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“No.” He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the snake tattooed around his throat, its mouth open and swallowing its own tail. Close enough to smell smoke and sweat. “The red door isn't for guests.”

He reached out and traced one finger along my jaw, and I should have pulled away, but I didn’t. Warm and controlled, his touch registered everywhere. “The House doesn’t give invitations to people it plans to let go. It gave you that mask because it wants you to stay. It showed you those performances so you’d understand what staying means. And it sent you to me because it wants to see what you’ll do when you realize that the only way to get your sister back is to take her place.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Then she stays where she is.” His hand dropped, and the absence of his touch hit me harder than it should have—a hollow ache in my stomach, between my thighs, in the way my breathing had changed without my permission. “The House doesn’t negotiate, Zinnia. It offers terms. You accept them, or you leave. Those are the only two choices you get.”

“Bullshit. There’s always another option.”

“Not here.” Stepping back, he watched me with the kind of attention that felt like being cataloged. “You want to find Dahlia? Fine. Keep exploring. Keep asking questions. Keep walking through rooms that were designed to make you feel something you’ve been trying not to feel for six years. But don’t go below the red door. Not yet. Because once you do, the House won’t let you leave until it’s decided what you’re worth.”

“And what am I worth?”

Tilting his head, he let me feel him looking at me through the mask, cataloging every reaction, every breath, every sign that I was already losing the fight I’d told myself I could win. “Haven’t decided yet. But I’m looking forward to finding out.”

“That’s a lot of buildup for someone who’s just going to disappoint me.”

His mouth curved wider. “You think I’m going to disappoint you?”

“I think you talk a big game for someone who needs an audience to get off.”

“Careful, little flower.” He moved closer again, invading the space I’d tried to reclaim. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

“Pretty sure I’m already in trouble. Or did you miss the part where you’ve been stalking me since I walked through the door?”

“Stalking.” He laughed, low and dark. “Is that what you think this is?”

“What else would you call it?”

“A test.” His hand shot out and caught my chin, forcing me to meet the mask’s empty eyes. “Every door you walked through tonight, every performance you watched, every question you asked Khaos—I arranged all of it. The Grinners who followed you through the gallery? I sent them. The Veiled Butcher who got his hands on you? I permitted it. Even the route that brought you here, to this room, at this exact moment—that was me.”

Cold spread through my chest. “Why?”

“Because the House wanted to see if you were worth keeping. And I wanted to see if you were stupid enough to come looking for something you can’t save." His thumb pressed against my lower lip. “Turns out, you are.”

I jerked my chin out of his grip. “If you’ve been testing me this whole time, then you already know I’m not leaving without her.”

“That’s the problem.” He circled me slowly, and I forced myself not to turn and follow his movement. “Dahlia made a bargain six years ago. She offered herself in exchange for your freedom. The House accepted. And now it’s been waiting for you to walk through that door so it can finish what she started.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means your big sister isn’t just below the red door, little flower. She’s the lock.” He stopped behind me, close enough for me to feel his breath on the back of my neck. “The House has been watching you since the day Dahlia signed. Waiting for you to show up. And now that you’re here, it’s moving faster than it has in decades.”

“Why me? What does it want?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” His voice turned sharp, frustrated. “Dahlia’s contract is full of conditions I can’t read. Clauses that don’t make sense. References to bloodlines and succession that the House won’t explain. All I know is that it wants you badly enough to break its own patterns, and I hate not knowing why.”

“Then figure it out.”

“I intend to.” His hand closed around the back of my neck, possessive and threatening. “But first, I’m going to make sure the House doesn’t get to you before I do. Because whatever makes you valuable, little flower, I want it for myself.”

“So this is about leverage.”

“Look around, sweetheart, everything here is about leverage.” His grip tightened. “The House has power because it owns what people want. I have power because I know how to take it first. And right now, you’re the most valuable thing in this building, which means you’re mine until I decide otherwise.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is now.” He turned me around to face him, his hand still wrapped around the back of my neck. “You perform with me on the main stage. You let me show every guest here that you belong to me. And in exchange, I’ll tell you everything I know about Dahlia’s bargain and take you to the red door when we’re done.”