feel it. Your hair stands on end, gooseflesh pricks at your skin painfully. Someoneâs watching you. Just behind you, just out of sight, their eyes are stuck on your back. Itâs futile to try to shake off the feeling. Thereâs no getting rid of base instinct. You risk a glance over your shoulder and find no shadows lurking under the street lamps.Â
Thatâs when you hear it. The sound of an engine starting. Bright headlights flood the street before you. Grimacing back from the light, you cup your hand over your eyes and glare at the car making such a scene. It shouldnât surprise you to see the black town car, but youâre caught off guard nonetheless.Â
âWhat the fuck?â you mutter, watching as it rolls to a stop beside you. The back window rolls down, hair thatâs growing too familiar to you becomes visible. Jesus, heâs not even driving. Of course, heâs got a damn chauffeur. Why wouldnât he?
You should honestly be concerned about the man following you. The one youâd just seen murder someone, not even a week ago. But youâre just relieved it's him and not some other freak following you. Better the evil you knowâŠ
The door doesnât open, he doesnât say anything, and thereâs no invitation offered to get in. Youâre not sure if he just wanted to taunt you with the heat you can feel wafting from the window or what.Â
âUm, hi?â you mutter, still slightly buzzed.Â
He lets out a sharp sigh, and then the door swings open. You leap back before it can bash into your knees, cheap heels tilting threateningly beneath you. âI donât-â
âGet in,â his voice is short and leaves no room for questioning. Besides, you are desperate to be out of the cold. There should be far more of a fight put up, but you get into the car and close the door behind you. The driver pulls away from the curb immediately, seemingly desperate to be out of this shady neighborhood.Â
You canât exactly blame him. You hate when Bev drags you to this side of town. She always ends up ditching you by the end of the night.Â
Just to have something to do, you plant your purse firmly in your lap, fiddling with the straps. You can see Titus out of the corner of your eye. His jaw is tense, as usual, gaze is fixed pointedly ahead. Youâre afraid to speak. As if one wrong word might trigger him to attack.Â
âStill following me, I see,â you mutter, fiddling with a string on your dress.Â
He sucks in a sharp breath, and you straighten, waiting for him to bite. âDid you drag your heels from the bottom of a bargain bin?â
Your eyes widen and your head snaps toward him. âExcuse me?â But heâs not done.Â
âAnd your dress is one thread away from being nothing more than a cheap scrap in a landfill.â Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Youâre far too astonished by such a brutal callout of your accurately described bargain bin wardrobe. âSo, why would you ever think itâs smart to walk through a neighborhood like that in shoes you canât even run in?â
Rolling your eyes, you let out a sharp scoff. âJesus, donât try to white knight me after youâve been stalking me for a week.â His gaze snaps toward you, and you shrug. âIf it comes to it, I ditch the heels and run. Iâve been in tighter squeezes than a shady neighborhood and a cheap dress.â
Your answer seems to have pretty much the opposite effect of what youâd been hoping for as his nostrils flare and his shoulders stiffen. Thankfully, the driverâs pulling into your apartment complex. Youâre about ready to throw open the door and roll out; youâve escaped from worse dates with the same method before.Â
âYour neighborhoodâs disgusting,â he snipes, sniffing.Â
You open the door and toss him a glare over your shoulder. âThen buy me a house, or stop following me,â you snap, slamming the door behind you. You almost wished he would actually shoot you. Itâd be preferable to being followed by a domineering, judgmental shadow.Â
When you open the door the next morning, instead of the paper, thereâs a thick envelope on the mat. Bending over, you pick it up, honestly surprised one of your neighbors hadnât snatched it yet.Â
Youâve got one foot in your door and have barely opened the envelope before you're racing outside. You keep it tucked tight to your chest, heart racing as you storm down your stairs and to the town car parked expectantly outside.Â
Rushing up, you rap your knuckles on the window, slippered foot tapping impatiently against the pavement. Slowly, the window rolls down, revealing Titusâ chauffeur, but no sign of the man himself.Â
âIs he in there?â you demand, trying to get a look into the back seat.Â
âNo, maâam, not today.â
Your brows furrow as your gaze snaps back to him. âHe makes you come out here without him?â
The driver nods sagely, âIn case you ever decide to swallow your pride and ask for a ride.â A sharp scoff escapes you and he offers a saccharine smile. âHis words, maâam.â
âUpptiy asshole,â you grumble. You pull the envelope away from your chest and flash it at him. The thick stack of hundreds inside dangles just beneath his nose. âWhat is this?â
His brows raise as he glances between you and the cash. âMoney, I believe.â
You shoot him an unimpressed glare. âYes, Iâm aware of what money is. I want to know why itâs at my door.â
âI believe for a better pair of shoes, maâam.â
Your lips part as your gaze drops back to the cash. Jesus, even his gift was insulting. And how much did he think a pair of shoes cost? This was two months of rent in your hand, not to mention every one of your overdue bills.Â
âYeah, well, itâs going to my water bill,â you grumble. âYou can leave, Iâm not going anywhere today. Nor am I ever taking his chauffeur.â
The older man simply smiles and shrugs. âIâll be here if you need me, maâam.â The windowâs rolling back up before you can object. Thoroughly dismissed, you begin the awkward trek back up your stairs. What the hell does he even do in there all day?Â
And why is Titus torturing his poor chauffeur and making him wait out there when heâs not even here?
