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And if he gets angry?

Good.

If he gets jealous?

Even better.

If he shows up?

Best of all.

Because then maybe I really will kill him.

Later that night, as promised, I host the party.

My family isn’t home, which is the only reason this disaster is even possible.

Alya went on some girls’ trip, which is what she called it, anyway. My father and brother flew to Italy for a few days to meet with a cluster of ancient mafia relics. I, the heir, was not invited because apparently I still “can’t control my mouth.”

Joke’s on them.

I didn’t even want to go. Especially not if he was going to be there. So instead, I weaponize my own house. By ten, the place is drowning in noise.

I should feel entertained. Usually I do, but tonight my skin feels too tight.

Because my phone won’t stop vibrating. I already know who it is before I look. I step away from the main room, pull it out, and stare at the screen.

my parasite: Where are you.

my parasite: Answer me.

my parasite: Ilya.

my parasite: Don’t make me come find you.

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering. My pulse kicks harder than the bass. I should throw the phone. Instead I type, because some part of me is still unhinged from this afternoon and wants to poke the beast.

my prince: Busy. About to get gang-banged by half the people here. Don’t wait up.

my parasite: What do you mean, gang bang.

my parasite: Don’t make me mad, Ilya.

my parasite: You know what happens when you make me mad.

my parasite: I’m already on my way.

my parasite: Answer the fucking phone.

A shiver runs straight down my spine, heat and dread twisting together so tight I can barely breathe.

I shove the phone deep into my pocket and move. I push through the crowd until I reach the long dining table that’s already been cleared of everything important. People are dancing on it, bottles everywhere. I climb up, boots on the wood, and the music is so loud I have to shout.

“Listen up!” My voice cuts through the noise. “I’m in a generous mood tonight. Gonna fuck a few of you. Castings are open. Line up if you think you can handle it.”

Laughter, cheers, someone wolf-whistles. Hands reach for me. I smirk like I’m untouchable and jump back down into the bodies.

Later, the music shifts into something slower. I’m in the middle of the living room with three girls wrapped around me, one behind, arms locked over my chest, two in front grinding against my thighs. Hands everywhere. Mouths near my neck. I let them. I even laugh, head tipped back like none of it matters.