Page 175 of The Owner's Temptation

At the edge of the stage, her heels have been left behind.

Discarded like breadcrumbs.

I grin, slow and dark.

She thinks she can outrun me barefoot?

In my domain?

InThe Devil’s Playground?

No, little rabbit.

You can run all you want.

But you were mine the second you walked through that door.

And now I’m going to prove it.

I step off the stage, silent as shadow, and descend into the labyrinth ofWrath.

The moment I enter the first corridor, the temperature shifts. It's warmer here. Claustrophobic. The scent of leather and sweat still clings to the air from earlier scenes of indulgence, but now the space is hollow, stripped of everything but anticipation.

My boots move in silence. Every step calculated. Every breath shallow.

I don’t call for her. Don’t announce my arrival. I want her to wonder.

Is he close?

Is he watching me?

Because I am.

I listen.

There—a shift of movement to the left. Soft. Like bare feet against the metal grate of a stairwell. She’s light on her feet, I’ll give her that.

But she’s not silent.

She’s notme.

I change direction, cutting away from the wide path and slipping through one of the ruined doorframes of a collapsed structure. The club spared no expense on the detailing—walls are scorched and cracked, beams splintered, fake dust scattered for realism. I press a hand to the concrete, steadying myself as I listen again.

Nothing.

Clever girl.

She’s doubled back.

I turn, slipping between a stack of broken columns, and climb over a beam to the next chamber. It opens into what looks like an abandoned marketplace—wooden stalls and hanging fabric, designed for primal chases. For capture. For play.

I hear her again. Closer this time.

She’s trying to outsmart me.

Her footfalls falter deliberately—pause, shift, pause again. Trying to throw me off her trail.

I smile behind the mask.

---