You shake your head and grumble quietly to yourself. You never should have gone to that damn mansion.Â
âWhereâs Ralph?â Ursula stepped into Titusâ office with her typical demanding air. Having no care for what heâs been doing or the fact that heâs been trying to clean up her mess for the past week and a half.Â
âWith the girl,â he mutters, leafing through the paperwork on his desk. Ursula shakes her head, expression blank. Titus lets out a heavy sigh, âBrentley,â he reminds her.Â
That had been a particularly satisfying kill. Heâd been looking for ways to get rid of that pompous ass for a long time. And youâd just walked right up and handed it to him on your little silver tray.Â
Ursulaâs eyes narrow before recognition sparks in them. âI still donât understand why he isnât here,â she huffs.Â
âBecause Iâm trying to make sure that your odd desire for mercy doesnât go to the police.â
âJesus, Titus, I want my driver back. Put her down if you have to.â Ursula throws her hands up with a huff and begins to storm out of his office. Titus pauses, imagines what it might be like to kill you. Heâs unsure how heâd do it, now. Youâre easy enough to get in a car. Maybe heâd drive you back to the estate, take you to the shed where heâd slaughtered Brentley.Â
He imagines that terror in your eyes would be quite the sight to see. That brief moment right before you scream and he plunges the knife in your chest. Titusâs hands tighten around his papers before he releases a short breath, dropping them back on his desk. Something stirs in his groin that makes him stretch out his legs.Â
âUnless,â Ursulaâs voice calls from his door. Hadnât she left yet? âAre you playing with your food, again?â
âWhat?â He snaps, having less patience for her than usual.Â
âThat little server from the partyâŠâ she shrugs. âHaving fun playing with her, Titus?â His jaw clenches, imagining the generous donation heâd left you this morning. Pocket money for him. Heâs sure itâs life-changing for a poverty-stricken thing like you.Â
âUgh,â Ursula groans in disappointment. âYou always do this. Find a new toy to play with, something that will really get on fatherâs nerves. Then Iâm cleaning up your mess. I donât feel like having to scrape a maid off concrete again. If youâre going to play, make sure it doesnât get in my way.â
With that, she finally leaves, the door slamming behind her. Titus stays where he is, jaw flexing as he settles his breath. She has no idea what sheâs talking about. Heâs never kept toys, never played with women. They played with him, and he had little care for women who thought he was something disposable.Â
He doubts youâd be like that. Desperate as you are, you still manage to have a bite. Still try to fight against him. Thereâs something in that desperation, that gritty will to survive, thatâs a hundred times more interesting than any heiress heâs had dinner with in the past year.Â
He tilts his head, picturing the look on your face if he presented you with one of his penthouses. Disposable things, he occasionally visited. An entirely different life from your shitty little apartment complex. Itâs difficult deciding whatâs more enticingâŠ
The light leaving your eyes, or being the reason itâs still there.Â
âOh, fuck me,â you hiss, staring out the peephole and finding an annoyingly familiar face waiting. When is this rich boy going to let you get back to your life? Passionless and boring as that life is, itâs yours. And youâd like him out of it.Â
You suck in a sharp breath and throw the door open. Titus waits for you, hands folded behind his back, a suspicious tilt to his lips. âWhat?â you demand, eyeing him warily.Â
His eyes narrow before he holds out his hand. âTake a ride with me,â he tells you. Thereâs no space for ânoâ with him. Itâs not something heâs ever heard or will ever accept. Despite every instinct telling you not to, you take his hand.Â
You frown as he slips a key into your palm, dragging you out of your apartment. âWhereâre we going?â you demand, stumbling as he storms off toward the stairs. He drags you along behind him, paying little mind to your questions or complaints.Â
âSomewhere more suitable to my tastes,â he offers airily.Â
Itâs hard to say how you end up here. Sort of. You understand the steps easily enough. Titus stalked you, paid you, and then dumped you in a penthouse so he could stalk you in a neighborhood closer to his economic bracket.Â
But thereâs this grey area between all that, where you canât quite comprehend what your life has become. You watched him murder a man, saw him and his sister cover it up. You should hold the power; you have something on him.Â
Yet, he has this power over you. This sway that makes you agree to things you never would before.Â
On your last cent and struggling to keep a roof over your head, you still wouldnât let yourself rely on a man. But now, you sleep in his penthouse. You wear clothes bought with his card. And, occasionally, he visits you. For the most part, he keeps to his mansion and socialites.Â
But when heâs looking for something interesting, for someone without an ulterior motive or fake personality, he comes to you. Eventually, the shininess of a new toy will wear off. Youâll dull around the edges after not having to fight to survive. The thing thatâs strangely endeared him to you will be gone, and youâll be left worse off than before.Â
Because now, you donât have your own place to run back to.Â
Youâre searching through job listings on the new laptop he gave you when the front door opens. âShit,â you hiss, closing out the tabs and sliding the computer away just as he walks into the living room.Â
âWhat was that?â He demands, eyes already narrowed in suspicion.Â
âPorn,â you respond bluntly. His nostrils flare for a moment before his lips quirk. You offer a weak smile, feeling like a fool performing for nobles so far above her. Each moment with him, in the comfort of this grand place, you wonder when heâll grow tired. When you wonât be funny enough to keep around anymore. When youâll have to fight for scraps again.Â
He unbuttons his coat and you stand, already reaching for it. He lets out a rough sigh, collapsing on the couch as you go to hang it up. What are you to him? You find yourself asking that question more than youâre comfortable with.Â
