I reach for her hand, squeezing it. “But he manipulated you. He trapped you in that maze?—”
“Did he?” The question tastes bitter in her mouth. “Because when I think back to every moment... yes, he cornered me. Yes, he used the maze, the chains, every psychological trick in his arsenal. But when it mattered, when he was touching me...”
She closes her eyes, lost in the memory. “He never truly injured me. I wanted him. God help me, Cora, I wanted every second of it. Even now, knowing I should run as far and fast as I can, all I can think about is seeing him again tomorrow. Being with him for an entire year.”
Our confessions hang between us like a shared secret, dark and shameful and undeniable.
“What if that’s the point?” I say suddenly, my mind racing through the implications. “What if the Hunt isn’t really about physical domination at all?”
Mira tilts her head, waiting for me to continue.
“Think about it. They could have just taken us. The Blackwoods have enough power to make six women disappear without a trace. They didn’t, though, did they? They created this elaborate ritual. The maze, the pursuit, the psychological games...”
My pulse quickens as the pieces begin to fall into place. “They wanted us to surrender. Not just our bodies but our minds. Oursense of self. They wanted us towantthem, to crave what they were doing to us even while we knew we should fight it.”
I stand and pace to the window. “The contracts aren’t legal protection. They’re psychological manipulation. By making us sign away our right to refuse, they forced us to confront our own desires without the safety net of being able to say no.”
My reflection shows a woman with wild hair, kiss-swollen lips, and I’m wearing clothes that barely conceal the marks they left on my skin.
“And it worked,” I whisper. “Because here I am, admitting that I want to go back. That I want more. That the idea of never seeing them again feels worse than being with them for a year.”
I turn back to Mira, seeing my own emotions reflected in her eyes. “Maybe that’s what makes them so dangerous. They don’t simply take your body. They get inside your head and twist everything until you’re not sure what you want anymore. Until you’re not sure who you are.”
We fall silent, the weight of our introspection settling over us like a heavy weight. I sink back down onto the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest. We were two women who walked into Purgatory three days ago as one thing and came out as something else entirely.
The silence stretches between us, but it’s different. Not the emotionally charged silence of before, but something deeper. Contemplative. Shared understanding. Or maybe shared shame—I’m not sure there’s a difference anymore.
I think about their hands on my skin. Dominic’s commanding grip, Liam’s cruel touch, Ryder’s passionate intensity. Tomorrow, I’ll be theirs completely. For an entire year, I’ll belong to them in ways I don’t even understand yet.
The thought should terrify me.
Instead, it sends heat pooling low in my belly.
“Twenty-three hours,” I whisper, breaking the silence.
“Twenty-three hours,” Mira echoes.
The contracts are clear—we become theirs. Completely. No escape clause, no changing our minds, no pretending this was all a terrible mistake.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching a lone car move down the empty street below. Normal people, living normal lives, who will go to their normal jobs tomorrow morning. They have no idea what world exists parallel to theirs. What darkness lurks behind Ravenwood’s polished façade.
What darkness now lives inside me.
“Father called three times while we were...” My voice trails off. I don’t finish the sentence. Don’t say the words aloud.
“My editor, too,” Mira murmurs. “Demanding updates on my story.”
The irony isn’t lost on either of us. I became the story. We both did. The women who walked into Purgatory as one thing and came out changed.
“Will you publish?” I ask. “When it’s over? When the year is done?”
Mira turns from the window to look at me. “Would you want me to?”
I consider this for a long moment, my fingers tracing patterns on the couch cushion. “I don’t know. Part of me thinks someone should know the truth about what happens at Purgatory. About what the Blackwoods do. About how they break women down.”
I pause, my heart hammering in my chest. “But part of me...”
I shake my head, unable or unwilling to finish.
