Page 118 of Role Play
The word feels weighty and undeniable. I open my mouth to argue, to downplay it, to make some joke about how I’m just horny or bored or lonely. But nothing comes out.
Because he’s right.
I’m falling hard for Sora Cho, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it except lean into the mess.
chapter 25
Sora
The rideshare driver slows to a stop in front of imposing black iron gates that are easily twelve feet tall. I peer through the window, my eyes following the winding path up the hill to what appears to be a Victorian mansion silhouetted against the twilight sky. Ominous shadows dance across the moonlit clouds, and I swear the place is straight out of a horror movie poster.
“Are you sure this is where you meant to end up?” the driver asks, skepticism heavy in his voice.
I double-check my phone. “Yep. Blackwood Manor, 1313 Raven Hill Road.”
A hand-painted wooden sign hangs crookedly on the gates:Pre-booked admission only. No refunds. Enter at your own risk.
Below it, a smaller sign reads:Management is not responsible for heart attacks, panic disorders, or changes to undergarments.
Is that supposed to be funny? Or just the most obnoxious fine print I’ve ever read?
“Yeah, this is definitely it,” I mutter.
The driver shifts nervously in his seat. “So…do you need me to wait or something? Because this place gives me serious heebie-jeebies.”
“No need. My date said he’d be inside waiting for me.” I gather my purse, trying to project more confidence than I feel. “Apparently my name should be on some kind of list.”
“A date? Here?” The driver gives me a look through the rearview mirror that indicates he’s questioning my life choices. “Lady, you’re asking to be featured on an episode ofDateline.”
“It’s complicated,” I reply with a weak laugh. How do I explain to him that for my adventure into dark romance with Forrest, the creepier, the better?
As I reach for the door handle, the driver turns around fully. “I don’t normally do this, but I feel like I should wait until I see your date and confirm you’re safe. This whole setup is giving me major slasher-film vibes.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I promise.” I step out of the car, the crisp autumn air immediately raising goose bumps on my arms. “My boyfriend is inside, blending in as part of the cast.” I hold up my phone, waving it in the air as if the driver could read my text conversation with Forrest. “He’s apparently dressed as Ghostface, in a Scream mask. It’s a whole thing.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” The driver shakes his head. “Good luck, lady.”
With that ominous send-off, I watch as he speeds away, tires crunching on the gravel road. Great. Even Uber drivers think I’ve lost my mind.
I approach a small ticket booth beside the gates where a bored-looking guard sits scrolling through his phone. His face is half-hidden by the brim of a dusty cap, but I can see the scraggly beard underneath.
“Hi. Um, I’m supposed to meet someone here? Sora Cho. The name should be on the list.”
Without looking up, he taps something on his screen, then reaches over to press a button. The gates creak open with an ominous groan that feels entirely too theatrical.
“Enjoy your evening,” he says in a monotone that suggests enjoyment is the furthest thing from what awaits me.
I step through the gates, my heart already racing even though nothing remotely scary has happened yet. The path before me is lined with flickering lanterns that cast just enough light to prevent me from tripping but not enough to dispel the shadows lurking at the edges. Dead trees twist toward the sky like gnarled fingers, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots mournfully. This is comically right on the nose of every bad horror film Daphne’s ever made me sit through.
“Research, my ass.” I hug myself as I begin the trek up the hill. “I would’ve preferred a date in the libraryreadingabout this shit, instead.”
As I walk, my mind drifts to what I really want to talk to Forrest about tonight. After yesterday’s dinner fiasco with my parents, something shifted between us. The way he defended me to my father, not just politely disagreeing, but genuinely standing up for me, for my dreams—no one’s ever done that before.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m falling for a professional escort who makes his living by making women feel special. How could I possibly know what’s real and what’s performance?
I kick a pebble in frustration, watching it skitter down the path. Could I handle Forrest continuing his current job if we tried to make this real? The answer is a resounding, emphatic, neon-flashing,no. The thought of him with other women makes my stomach twist into pretzel shapes.
But is it fair for me to ask him to find a new job? What kind of selfish person demands someone give up their livelihood? I’m barely making enough to support myself, especially becauseas of last night, I’ve vowed never to ask Dad for another handout again, or accept one for that matter. Unless my books start selling, how can I contribute meaningfully to family and household expenses, especially with Dakota in the picture? It seems like either Forrest needs a new job…or I do.
