He opened his mouth to argue just as I shut the door firmly in his face, the click of the lock a small but deeply satisfying victory as I leaned back against it for a second, exhaling slowly.
And for reasons I absolutely refused to unpack right now, my thoughts flickered, uninvited, to another room filled with power and old books. Back to a gaze that had felt like it saw everything.
Back to…
The judge of my desires.
16
THE DO OVER
Ipushedaway thoughts of him.
My mind’s stalker.
The bathroom light clicked on with a muted hum, too bright for my still rattled nerves. I then squinted at my reflection like I wasn’t entirely convinced it was going to behave itself. My hair was a mess of sleep-knotted strands, sticking stubbornly to my cheeks and neck. My eyes looked darker than usual. Shadowed with the kind of exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep, and everything to do with being mentally manhandled by a demonic ruler in my subconscious.
I blew out a slow breath and turned the tap on, splashing cool water onto my face until the lingering heat faded and my pulse finally settled into something resembling normal. The mirror didn’t lie, unfortunately, and the woman staring back at me looked put together enough at first glance. But there was a tightness there I didn’t remember earning. Like I’d been bracing for impact without realizing it.
I reached for the towel, then paused when my hand twinged.
Right.
The altar.
I lowered my gaze and gently peeled back the edge of the makeshift bandage I’d slapped on last night in a haze of adrenaline and denial. It didn’t look as bad as it had felt in the moment, no swelling or fresh blood. Just angry lines across my palm, pink and tender, like it was still deciding what it wanted to be when it grew up. It ached dully when I flexed my fingers, a persistent reminder that none of this was imagined. That I really had bled for entry into a place that should not exist.
“Fantastic,” I murmured to myself, rinsing it carefully and drying it again before digging out my first aid kit and covering it properly. I wasn’t keen on explaining this to anyone at work, and the last thing I needed was someone asking why I looked like I’d lost a fight with a cursed cheese grater.
I turned back to the mirror once more, resolve tightening my spine as I told myself that I could do this. That I would figure it all out, just like I always did.
“Right, first things first,” I told myself as I got my ass in the shower. After that, I continued to go through the motions, feeling comfort in the daily norm. Hair dried and straightened until it fell sleek and obedient around my shoulders. My makeup was kept minimal, just enough to make it look like I’d slept, with a healthy dose of concealer under my eyes. Then I retrieved the day’s outfit, ignoring my little spectator and slipped back into the bathroom to change.
I then pulled on my wine-red pencil skirt, the fabric hugging my hips in a way that made me stand a little taller. This was followed by a fitted white blouse that wrapped neatly across my torso and tied at the back. The clean lines and quiet confidence stitched into every seam.
This was armor.
My reflection staring back in the mirror now looked more like I belonged in an office and not the demonic nightclub that had ensnared me last night. Like I knew what I was doing, andlike I hadn’t been dreaming about webs and thrones. Dreaming of a voice that still echoed far too vividly in my head. So, with this in mind, I smoothed my skirt once more, straightened my shoulders, and forced my thoughts back into their proper lane.
Work. Focus. Normality.
Oh yeah, and my new tagalong, who made me roll my eyes at the one crack in that fragile plan. A muffled thump sounded from the other side of the door, followed by Bo’s voice, annoyingly cheerful.
“You alive in there, Lily-pad, or did the mirror finally crack under the pressure?”
I closed my eyes for a brief, centering second.
“Goddess help me… Give me five minutes, will you?” I called back, my tone dry but steadier now.
“And if you so much as touch anything else in my room, I will personally find a spell to turn you into an actual frog.” My warning was met by an amused chuckle that was carried through the door.
“If it’s the excuse to kiss me you’re looking for, then I can tell you that this prince is ready without having a taste for bugs.”
I rolled my eyes for the millionth time and took one last glance at my reflection, confirming that, at least on the outside, I looked ready to face the day.
Inside was another story.
Because no matter how many times I told myself it was just a dream, my mind kept drifting back to glowing eyes. To arms closing around me and to a certainty that had felt far too real to dismiss. And that, more than any wound on my hand, was what had unsettled me the most.
