The champagne, the spinning, and the sheer overwhelming strangeness of it all had caught up to her. The ballroom became a funhouse, every wide-eyed tribute a reflection of her own stunned expression. Hunters watched them from every angle, observing as if she and the others were nothing more than exhibits at a zoo.
When the music shifted again, slower this time, more deliberate, a new partner took her hand. Her body was tired, and her feet ached for a rest. Her new masked partner pulled her close with immediate possession. His grip was controlled and patient as Daisy awkwardly fell into step.
Rhythm was a personality trait, and every man danced differently. She was improving. Learning how to parallel their steps without getting her toes trampled and getting better at anticipating their next move by actually listening to the music. She focused on her footwork and the tempo, gliding with far more confidence than she’d had at the start of the ball—until he spoke.
“It’s nice to see you again…Daisy.”
Her head shot up, but his face was hidden by a white mask. “How…”
Her words faded away as he looked down at her with unmistakable eyes. Cold. Familiar. Assessing eyes.
“Dr. Tannhäuser.” She stumbled, her heel catching on the hem of her gown, and his arm tightened around her back, holding her upright with invasive familiarity.
“Careful now,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “Wouldn’t want you to fall. We have such a long night ahead.”
Daisy’s blood turned to ice. She tried to pull back, to put distance between them, but his grip only tightened.
His tongue clicked against his teeth in a soft, chiding rhythm. “No, no, no,” he whispered, the words slithering down her spine like a living snake, cold and wet. “That privilege is gone now, little doe. You signed the contract. You took the money. And now...” He traced the backs of his fingers down her cheek, close enough that she could smell the antiseptic beneath his cologne. “Now, you’re fair game.”
The music swelled around them. The hunt had already begun. This dance, this mockery of culture dressed up in performative sophistication, it was all a ruse. A power play, prettied up to look like Cinderella’s ball. But they weren’t princesses, and these men certainly weren’t princes of any sort. They were hunters who came to conquer and claim.
The horrific reality sank into her bones as the final notes of the tango faded into silence.
No more music. No more dancing.
In the stillness came a chilling awareness. Eyes watched them, masked over lascivious grins.
Dr. Tannhäuser released her with a smirk that promised everything she feared. He knew how high the stakes were, had felt every inch of tightness inside of her. And he looked like he wanted nothing more than to rip her in two.
“Jesus Christ,” the whispered prayer escaped too late.
What was done was done. She was here. There was no getting out. She could only get through it.
The hunters melted back like a thick cloud of black smoke. Daisy stood frozen on the dance floor, her heart pounding so hard her temples pulsed. Sweat gathered on her skin like mounting tears. Tributes gravitated toward the edges of the room, their faces pale beneath their masks. But those predatory eyes tracked their every move.
No escape.
“My beautiful tributes,” Aunt Vanessa announced, her voice cutting through the roar in Daisy’s ears. “The Wrecking Ball has concluded, and the hunt is about to begin.”
She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t prepared.
Daisy searched for Maggie, but the room had changed. Collars had loosened. Hair had fallen. Their perfect appearances were already splitting apart at the seams. It was as if the universe knew this was all an act—artifice in the name of showmanship. But she could already taste the corruption surrounding them.
Immeasurable wealth. Unstoppable entitlement. This was not a gentleman’s game.
“Before we begin, a brief reminder of what awaits you beyond these doors,” Aunt V continued.
This time, the men weren’t looking at her. They were looking at the tributes. Hungry stares. Shifting bodies. They adjusted themselves, already hardening for what lay ahead.
Daisy’s gaze shot to the grandfather clock in the corner. Its brass pendulum swung in steady arcs, measuring out the seconds until everything changed. The minute hand crept toward the twelve. Ten minutes. That was all that remained between now and whatever came next.
“The Preserve comprises two hundred acres of managed woodland, formal gardens, and hedge mazes.” Aunt V’s hands folded gracefully as she spoke. “You will find paths winding through the grounds, some lit by torchlight, others swallowed by darkness. The fog will be thick. Use it wisely.”
Daisy’s throat tightened. Eight minutes left.
“Safe zones are marked by green lanterns. Within these zones, no hunting, capture, or intimate contact should occur. Use the safe zones to rest, hydrate, and recover as needed. The primary safe zone is the grotto, located in the northwest section of the grounds. You’ll find warm robes, blankets, and a cornucopia of refreshments there, should you need respite.”
Seven minutes. The pendulum swung.
