Because it means the plan can finally start.
I tap the notification open at a red light. A photo pops up—cardboard box placed neatly on the marble doorstep of the Rothwell mansion. Inside that box is everything I need to drag Jamie back into that night. Back into the woods. Back under me.
Not literally under me.
Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’m not planning to… do anything sexual. Christ, no.
This is a prank.
A mindfuck.
A lesson.
Jamie needs to understand boundaries.
He needs to understand fear.
He needs to understand that whatever moment hethoughthappened between us at the wedding—it was nothing.
And he needs to learn it the hard way.
The timing is perfect.
Dad and his mom are gone for the weekend, off doing their rich-people-gala bullshit. The mansion is practically a playground right now.
And what better way to hammer the point home than with the same mask I chased him with all those years ago?
Just a reminder.
A little whisper of danger.
A taste of the fear he should’ve never forgotten.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.
He needs this lesson.
He deserves it.
He brought this on himself.
My smile widens as I turn onto our street.
I’m not doing this because of the way he looked at me.
Or because I can’t stop replaying that almost-kiss in my fucking head.
Or because every time I think of him pressed to that muddy ground—jeans tight, chest heaving—my body reacts in ways I refuse to acknowledge.
No.
This is about control.
About power.
About setting things straight before they get twisted into something unrecognizable.
