I hear his voice again, this time clearer, closer.
“Incy wincy spider, tangled in her fear, The monster’s getting closer, whispering in her ear…”
I choke on a sob, pushing open a mirrored door that leads to another corridor lined with webs—thick, hanging threads that brush my face, sticking to my skin. I wipe at them frantically, heart racing.
“He’s already here,”the voices whisper.“You trapped yourself, stupid girl. The spider doesn’t leave the web. It just waits to be eaten.”
I push through a set of heavy velvet curtains, finding myself in a central chamber—a circular room with mirrors on every wall, all angled to reflect the middle where I stand. A massive web design covers the floor, and a low pedestal holds a metal spider sculpture in the centre, its legs ready to pounce.
I hear the door behind me creak open, and my heart stops. I can see him through the reflection—his silhouette framed in the doorway, his head tilted, watching me with that predatory intensity.
He steps forward, his boots clicking against the tiled floor, slow and deliberate. The mirrors multiply him—one Damien, two, three—closing in from every angle.
“Incy wincy spider,”
he murmurs, his voice bouncing around the room, making it impossible to tell where he really is.
“Thought she could escape, But the maze just pulled her deeper, sealing up her fate.”
I press my back to the pedestal, trying to steady my breathing, but the mirrors keep showing me twisted versions of us—me cowering, him leaning over me, his hands wrapped around my throat.
He moves closer, and I can’t tell which version is real until his hand lands on the mirror, fingers spreading like he’s trying to reach through to me. “You’re so good at running,” he says softly, almost admiring. “But not good enough. You really thought you could just disappear?”
I shake my head, trying to back up, but there’s nowhere left to go. He’s everywhere—reflected from every angle, eyes fixed on me, watching me like I’m his prey.
“You don’t get it,” he whispers, almost gentle. “You don’t get to leave me. Not after I made you mine. You opened the door, Raven. You let me in. You don’t get to take that back.”
He leans closer to one of the mirrors, his breath fogging the glass. “The web always catches the spider,” he murmurs, lips curving into a dark smile. “And I’ll never let you crawl away.”
I can’t move. My pulse is deafening, drowning out my own thoughts.
He’s right here—everywhere—closing in.
And I know I’ve just run straight into his trap.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RAVEN
My pulse pounds in my ears, and I can’t breathe. The room spins around me, mirrors reflecting his figure from every angle, distorted and twisted, like he’s everywhere at once. I’m trapped.
I press my back against the pedestal, the cold metal of the spider sculpture biting into my skin through my shirt. Damien moves closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator savouring the chase.
He stops just inches from me, eyes locked on mine through the mirror, his lips curving into a wicked, triumphant smile. I can’t look away—his presence suffocates me, coils around me like silk.
“You gave me quite the run,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “You almost made me think you didn’t want it. Almost.”
I swallow hard, but I can’t find my voice. His hand brushes over the pedestal, fingers tracing the metal spider’s legs, and I can’t help but shiver when his eyes meet mine again—dark, possessive, unforgiving.
He pulls something from his pocket—a small, clear container—and my heart seizes when I see what’s inside. A large, black tarantula with red splurges on her body, its legs shifting slowly, almost lazily.
“Meet Vex,” he says, holding the container up to the light. “She’s a beautiful little thing, isn’t she? Dangerous too, but only if you move too fast. Only if you’re stupid.”
My stomach drops, and I press harder against the pedestal, trying to inch away. Damien notices his smirk widening.
“You’re not afraid of a little spider, are you, Raven?” he mocks, his tone dripping with dark amusement. “I thought you enjoyed playing with danger.”
I shake my head, trying to speak, but he just unscrews the lid, reaching in without hesitation. The tarantula crawls onto his hand, its movements slow and deliberate, legs brushing his skin.