When you return, heâs digging through your computer. Youâre not stupid, though. You look for ways to escape him on incognito tabs. âSnoop much?â you tease, offering a tense smile.Â
He closes your laptop and tosses it onto the table. Your eyes widen at the blase attitude. You could never imagine treating your valuables as if they were so⊠replaceable.Â
âWhat did you do tonight?â He asks, rubbing his temple as he sinks into the cushions.Â
âI already told you,â you snark. He pops open an eye, and you shrug.Â
Replaceable. âCooked some dinner, burnt it. Ordered Thai, instead.â
âIâm so sick of these fucking gatherings,â he grunts, eyes clenched shut as he shakes his head.Â
Replaceable.Â
He completely passes over what youâve said, but you donât really care. Taking a seat beside him, youâre not surprised when he grabs your waist, tugs you onto his lap. Itâs routine when he visits, now.Â
A doll.Â
You run your fingers through his tight curls and he shudders at the gentle touch. Smiling slightly, you pull his head into your chest. He falls easily into you. Most days, he reminds you of one of those mutts used in dog-fighting rings.Â
Heâs got sharp teeth and a worse bite, but he seems to just be looking for an iota of normalcy. Sadly, a life lived with a silver spoon in his mouth means he has no idea what normalcy is. Itâs certainly not playing house with your stay-at-home sugar baby whenever you get tired of being rich.Â
Dolls break so easily.Â
His arms tighten around you and you suck in a deep breath, trying to settle yourself. âWhatâre all these meetings about, anyway?â
âMarriage,â he answers bluntly. Your fingers still in his hair, job applications sit in the back of your mind. He lifts his head with a frown. âWhatâs wrong?â
Dolls are replaceable.Â
Your smile tightens at the edges until it hurts. âNothing,â you lie. âDonât like any of the gorgeous heiresses theyâve presented you with?â you try to tease him. It comes out too strained. Too bitter to fit your role.Â
Titus catches on, like a shark sniffing out blood. He leans back on the couch and you stiffly follow him. âWorried?â he taunts, and the joy that flickers through his eyes fills you with a blinding hate. He knows.Â
You almost thought he was too stupid to understand what it means to struggle. To have to worry about where or when your next meal will come. But he knows what you fear, he knows how to use it against you and keep you docile. Itâs fun for him, being so wholly in control of your life and your future.Â
I am replaceable.Â
âNot at all,â you shrug, dipping forward to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. âWe both know Iâm more fun than them.â You slip from his lap, smirking as you drag your hand along his shoulder, slowly making your way to the bedroom. It doesnât take him long to follow once youâve tugged his leash.Â
âOh.â Ursula stands at the entrance of the penthouse. Her sunglasses are still on, lips curled as she takes you in. âI was looking for Titus,â she explains, brushing past you and making her way inside.Â
Your eyes narrow as the door shuts behind her. Why do you feel like sheâs lying?
âShouldnât he be at your mansion?â You ask, heart skipping when you realize youâve left your laptop open on the coffee table. You knew Titus wouldnât be coming by anytime soon. You hadnât thought to cover your tracks.Â
Of course, Ursula takes after her twin. She loops through the living room, arms crossed in judgment, before her attentionâs snagged by the screen. She lifts her sunglasses and peers down at it.Â
If you pretend like itâs normal, maybe she wonât tell Titus.Â
âBig mansion,â she mutters in response to your earlier comment. âMustâve missed him.â
Now you know sheâs lying.Â
âUh-huh,â you mutter, trailing after her. âWell, heâs not here.â Ursula ignores you, bending down and scrolling through your laptop. âHey, do you mind-â
âOffice administrator?â She questions, tongue rolling like a job title is a foreign language.Â
You roll your eyes, âI forget nepo babies donât understand the idea of employment.â
She lets out a short scoff, offering you a bitter smile. âCareful,â she warns. âI donât like you that much.â
You offer a sharp grin, but bite your tongue. Youâre more scared of her than you are of Titus. Sheâs had him in her claws a lot longer than you. And you doubt you mean enough for him to protect you from her.Â
âWhy are you looking at jobs?â She demands, eyes snagging on your half-packed suitcase. âEscaping, are we?â
You follow her gaze and shake your head. If only. âNo, Titus wants to get away. Something about a property up in the mountains.â
âThe Leedle Property?â She interrupts.
âI guess,â you mutter, eyes narrowing at how eagerly she jumps at the information. âWhy?â
âAnd why are you applying to jobs if youâre not running away from my brother?â she asks, ignoring your question.Â
You bite your lip, wondering how much you should actually tell her. But it doesnât seem like sheâs leaving until sheâs satisfied. âIâm not an idiot. Your brother likes collecting toys, but he enjoys breaking them more.â Her eyes narrow, but she doesnât try to lie, doesnât try to correct you.Â
âThis canât last forever,â you motion toward the penthouse. âI need something I can actually rely on. Myself.â
âWhy not babytrap him?â
If you had a drink, youâd choke on it. âWhat?â you demand, voice rising in pitch.Â
Ursula shrugs. âBabytrap him, file false charges against him, stalk him. A few of the things the women in his life have tried to have a piece of my inheritance.â
âCrazy women,â you correct. âIâd rather work until Iâm 90 before I babytrap a man. Especially your brother. No offense,â you quickly correct.Â
Her tongue laves across her teeth as she surveys you. A part of you shudders, wondering if this is the part where the rich people cannibalize the poor to taste poverty for the first time. âThe Leedle Property, then? Whenâs this little getaway happening?â
She completely disregards your previous line of conversation. Youâre not sure if youâre grateful or more unsettled. âThis weekend,â you tell her.Â
âHm,â she hums before nodding and making her way back to the door. âMake sure Titus doesnât see those applications. I doubt heâd take kindly to his doll escaping her house.â
Your jaw clenches as the door slams shut behind her. You do not like that woman. Why the hell did she even come over?
