Oh, fuck.
The name hangs between us, heavier than the corpse I just hauled.
Saint Shade. My empire. My mask. My entire life’s work.
Exposed in a back alley by a woman dressed as a cat who just murdered a man.
My stomach drops, like I just missed a trapeze bar and there’s nothing but air beneath me. I want to deny it, laugh it off, play dumb—but the way she’s staring, I know there’s no use. She’s seen the tattoo a hundred times online, thirsting over it in my videos. It’s literally the only tattoo I have on my body, and I don’t shy away from exposing my flesh on camera. It’s as damning as it could get.
My chest pounds. If she speaks a word of this—if she posts one hint, one card, one wink about what she just saw—it’s over. I curse under my breath, dragging a hand down my face.
She takes a step toward me, eyes still wide, voice rising with disbelief and hysteria. “You’re him. Holy shit. You’rehim.”
She looks half terrified, half like she just discovered Elvis is alive and stripping in her living room.
And me? I feel the walls closing in.
My double life just detonated.
chapter three
WILLOW
I’m frozen.Not because I was just caught ending a man’s life, or because said man is wrapped in a tarp in the back of my truck, but becauseheis standing in front of me.
Saint Shade.
The man I’ve spent months thirst-commenting on. The one I’ve made a whole damn obsession series about. The masked mystery with seven million followers and the kind of body that makes the internet collectively feral.
And he’s here. Maskless. Real. Watching me likeI’mthe show.
My stomach drops straight through the ground.Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
Every comment I’ve left,every rail me in halfjoke, every DM that I will deny to my grave—it all flashes through my mind. And now the universe has decided to laugh in my face by dropping him right into my murder cleanup.
And oh, my hell. Up close, he’s even hotter. Which feels deeply unfair. His shoulders are ridiculous, his jawline could slice through glass, and those green eyes are so sharp they could pierce straight through my soul.
Ugh, I hate him already.
He’s just as frozen as I am. Actually, he looks kind of…terrified. He never, ever meant for me to see that tattoo, the only identifying mark Saint Shade has. With his eyes fixed on me, he just stands there, blond hair glowing like some fallen angel in the neon light.
And that’s when it hits me.Blond.I blink hard. “Wait. You’re blond? You’re…blond?”
A laugh bubbles up out of me, sharp, too loud. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ve been obsessing over you for months, and you’re blond? I had you pegged for dark and broody, dripping in angst. And instead, you’re—what, surfer boy chic?”
Finally, a sign of life. His mouth quirks. And then he actually rolls his eyes. “You’re surprised? Everyone knows blonds have more fun.”
I gape at him. “Wow. That’s… that’s your line? You’re unmasked in front of me for the first time, and that’s what you go with?”
“Sorry to bust all your dark-haired bad boy fantasies,” he gripes, actually looking a little annoyed by my expectation.
It just never,evercrossed my mind that a thirst-trapping, masked acrobat magician would ever be… blond.
But at his shift, at his annoyance that creeps into his tone, I sober. I come back into this very real, very dangerous moment.
Saint Shade just saw me commit murder.
My pulse kicks into overdrive. My survival instincts finally roar awake.
