The weight of exhaustion presses me into the couch like a physical thing. I’ve barely moved since Mira left, drifting in and out of consciousness while some reality show plays on low. My body feels like it belongs to someone else—aching, marked, used. The memories of the Hunt flash through my mind in disjointed fragments. The masks. The feast. My father’s face.
The empty Thai food containers litter my coffee table. I should clean up. I should shower. I should pack. But every time I try to move, my limbs refuse to cooperate, heavy with a bone-deep weariness that sleep doesn’t touch.
The buzzer jolts me from another half-sleep. My heart slams against my ribs as I blink at the clock on my wall. 12:07 AM.
The twenty-four hours are up.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, forcing myself upright. My head spins with the sudden movement. I haven’t packed a thing. Haven’t even thought about what I should take for a year away. A year belonging to them.
The buzzer sounds again, longer this time. More insistent.
I shuffle to the intercom, pressing the talk button with a trembling finger. “Hello?”
“Cora. It’s Dominic. Let me up.”
His voice sends a shiver through me—fear, anger, and something else I don’t want to name. I press the button to unlock the building’s front door without responding.
I crack open my apartment door and wait, listening to the elevator’s mechanical whirr. When it opens, Dominic steps out alone. No Liam with his cutting smiles. No Ryder with his gentle hands. Just Dominic in an impeccably tailored suit, looking like he’s come to close a business deal rather than collect me.
Our eyes meet, and I see something unexpected flicker across his face. Not triumph. Not lust. Something that looks almost like regret.
“You’re alone,” I say, the words coming out more accusatory than I intended.
“They’re at the penthouse,” Dominic says, stepping into my apartment without waiting for an invitation. “We thought it might be... easier if I came alone. Less overwhelming.”
I cross my arms over my chest, creating a barrier between us.
“Liam and Ryder are making dinner,” he continues when I don’t respond. “Probably destroying my kitchen as we speak. Ryder insisted on cooking as apparently he’s as good as Gordon Ramsey.” The corner of his mouth quirks up, an attempt at humor that falls flat in the space between us.
I turn away, moving toward my bedroom. “I need to pack.”
“Cora.” His voice stops me. “Baby girl. I missed you.”
The pet name sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I remember how it felt when he called me that in the Red Room, when I arched against him, desperate for his touch. Before I knew what they had planned.
“Don’t,” I say, my voice breaking. “You don’t get to call me that after what you did.”
“Your father?—”
“My father is a monster,” I snap, whirling to face him. “But what you three did—making me sit there, using me like that in front of him—that was fucking cruel.”
Something flashes in his dark eyes. Not anger. Something worse. Understanding.
“I need to pack,” I repeat. “Just... give me some space.”
I hear Dominic’s footsteps behind me as I walk to my bedroom. He doesn’t respect the boundaries I’ve just set—of course, he doesn’t. His hand catches my wrist, not roughly, but with enough firmness that I can’t easily pull away.
“Cora, please,” he says, voice lower than before. “Look at me.”
I turn, because fighting him is exhausting, and I’m already so tired. His eyes meet mine, and I see a crack in that perfect, controlled mask he always wears.
“I fucked up,” he says simply. “We all did. But I’m the one who pushed for it. It was my idea.”
His thumb traces circles on the inside of my wrist, and I hate how my pulse jumps at his touch.
“I thought I wanted revenge,” he continues. “I thought using you to hurt him would feel good. But seeing your face when you realized what we’d done...” He stops, swallows hard. “It broke something in me, baby girl.”
His other hand lifts tentatively, hovering near my face as if he’s afraid to touch me. When I don’t flinch away, his fingers brush my jaw where the bruise is fading.
