No more Saint Shade. No more Vegas throne.
And she’ll be the one who lit the match and set me ablaze.
I snag my hoodie from its hook, grab my mask, and storm out of my dressing room. I stalk past the backstage chatter. I don’t even notice if anyone calls after me. My head is ringing too loud.
I should wait. Take two seconds to think. Plan this. Hell, I should send one of my crew to “casually” talk her down. Maybeeven send my lawyer with a cease and desist. But the idea of anyone else being between her and me makes my skin crawl.
No, this is mine.
I’m the one she’s obsessed with. I’m the one she taunts in her captions, the one she thirsts after in public like she already owns me.
And if I’m being honest with myself? I’m the one who can’t stop imagining what her voice would sound like whispering my name.
I slide behind the wheel of the car and peel out of the lot, city lights flashing across my windshield like strobe lights.
Her house is ten minutes away. I know because I’ve timed it before. I’ve parked across the street, hidden under the shadow of a broken streetlamp, and watched her slip inside with takeout boxes or coffee, sometimes with her sisters trailing behind her.
I shouldn’t know the way by heart.
But I do.
Tonight, the windows are almost all dark. The blinds are drawn in Willow’s bedroom, Opal’s too. There’s a faint flickering from inside coming from Iris’s room, though. If I had to guess, it looks like Iris is the only one home.
Maybe I shouldn’t know her sister’s names, but what the hell can I say? I might have a problem.
I kill the engine and sit there, fingers drumming against the wheel, waiting. Watching. Hoping maybe I’m wrong and Willow will appear in the doorway any second.
Five minutes pass. Ten.
Nothing.
She’s not home.
My pulse spikes. It’s Halloween—she could be anywhere. A party. A bar. With someone else.
A sour taste coats my tongue at that thought. The idea of her leaning close to another man, flirting, smiling, laughing that lowlaugh she lets slip in her videos—it makes me grip the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.
Fuck.
I can’t lose track of her now. Not tonight. Not when she’s circling me closer and closer with those cards like she already knows the truth.
There’s one other place she might be. It’s my only hope of catching her tonight.
I don’t give myself time to second-guess. I gun the engine, spin back onto the road, and aim for the neon glow two blocks off the Strip. The Vale Tarot sign is my lighthouse. And if I’m lucky, it’ll lead me straight to her.
I park half a block away, palms slick on the wheel. My whole body buzzes with adrenaline, worse than anything the stage ever gives me. Out there, I’m in control. Up there on the silks, the fire, the cards—that’s my kingdom.
Here? Hunting her down in the dark? This is reckless as hell.
But when I see the light bleeding through her shop’s windows, relief slams into me so hard I almost laugh. It’s dim; the light in the front part of the shop is off, but she never leaves any lights on by accident. The light spilling out from the back room means she’s here.
I check the street left and right, shove my mask deeper into my pocket as I debate how to do this, and force my legs to move. Every step closer tightens the coil in my chest. What the hell am I going to say?Hey, babe, love your content. Could you stop exposing me before you ruin my entire life?
Pathetic.
Still, I’m rehearsing—pleas, bargains, threats—when I glance through the glass front door.
She isn’t in the front room, just like I expected. It’s empty up front. But there’s a door leading to the back room, and it’s left open just a foot or so, barely granting me a view inside.