Grumbling to yourself, you collect the rest of the clothes you plan on packing and shove them into your suitcase. No wonder Titus seems so eager to get away from his family. Theyâve got the meanest bite of anyone youâve had the displeasure of meeting.Â
Titus drives you up to the estate. Youâd had to bite back a joke about him knowing how to drive when heâd come to pick you up. You doubt heâd appreciate mockery during one of the few times he actually does something for himself. Besides, he seems to be in a good mood, no need to ruin that with your mouth.Â
âWhy the mountains?â you ask, breaking the silence for the first time during the drive.Â
Titusâs eyes drift over to you before focusing back on the road. âItâs quiet, peaceful.â He reaches over, hand squeezing your thigh. âNo one around for miles.â
You snort and toss him an unimpressed look. âYou could say that about any of your estates. How come weâre not relaxing on a beach with a drink in our hand?â
âDonât complain,â he chides, hand squeezing in warning.Â
You shift uncomfortably, straightening in your seat. âThank you,â you amend, âfor bringing me.â He offers a hum but says nothing else. Your stomach twists as you worry youâve just messed this trip up for yourself.Â
âHey,â a cool touch on your chin and youâre tilting your head to meet his eye. âThis will be nice,â he tells you. As if there is no greater authority than him. Like nothing could ever prove him wrong.Â
You yearn to move through the world with the kind of self-assured confidence a rich man has. As if the entire universe bends to his will and his alone. It must be nice, being so self-deluded.Â
âYeah,â you agree, voice empty as you offer a shallow smile. When will you get tired of me?
You hear it, a sort of clock counting down before youâre left broken on a curb somewhere.Â
His hand lingers on you the rest of the ride, but you both remain quiet. Something heavy has settled between you. An amalgamation of your hesitation, his uncertainty about what to do with you. For an hour of the drive, you actually wonder if heâs just brought you out here to kill you.Â
But he could have easily killed you at the penthouse. He doesnât seem the type to need a change of scenery. At least, thatâs the best you could comfort yourself.Â
Eventually, he pulls up the long, winding driveway of a sprawling estate. âI thought you said this was a cabin,â you accuse, forehead practically pressed to the window.Â
Titus pauses, âIt is.â
Your gaze drifts back to him and you scoff. âItâs the size of a McMansion.â
Titus shrugs, âItâs rustic.â
He gets out and you wait like youâre supposed to. It takes a second before heâs at your door, opening it and offering you a hand out. He leaves your luggage in the car. You wonder if heâll get it later or if there are little servants here to do that for him.Â
âYou know,â it's an effort to keep your jaw off the ground as you take in his second home. âIâm going to need a house tour, so I donât get lost in here this week.â
Titus lets out a small huff of laughter, arm winding around your waist as he leads you up the front steps. âDonât worry, Iâll show you all the hidden rooms.â He opens the front door as you shoot him a wide-eyed stare.Â
âHidden rooms-â
âThere you are!â A sharp voice interrupts you, cold and cruel. A blonde monster stands in the foyer. (Cabins definitely donât have foyers, by the way. Something to be addressed later.) âI was starting to worry you would never show up, brother.â
Ursula stands holding a champagne flute, dressed to the nines, and you suddenly realize there are a dozen other well-dressed people all around her. Certainly better looking than your worn-down jeans and baggy sweater. They all sip their drinks and fiddle with their diamonds, gaze scrutinizing you.Â
You shudder, freezing in the doorway as you realize this is an ambush. Women your age and younger all stand in a circle to the right of the door. Each dressed better than the last. Not one of them pays attention to you; all eyes are on Titus.Â
âUrsula?â Titus grits out, eyes roaming the room with fury burning in them. âWhat are you doing?âÂ
She walks forward and holds out her hand. Suddenly, youâre alone, Titus following after his sister as she leads him into an adjacent room. It doesnât take a genius to figure out what's happening. Youâd let it slip to Ursula where your getaway was going to be, and sheâd set this up.Â
An ambush of socialites and heiresses, far better suited for her brother than some scrappy little piece of trash like you. The womenâs parents were all eyeing you with disgust. Unable to comprehend how you captured Titusâs attention when their daughters failed.Â
You wind your arms tight around yourself, taking a hesitant step back. Maybe you could just steal his car and make a run for it.Â
âOh,â your back slams into someoneâs chest and you falter. âIâm sorry,â you mutter, already turning around.Â
An older man with cold eyes glares down at you. Shivers rack up your spine, gooseflesh pinches at you. The Senior Danforth, you would bet everything. Those cold, emotionless eyes are just like his sonâs.Â
âSir,â you greet, taking another step back.Â
His eyes narrow, and he lets out a low huff of disappointment. âI donât think Iâll ever understand my son.â
You offer an awkward chuckle, knowing youâre being insulted straight to your face. âDoes any parent?â
âAre you being smart with me?â
âI-â
âFather,â a voice interrupts. You sink back in relief, practically hiding behind Titus as he comes up behind you. âUrsulaâs just explained the mix-up.â His eyes dart over to you and you feel like youâre missing something crucial. âI wish you had told me your plan,â he grits out, clearly struggling to stay polite.Â
His father scoffs, not sparing you another glance. âWhy? So you could run away with your little paramour?âÂ
Your brows turn in, the way he says it makes it sound like a slur. You must be nothing to this man. Honestly, he looks at you and probably just sees a little roach to crush under his heel. Is this why Titus is with you? Thereâs clearly no love lost between him and his father. Maybe youâre his rebellion.Â
âOf course not,â Titus hisses. âYou know how deeply I respect our traditions,â again, another sly look over at you. What the fuck were they talking about?
