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Me: I want your courage. Show me you're truly mine.

Rose: How?

Me: Put your clothes on. Go to your workplace.

Rose: Now? It's the middle of the night. The school's closed.

Me: Exactly. That's the test. I want you to walk to the side gate. Take off your panties. Hang them on the tree. Then walk away.

Rose: G, that's insane! What if someone sees me??

Me: No one will. But if you're scared—

Rose: I'm not scared. It's just... really bold.

Me: Do it for me, Rose. Prove it.

Rose: Give me 30 mins.

The thrill of the hunt started surging through my veins. I was going to see her, to confirm my discovery with my own eyes, to see if my rose was as captivating in reality as she was in the virtual world.

The night was deep, streets silent. I had my driver stop in the shadows near the kindergarten, then approached the side entrance on foot alone.

Five minutes later, I saw her.

A petite figure appeared under the dim yellow streetlight, walking cautiously toward the school. Even in the poor lighting, I could clearly make out her silhouette—that slender neck,narrow waist, fiery red hair, and that particular bearing of nervousness mixed with defiance.

She wore a dark coat wrapped tightly around herself, her steps quick but careful.

It was her. Cassie Monroe.

I held my breath, watching her approach the side entrance. She looked around, making sure no one was watching, then quickly walked to the low sycamore tree beside the door.

Very good, rose. Let me see your courage.

Her movements were somewhat shaky but determined. I watched her retrieve something from under her skirt—a delicate pair of lace panties that gleamed faintly under the streetlight. She hung the thin fabric on a branch, her movements quick and nervous, then hurried away, disappearing into the darkness.

Christ, she was adorably inexperienced.

I waited a few minutes, making sure she was long gone, then got out and walked toward the tree.

I waited until she was completely out of sight before emerging from the shadows. In the moonlight, those lace panties hung from the branch like a blooming flower, suspended there quietly.

I reached up and plucked them down. The slightly damp fabric felt soft between my fingers, still carrying a trace of warmth and her unique scent—light jasmine mixed with a hint of nervous excitement.

Cassie Monroe.

??? ???????.

Anya's teacher.

My prey to hunt.

I carefully folded the panties and slipped them into my inner suit pocket, right against my heart. This would be the souvenir of our first "contact."

Settling back into the car, I felt a satisfaction I'd never experienced before. Now I held all the cards. I knew everything about her—her name, her job, where she lived, her daily routine. And she knew nothing about my real identity.

This would be the perfect hunting game.