Page 172 of The Owner's Temptation

I push through the stairwell and take the steps two at a time. I barely notice the burn in my thighs or the hitch in my breath.

When I crash through the door onto the fifth floor, I reach the railing just as the lights flicker to life above me.

And the world below me blooms.

Wrath.

The floor unfolds like a fever dream—jagged and sprawling, raw and untamed. It’s not a playroom. It’s a battlefield. A city swallowed by chaos and rebuilt for predators.

I grip the metal railing and scan the terrain. Faux-ruined buildings stretch wide in fractured symmetry. Steel beams hang like ribs from the ceiling. The floor below twists into a maze of rubble and walkways, hallways of darkness, corners designed to trap and tease.

Even trees—large and gnarled—erupt from the ground, their roots curling like claws across the tile. I blink at them. They lookreal.

And in the middle of it all, glowing like a sacrificial altar, is a raised stage.

It’s massive.

So much more than I imagined.

And it’sperfect.I’ll be able to see everything from the platform.

A voice cuts through the quiet, calm and controlled over the loudspeaker:

“Attention guests: due to an unexpected water main break, The Masquerade will be closing for the remainder of the evening. Please retrieve your belongings at the Clerks’ Desk. Thank you for your discretion.”

I laugh under my breath.

Water main break, my ass.

This is Lucian.

Clearing the floors. Getting rid of the crowd. Locking down his kingdom so he can storm through it without distraction.

And hunt me properly.

Guests begin moving past me—some masked, some leashed, others draped in leather or silk, feathers or chains—filing toward the stairs behind. No one seems particularly concerned. The Masquerade has rules. And when rules are broken, the offender will never step foot back inside.

As they rise, I descend.

Step by step, deeper intoWrath.

The further I walk, the more real it becomes—every sound a whisper, every flickering shadow a breath behind me. This floor was built for primal play. For predators. For pursuit.

For thehunt.

I reach the center, stepping up onto the raised platform, the cold metal beneath my feet humming with possibility. I turn slowly and take it all in—every corridor, every ruined doorway, every inch of wild design meant to obscure and reveal.

It’s not just a room.

It’s alabyrinth.

And I know exactly who will come looking for me here.

Lucian Vale.

The Devil.

And when he finds me?

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