You glance over your shoulder and catch a few people just as they rip their stares away. Their voices remain hushed, too low for you to make out any hints of what might be happening. Slowly, you step back from Titus. Heâs too absorbed by his father to pay much attention.Â
You make it all the way back to the car, thinking youâve successfully escaped, before you hear footsteps rushing to catch up. âWhat are you doing?â Titus demands.Â
âWhat do you think?â You whip around with a scoff and he draws back. âI know what I am to you, Titus. Iâm not something permanent or anyone worth a damn. But that doesnât mean I have to stay here and be insulted while you cozy up with some heiress.â
âIs that what you think?â He asks, head tilting curiously.Â
âItâs what I know. And itâs not like youâve proved me wrong.â
Titus smirks and that little quirk to his lips is infuriating. âAnd letting you stay rent-free at my penthouse doesnât prove you wrong? Providing you with any creature comfort you might want or need doesnât prove that?â
You lick your lips and let out a sharp sigh. âNo. Because I know you, this is your game, Titus. So, just let me go home, alright?â You reach for the door handle, but it doesnât budge. âTitus,â you grit out, yanking on the car door.Â
âYouâre not leaving,â he tells you.Â
âSeriously, Titus, I donât want to be here.â His lips flatten, and you draw back. For a moment, he almost looks sorry, and you think thatâs more terrifying than any anger youâve ever gotten from him. âWhatâs going-â
An arm wrapped around your back, a cloth pressed to your nose. One whiff of that sickly sweet scent and you were going limp.Â
Sharp, pungent, someone slips something under your nose strong enough to shock you back to life. You suck in a sharp gasp, more of the smell burning in your lungs. Your eyes open, but your vision remains dark. Something burns around your wrists, theyâve tied your hands behind your back.Â
âWhatâs- whatâs happening?â Laughter to your left, chilling and shrill.Â
âTake it off,â you vaguely recognize the voice of Titusâs father as a mask is ripped from your eyes. The light floods into your vision and you grimace, head pounding from whatever theyâd used to knock you out. When your eyes relax, you realize youâre in a basement of some sort. The walls are all dark brick, the floors a black tile that looks like itâd be easy to clean blood off of.Â
Thereâs a circle formed before you. The guests from upstairs are all staring at you now. Except the girls are dressed in white gowns and slips. While their parents all don black cloaks.Â
âOh fuck me,â you hiss, looking down at yourself. Youâve been changed into a matching white dress with the rest of the women. âI knew you assholes sacrificed people," you snap, glaring through the crowd. Youâre searching for one man, but theyâve all got these terrifying goat skull masks on.Â
Still, you think you recognize that haunting look in Titusâs eyes by now as your gaze stops on a man to your right.Â
âThe eloquent language of the working class,â someone titters off to your left.Â
âForgive the French,â you bite out. âBut at the very least, we donât fucking eat people.â
âEnough!â Your shoulders jump as Titusâs father descends the dais heâd been standing on. âNo one is getting eaten or sacrificed. All this is⊠is an annual hunt.â
The way he says it makes you wish you were being ritually sacrificed. A maid strolls through the crowd, a covered cart in her hand that she pushes to the middle of the circle. You almost call out for help, but their employees are just as fucked as the rest of them.Â
âA hunt?â You whisper, eyes being ripped to the side by one of the women in a white gown. Her glare is boring into you, malice and hatred bubbling over in frothing animosity. Youâd never even said one word to her, and she looks ready to rip your throat out and eat your heart.Â
âAs our guest to this tradition,â the Senior Danforth offers a chilling grin. âI allow you the first pick.â
âWe had a deal-â A man steps forth to object, but Titusâs father holds up his hand, silencing him without even looking away from you. Swallowing thickly, you step forward, hands still bound behind your back with rope. The Senior Danforth rips the sheet off the cart with a gusto better suited for a magician. Two servants appear behind you and roughly cut the rope away.Â
Beneath are a dozen different weapons. Glocks, shotguns, hunting knives, throwing stars, even a bow and arrows. âOh, weâre actually hunting?â You offer him a confused stare. If only one fucking person in this room would give it to you straight rather than playing at these confusing mind games.Â
âNot game,â someone answers and you go still. Titus, thatâs his voice. His father shoots him a reproachful glare and your former paramour goes quiet. Â
âWhen an eldest son is viable for marriage and deigns to choose outside of his⊠circle. A hunt is ordered by the families of the poor girls jilted. The last one standing earns his hand.â
âMarriage,â you tumble over your words. Reeling from figuring out youâre being hunted and that this is all for some man. âIâm not even his girlfriend. I mean, this is one big mistake. I donât want to marry him at all!â
âOuch,â someone laughs behind you.Â
âIâm afraid the hunt has already started,â Titusâs father motions behind him. On a marble slab behind the dais is a goatâs corpse, its throat slit and blood dribbling into an engraved sigil on the floor. âUnless youâre willing to forfeit?â
âYe-â
âNo!â A sharp voice interrupts. You turn and see Titus, his mask discarded as he stares past you at his father. âA forfeit is automatic disqualification.â
âOkayâŠâ
âDeath,â he snaps bluntly when you fail to pick up the hint.Â
âFucker,â you hiss, glaring over at his father.Â
âEnough,â Titus steps back into place as his father motions him away. âPick your weapon before I pick for you.â
This is fucking insane. Theyâre asking you to pick your weapon to murder other women. Half of whom look a decade younger than you. God, are you really about to murder child brides?
Someone laughs at your side and you glance over to see one of the young women whispering to her mother. Their eyes are sharp as they observe you, devoid of humor. Youâre nothing to them. Not human, not prey, just an obstacle in their way.Â
Your eyes drift back to the cart. Your hand inches toward a revolver. You know how to shoot and youâve got a decent aim. But you hesitate, there are eyes boring into the back of your head. Burning and urging you away from the revolver. Guns run out of bullets, but that hunting knife with the long, curved blade seems far more reliable.Â
Your hand wraps around the leather-bound handle. And Titusâs father hums. âInteresting,â he mutters. You pull back, the knife tucked to your chest as a maid directs you back into the circle. The other women step up, the majority going for bows or guns. Did you just get yourself killed?
