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21

SUTTON

I wasn’t sure how much time I had before Manic walked in and caught me going through his things, but I knew I had at least a few minutes while they talked in the kitchen. Their voices rose from hushed murmurs to something akin to annoyed whispers.

With Manic’s unpredictable mood, there was no telling what he’d do if he caught me. That didn’t mean I planned on discovering it, whatever it was. I needed to be quick.

Despite the sticky mess between my thighs, I rushed toward the shower and yanked the handle until it sputtered on. Steam rose within seconds.

I’d planned on asking Manic about my phone this morning, but after what happened just minutes ago…

I wasn’t thinking.

And now I was in his room.

I’d be an idiot to waste my chance to snoop, considering he’d do the exact same thing if the opportunity presented itself.

As the shower sprayed the tile in a steady, harsh stream, I darted to one of the nightstands, unsure of which side of the bed Manic preferred. Very slowly, I slid the first drawer open which was mostly bare save for a couple of nice watches. They gleamed in the light as if they had been freshly polished, hardly a speck of dust.

I shut the drawer.

My heart violently thudded, and I ran to the other side. The moment I pulled the second drawer open, my breath caught. Five separate phones stared back at me, including my own. My black jeweled case faintly sparkled in the drawer, the surface lined with obsidian crystals.

Despite my curiosity about the other phones, I glanced at the door, my stomach in my throat, and pulled mine out.

Please, please, please be charged.

I wasn’t entirely sure what the goal was, but I wanted to see if my admirer—or anyone for that matter—had texted me. A breath of relief escaped when my screen lit up, and I swiped it open.

My fingers worked quickly as my texts came into view, my pulse skipping at the sight of my mother’s messages. Many apologies. Many, many words that meant nothing now. Disappointment and a pang of hurt thumped beneath my ribcage. She fucking knew and hadn’t said anything to me.

Whatever. It wasn’t like we were close.

The next visible text was Amelia’s from yesterday, after our confrontation. Nothing before. Nothing after. My blood boiled, but I ignored her texts and looked for the one person I’d messaged day after day for five years.

The only one who mattered to me.

A blanket of awareness pricked my skin at the realization that nothing had come in from him. Not a single text. Panic and confusion circled my thoughts as I scrolled. Nothing.

I’d been at Manic’s penthouse for an entire month, and I hadn’t received a single text from my admirer? I hardly believed that.

Manic had kept my phone charged, so he had either wiped my messages, or I was sharing space with the very person who’d watched me for all those years. My brows creased as I stared at my phone, my adrenaline surging.

It didn’t make sense, not really.

Other than intentionally pissing me off when I did run into him, Manic had shown no interest in me for those five years. He didn’t seem like the type to stalk someone and not mention it. Or the very least, rub it in my face. He also didn’t seem like the type to sabotage dates or…

My stomach hit the floor.

Or pluck someone’s eyes out for luring me below their club to be used as a sex toy. I was wrong about that. Manic was exactly the type of person to kill someone for what happened that night. My skin pebbled, the hair on my arms rising as I shot one last glance toward the doors—at who stood beyond them.

I had zero proof.

I had zero proof, but why did it feel like I was right? What would I do if Manic was my admirer?

I swallowed the ascending bile in my throat and shoved my phone back into the drawer like it had burned my fingertips, my pulse too fast. My chest grew hot, my cheeks flushing, but I ignored my body’s chaotic turmoil and walked to the windows.

Any minute now, Manic would walk back in here.