Thomas pressed the mic hidden in his lapel. “Ever,” he said quietly, his voice calm as thunder before a storm. “Please gather the children, and anyone else who will be sitting out tonight’s…festivities. They’re about to begin.”
Somewhere below, the music changed, an undercurrent of drums rising beneath the strings. The lights dimmed just slightly, enough for the air to shift. A ripple went through the crowd like the collective shiver of predators catching scent.
The hunt was about to start.
Ever looked up and nodded, gathering the children with Shiloh, Cricket, and…Charlie. Thomas huffed out a quiet laugh, pointing it out to Aiden.
“She works fast,” Aiden murmured, eyes gleaming.
Once Thomas was assured the children—and their menagerie of pets—were secured in the children’s wing, he took the microphone Aiden handed him. He cleared his throat, the subtle rasp enough to slice through the chatter.
Conversations faltered, then stopped. Dozens of faces turned up toward him.
“Thank you all for coming,” Thomas began, voice warm, practiced. “As you know, we Mulvaneys love Halloween. It’s a time for masks, for costumes, for becoming someone else for an evening.” He paused, smile sharpening just enough to show teeth. “But tonight, we’re doing things a bit differently.”
A ripple of confused laughter moved through the crowd.
“Tonight,” he said, lowering his tone, “we’re going to play a game. No, not a game. A hunt, if you will.”
The words hung in the air like smoke. Around the room, guests began glancing at each other, some grinning, others frowning. His sons and their spouses started drifting closer to the front of the group, curiosity sharpening into expectation, all but the twins and their partners. Zane stood pale as porcelain, his throat working as he swallowed.
“We’re waiting for our special guest to arrive,” Thomas continued smoothly. “She should be here any moment.”
Felix’s arm tightened protectively around Zane’s waist. Asa and Avi flanked them, silent sentinels.
“When she arrives,” Thomas said, “we’ll explain the rules. Those who wish to participate may do so. Those who’d prefer to observe can watch from the war room, where we have full camera access, far more comfortable seating and, of course, libations.” He gestured toward the west hallway. “The children and animals are safe in the secured wing, which will remain locked for the duration of the evening. Guards posted. No exceptions. If you brought your children, rest assured, they couldn’t be safer.”
Aiden stepped forward to take the mic. His voice was light but carried easily, threaded with amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. “For those unfamiliar with our family’s…extracurricular activities, let me be perfectly clear: what happens tonight stays within these walls. We have lawyers. We have alibis. We have congressmen. We have fifty-two witnesses who will all tell the same story.”
“And what story is that?” Noah called, a tremor of adrenaline under his teasing tone.
Aiden smiled. “Simple. She was never here. In fact, if she was, we’d be well within our rights to defend ourselves. There is, after all, a restraining order against her.”
The room went utterly silent. The realization settled over them like ash, this wasn’t a metaphor. This was real.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Thomas’s smile returned, slow and deliberate. “And there’s our guest of honor now.”
He descended the stairs with unhurried grace, Aiden beside him, the crowd parting like water. Every eye followed them. The music had stopped without anyone noticing. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Thomas opened the door himself.
Beverly Scott stood on his doorstep in an expensive cocktail dress that didn’t match the theme, or the century. Her hair was a helmet, her lipstick bleeding at the edges. She stumbled a half-step backward when she saw Thomas standing there, dressed as an angel, his pale suit and feathered wings gleaming beneath the chandelier’s light. She clearly hadn’t expected the host to answer his own door.
“Ms. Scott,” Thomas said warmly, every inch the gracious host. “How wonderful you could join us.”
Beverly’s smile was razor-thin. “Mr. Mulvaney. I wasn’t aware I was invited.”
“Weren’t you?” He tilted his head, stepping aside. “I could have sworn we spoke about this. But please, do come in. We’re about to begin the evening’s entertainment.”
Beverly entered, her heels clicking smartly against the marble. Her eyes swept the ballroom, taking in the crowd of costumed strangers, the low light, the predatory stillness beneath the laughter.
Then she saw Zane.
Pale. Trembling. Standing between his husbands like a man awaiting trial.
Her smile turned vicious.