When the last one has chosen, a girl barely older than twenty, the Senior Danforth claps his hands with a mirthful smile. âWith each bell tolled, we are one step closer to a most beneficial union. Take them to their release points.â
Your arms are snatched up by two servants as they march you out of the basement. The majority of the women are split up, taken to different sections of the estate to lessen the chances of a quick, boring game. But while theyâre directed outside, youâre led up the stairs to a bedroom. âWhatâre you doing?â You demand, eyes wide as the servants deposit you in the center of the room.Â
One of the maids giggles, pressing a finger to her lips as she runs from the room. âWhat?â You hiss, bewildered as you try to come to terms with everything thatâs happened.Â
But life doesn't feel like letting you get comfortable in this new reality. âMake this quick, Titus, I donât want to be accused of cheating.â Ursulaâs voice, bored and cold as usual. Her steps are growing closer to this room.Â
You suck in a sharp breath, eyes darting around for somewhere to hide. Thereâs an old wooden wardrobe, just big enough for you to slip in. You rush toward it, throwing yourself inside just as the bedroom door creaks open.Â
Titus lets out a low groan and you press your eye to the crack of the wardrobe. âI told them to bring her here.â
âI told you we should have fired those two years ago, theyâre fucking worthless.â Ursula has a revolver in her hands, similar to the one that youâd rejected. On Titusâs shoulder is what looks like a large hammer. The type youâd see at historical sites beside blacksmithing forges, not held casually. Â
âWhere do you think they left her?â Titus glances around the room, his eyes hesitate over the wardrobe. You jump back from the crack in the door, clamping your hand over your mouth so he canât hear you breathe.Â
âWho knows? Letâs just make this quick,â Ursula checks her revolver, loading in bullets before sending Titus a sharp smirk.Â
âI canât believe I let you talk me into this,â he sighs, following her out of the room. You wait until the bedroom door closes to slip out of the wardrobe. Your heart is slamming against your ribs, blood thrumming with adrenaline as you let out a shaky breath.Â
Itâs not like you and Titus were some grand love story. Your relationship lies within transactional boundaries. And youâve knownâŠ. You knew! That this would always end badly for you. Titus likes to break his toys; you just hadnât thought he would go so far as to drag you into a fucking satanic cult.Â
Your throat clenches tight as your chest quakes; itâs hard to get your breath as reality slowly dawns on you. The knife is clutched so tightly in your chest, one trip and youâll end up offing yourself. Slowly, you creep toward the bedroom door.Â
Maybe youâd be better off hiding in here. Your hand hovers over the doorknob as you think of something Titus had said to you. âIâll give you a tour of the hidden rooms.â
Your eyes track over every crevice of the room youâre standing in. There are at least three spots you see that might be a secret door or hidden passageway. Nowhere is safe.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, youâre throwing open the bedroom door and peeking into the hall. The stupid dress theyâd put you in trips up your feet as you step outside. The door closes softly behind you as you kneel, taking your knife and cutting into the hem.Â
âThere you are.â
Your head snaps up, blood draining from your face as you see Ursula standing at the end of the hall. âTitus,â she calls, eyes alight with the joy of the hunt.Â
You step from the tattered remains of your gossamer skirt, bare feet tripping along the waxed marble. Titus turns the corner, that hammer still on his shoulder. âThere you are,â his lips quirk and Ursula cocks her revolver. You take a step back and Titusâs eyes narrow. âDonât,â he warns.Â
But youâre already turning, feet slapping against the floor as you make a run for it. You can hear them curse behind you, Ursulaâs annoyed sigh as you turn the corner.Â
You come to a short stop, body freezing as you see another woman in a white slip. Sheâs apparently ditched the dress, same as you. Her eyes widen as they land on you, lighting up with a challenge. âNo, no, no, wait!â You let out a shrill scream as she lifts her gun, shooting wildly.Â
âJesus,â you drop to the ground, hands covering your head as a vase shatters behind you.Â
âShit,â she whines, stomping her foot as she goes to reload.Â
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â You snap, surging to your feet and storming toward her. Your hand lashes out, sending the gun clattering to the floor. She lunges for you, hands outstretched toward your neck. On instinct, your hands fly out. Both of them.Â
The knife youâd forgotten about plunges into her gut and she lets out a rattling groan. âOh, oh no,â you whisper, eyes bugging out as blood begins to pool down your arm. âOh I didnât mean it,â you whisper, lowering yourself as her body goes limp in your arms. Slowly, you let her drop to the floor, the knife making a schlick noise as it slips from her stomach.Â
âWhat did I do?â Tears are welling in your eyes. It doesnât matter that she was actively trying to kill you. Or that she would have gotten you first if you hadnât been faster. You just killed someone. Just took a life like it was nothing.Â
âI wasnât sure you had it in you.â With a gasp, you leap to your feet. Titus stands behind you, head tilted as he takes in the dead body. âCongratulations.â Barely a moment later, you hear it, the bell tolling somewhere off in the distance. Your eyes drop to the dead body at your feet.Â
âHow do they know?â Titus smirks and you have a feeling you wonât be made privy to family secrets unless you survive the night.Â
He opens his mouth, but the bell tolls once more, and then again. Two more girls, dead. âOnly eight left,â he grins. He takes a step closer, and you stumble back, knife pointed at his chest. Â
He glances between you and the knife with astonished surprise. âWhat are you gonna do with that?â His voice is low, disarmingly calm as he holds out his hand. The knife trembles in your grip, faltering slightly as he takes your wrist in his hand.Â
A sharp breath rips from you as he tugs you into his chest. The knife picks against his shirt, tearing at a thread, but you bend your wrist. Stopping yourself before you really hurt him. He tuts, disappointed by such a weak display of mercy. âYouâre not going to make it much longer if you canât go in for the kill.â
âI donât want to,â you whisper, biting your tongue so the tears in your eyes donât spill over. His gaze tracks the way your lashes flutter, a cruel smirk pulling at his lips.Â
âDo you want to live?â
Youâre silent for a moment, the blood of that woman cooling on your hand. His thumb sweeps through it, admiring how it paints your skin. âYes,â you finally choke out. As selfish as it is, you want to live. And if that means killing a few spoiled heiresses before they get you...
Youâve survived tighter squeezes in worse dresses.Â
âGood,â he practically coos, his voice a low purr, lulling you into this false sense of security where he isnât the same man whoâd gotten you in this situation to begin with. âBecause I donât want any of these other women. I want you, which means you need to live.â This cadence of his voice is the same tone he uses when he coaxes you into his bed.Â
He likes this.Â
You shouldnât be surprised. You met the man because you caught him murdering someone. Still, thereâs a dead body cooling at your feet and you can feel the weight of his want pressing into your hip.Â
âWhy did you do this?â You hiss out, finally asking the question thatâs haunted you since the game began. âWhy-â your voice breaks and you clamp your mouth shut. You canât let him see you cry. Heâd like it too much.Â
His hand comes up, gently cupping your cheek as he pulls you impossibly closer. âWasnât the plan,â he mutters, eyes stuck to your lips. âMy family thought it was about time I settled down. They wanted to make sure I chose the right woman.â
âThey donât want me, Titus.â And until a few minutes ago, you hadnât thought he wanted you either.Â
His eyes narrow as his grip on you tightens. It doesnât hurt, but it feels like youâre one bad move away from making him bite. âI donât care what they want. I want you. Which means youâre getting through this, alive. Iâm not calling another woman Mrs. Danforth, do you understand me?â
Even if you didnât want to survive⊠even if you werenât already the type of person who claws and scratches and doesnât care who she hurts to keep living, you wouldnât have a choice. Heâs not giving you an option; heâs threatening you. Making sure youâve got it through your thick skull that, no matter what, there is no escaping him.Â
âWhat do I do?â You whisper, lips nearly brushing his with how close he stands. He sucks in a deep breath before slowly releasing you. Itâs an effort not to stumble over the corpse as you put some space between the two of you.Â
âStay hidden,â he instructs. âIâll take care of the others.â
Your brows furrow as you fiddle with the torn edge of your dress. âWonât that count as cheating?â
âIt will.â Your shoulders jump to your ears as Ursulaâs voice echoes down the hallway. You turn to see her striding toward you. Thereâs blood splattered against her silk blouse and an angry red welt on her cheek. âBut if you think the others arenât out here sniping the competition, youâre not as smart as I gave you credit for.â
Another toll of the bell in the distance. The numbers are dwindling faster than expected. âAs for what you should do,â her brows raise and she offers you a cruel smile. âRun, rabbit, before someone else finds you.â
You want to ask them where the hell youâre meant to go, but footsteps are approaching from the other end of the hall. Titus spares you one last look before heading toward them, dragging his hammer from his shoulder. You swallow roughly, giving the dead woman one last look before you take off at a run.Â
Youâd thought the best place to hide would be in plain sight. Skulking around the estate while everyone searched for the girls outside seemed smart. Until the rain came, it began washing everyone inside, hunters and prey alike. One girl had found you hiding near the kitchen as she came back in from the storm.Â
It was only because the floor beneath her was soaking wet that you managed to get a good shove in. Just enough to have her slip and knock her head against the tile. After that, what happened feels like a blur. You know sheâs dead, that her blood coats the front of your dress. The bell had tolled, but you donât remember it.Â
It seems wrong, not remembering your own kill. Like youâre not honoring her death properly. But sheâd had a shotgun pointed at your chest, so itâs a little harder to find any sympathy. Unfortunately, her screaming had drawn attention to you.Â
You had to run out of the estate, into the pouring rain and raging winds. It battered your body, turned your white dress sheer as you tried to find cover in the woods bordering the estate. You briefly considered trying to find the road, but you doubt youâd have much luck in these conditions.Â
The bell tolls in the distance. If youâre keeping count right, that means there are only two other girls. You grimace, chin tucked to your chest as the rain howls around you. Your hair is soaked, stuck to your cheeks as you try to wipe the water from your eyes. You have no idea where the sudden storm came from, but you can hardly see a foot in front of you.Â
If the other women find you before you find them, youâre screwed. You wonât even have the time to be scared before they pounce. Shivering, you shove your hair off your face and push away from the tree youâd been resting on.Â
You try to keep low to the ground, using the underbrush as cover as you skulk through the forest. Somehow, through the sound of your own footsteps and the rain hitting the foliage, you manage to make out strange noises. It reminds you of the night you first met Titus, the last time youâd tasted normalcy.Â
It was the same noise the man heâd killed made right as he died. Peering around the tree youâre cowering behind, you see her. The last woman, shoulders heaving as she stands over the body of another. You flinch as the bell tolls and huddle down as she slowly surveys the area around her.Â
Recognition flares in your mind, and you feel your chest tighten. This is the same woman whoâd looked ready to rip you apart in the estate. Of course, the most vicious bitch had to be the last one standing.Â
The only advantage you have right now is that she doesnât know where you are. Knife in hand, you slowly creep your way out from behind the tree. Her back stays turned toward you, head tilting as she tries to get a better view through the rain.Â
You hold your breath, not making a noise. Not even as you lunge at her, arms wrapping around her neck as you both hurtle toward the forest floor. She lets out a low grunt, growling as you sit on top of her, struggling to pin her flailing limbs down.Â
One well-thrown elbow and youâre rolling off her, curling into yourself as you try to catch your breath. Sheâd managed to catch you right in the diaphragm. The impact gives her just enough time to right herself. Both of your dresses are stained with mud and blood. And as the rain continues to pour, you only grow filthier.Â
Nails tear through skin, hands slip and drag along wet flesh as you grapple on the floor. Your knife is kicked away, and her gun is buried somewhere in the dirt. Youâre left with nothing but physical strength and pure terror.Â
She gets her hand tangled in your hair and uses the leverage to slam your head into the ground. Your vision goes dark as your ears ring, pain throbbing through your skull. You lash out violently, nails catching her cheek. You dig in, dragging down until you feel her flesh building beneath your nails.Â
She lets out a gasping cry of pain, batting your hand away. She manages to turn you over, with a tight grip, sheâs quick to find your neck. Your legs kick violently beneath her, hips bucking as you quickly lose your breath.Â
Sheâs pinning you down, lips pulled back around sharp teeth in a growl. Her hands are wrapped around your throat, squeezing the life from your lungs. And, still, you have an advantage over her.Â
Youâre used to living off scraps, used to having to fight for what you want. You didnât grow up with everything handed to you on a silver platter. She never had to fight to live or to get what she wanted. That desperate drive to keep going and never stop isnât anywhere in her. She just wants to win. Just wants another trophy on her mantle.Â
Your legs slowly stop kicking as your hand gropes blindly through the mud. Your vision is beginning to go, the world greying at the edges as your nails catch on something sharp. She doesnât pay you any mind, grinning as she digs her thumbs into the hollow of your throat.Â
Blindly, you grab the rock and throw it into the side of her temple. She lets out an odd noise, grip loosening as she tilts to the side. You donât waste time catching your breath. Lunging forward, you knock her onto her back and raise the rock high above your head. Her eyes widen as you bring it down against her skull.Â
Thereâs a sick crack and then her eyes are shutting. But the bell still hasnât tolled. You bring your hand down again and again and again. Until the crack turns into a soft squish and thereâs blood weeping from the mangled mess that used to be her face. You donât stop until that bell rings, until you get to feel the finality of the night in your bones.Â
Your hand hovers above your head, the bell tolls through the night air. Slowly, the rock tumbles from your grasp as you struggle to your feet. The rain eases up, harsh battering becoming a gentle mist as the clouds above you part.Â
Your hair hangs in matted tangles around your face, your entire body is covered in mud and blood. The dress you wear is in tatters, thin straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Heavy boots snap against the branches behind you.Â
You hardly even flinch, just briefly glancing over your shoulder. All those from the basement have returned, black cloaks on and skull masks donned. You hear them whispering, betting with one another about which of their daughterâs survived the night.Â
Scraping your hand across your cheek, you attempt to rid yourself of some of the grime coating your skin. It barely puts a dent in it. With a sigh, you resign yourself to your fate, slowly turning.Â
You can tell from the gasps rippling through the crowd that theyâd already forgotten about you. You were never a threat to them, just the inciting incident to get their daughters into the right family.Â
A part of you almost wants to taunt them. To ask what good their deal with the devil did? Because youâre still alive and their daughterâs arenât. But youâre too tired and too beaten to do anything but keep standing.Â
The Senior Danforth stands at the front, hands tucked behind his back. âInteresting,â he muses, eyes narrowing.
First.Â
âI knew you were scrappy, but this is something else,â Ursula chuckles at her fatherâs side, admiring the mangled corpse at your feet.
Second.Â
Titus steps from the crowd, followed by a man in an elaborate cloak with a veil over his head. âYou all know the deal,â he calls to the others. He holds a hand out to you and you stare down at it.
He could be third, he could be last, but maybe youâll keep him around.Â
âWhat?â you croak, throat destroyed from what that woman had done to you.Â
âYour prize,â Ursula drawls. Oh, right, the whole reason for this fucking hunt. Marrying Titus, being a Danforth, signing away your soul.Â
âAnd if I say no?â
âYouâd be forfeiting,â Titus tells you, a quirk to his lips. He already knows your answer. You didnât make it this far just to give up now. You didnât claw your way back from hell just to throw it all away at the end.Â
Slowly, you take his hand in yours. The satanic priest beside him steps toward the corpse of the last woman. He dips his thumb into what's left of her skull and approaches you both. The warmth of her blood dribbles down your forehead as the priest etches a sigil into your skin. He doesnât do the same for Titus.Â
Your mind loses focus as he begins to speak. The vows you make certainly arenât those of holy matrimony, but you can hardly pay attention. You think about how with Titus on your arm, his leash will be passed hands.Â
Ursula, youâre sure, will try to get cozy with you. Make sure her guard dog never strays too far. It shouldnât be hard to get Titus to turn on her. Family has so little meaning to these monsters. But first, youâll want him to take out the patron of the family. The smug bastard whoâd dragged you into this hell simply because he couldnât stand his son dating someone so⊠cheap.Â
Then, youâll go after the others. All the soulless bastards who sent their daughters to die and didnât bat an eye. If you have to marry into this, bring children into this world, then youâre going to make sure thereâs no competition left for them to fight.Â
âI do,â Titus echoes the priestâs words and stares expectantly at you.Â
Thunder rolls in the sky behind you. âI do,â you whisper. Lightning flashes and for a moment, there are horns curling above Titusâs head. Theyâre gone as quick as they came, then heâs tugging you into a harsh kiss, anotherâs blood smearing between your lips as your unholy unionâs sealed.Â
This is your world now, and youâre not some trampy little paramour anymore. Youâre Mrs. Danforth. And youâre going to make every one of these fuckers pay for ever letting you grasp the power youâd fought for your entire life.Â
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end. â I do not own the characters or the movie Ready or Not (2), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2026. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.













