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Although I want to stay in bed, I reluctantly get up and take a long shower, taking my time to ensure I’m completely ready with the owners of the house I’m in love with. Obviously, they won’t see all the parts I’m shaving, but it makes me feel better to know I’ve embraced the CSR; clean, smooth, and refreshed.
After blow drying my hair and brushing my teeth, I pull out one of the lingerie sets I bought specifically for Cupid’s Court. Even though the bra is too small by now, I like the way it makes my tits look.
Then I slip into a fitted, blue wrap dress that matches my eyes, the fabric hugging my curves and tiny bump just right. My knee-high black leather boots add a subtle edge, while the sleek black blazer draped over my shoulders keeps it polished.
The silver chain pendant with three interlocking rings from Mickey and Soren hangs around my neck, the rings perfectly nestled in my cleavage, drawing just enough attention. My makeup is subtle, and my black and white hair hangs loose around my shoulders, framing my face with an effortless touch. The look is sexy yet sophisticated—just what I need for today.
I pick up my phone to text Luce, but as I unlock it I see the message from her.
Luce: Can’t make it today, Gail. Sorry. Kill it with the owners, yeah? You’ve got this.
Of course, she adds a fire emoji for good measure—it’s Luce, after all.
My fingers fly over the virtual keyboard as I text her back a quick heart and crossed fingers. Even though I’m disappointed she’s canceling on me, a part of me is glad she isn’t coming. There’s a lot we can do together, and even more she’s done for me over the years we’ve been friends. But finding the house for me and Fet to live in feels like something I should be doing on my own.
Walking into the kitchen I search for something that can serve as breakfast, but as I look at the cereal and sad-looking fruit, I decide I’m too nervous. So after a quick cup of tea, I check I have everything I think I could need.
References from my previous landlord, check. Proof of employment, check.
I save everything into a folder that’s easy to find on my phone, then I throw it into my handbag and grab my coat, quietly leaving Jamie’s apartment.
The steering wheel feels cold under my palms, the leather smooth and somehow grounding as I navigate the twisting roads leading to the ranch-style house. My heart hammers against my ribcage with a mix of anticipation and that fluttering curiosity that always seems to accompany anything new and potentially life-altering.
I crank up the radio, letting some indie rock band fill the silence with their angsty lyrics. They’ve got nothing on the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.
The GPS dings, signaling my arrival, and I park in front of the house—a picture of suburban tranquility with its neatly trimmed lawn and welcoming front porch. But as I kill the engine, a wave of unease washes over me. It’s too quiet.
There are no other cars here, which is weird. I double-check the confirmation email from the realtor, but yep, it’s now—or rather in two minutes. I decide to give them five minutes before I knock on the door.
When the time is up, I walk up to the front door and knock, which causes the door to swing open in an eerie way. Huh… maybe they’re inside since the door is unlocked?
Walking through it, I call out, “Hello? Is anyone home?” My voice is louder than I intend, a clear giveaway of my nerves.
It bounces off the walls, unanswered. I make my way to the kitchen, noting the spotless countertops and state-of-the-art appliances that seem to mock me with their unused perfection. The fridge, a shiny stainless steel behemoth, catches my attention.
An ultrasound picture, held up by a lone magnet shaped like a tiny hockey stick. “Fet” is written in curly letters at the top. My heart does a weird somersault. “What the hell?” I step closer, drawn by a mix of surprise and an inexplicable sense of connection to the image.
“Hello?” I call again, but still no one answers me.
I swallow the last remnants of unease as I leave the ultrasound behind, my curiosity now a wild thing clawing at my insides. It’s not just idle curiosity; it’s that other part of me—the one that led me to Cupid’s Court all those months ago.
Finally, I reach the master bedroom. The door is ajar, inviting yet foreboding. I push it open with a cautious hand, steeling myself for whatever awaits. My pulse is a drumline in my chest, pounding out a warning.
A shiver of unease trickles down my spine, and I pause—a statue carved in the middle of this too-quiet room. The hair on the back of my neck bristles in a primal warning; my breath hitches in my chest.
I mentally tell myself to calm the fuck down, brushing away the panic that threatens to claw its way up my throat. My heart hammers in my chest like it’s trying to beat its way out. I’m rooted to the spot, every sense straining for another sign, something to justify the alarm bells ringing in my head.
And then, there it is—the faintest shuffle of feet. It’s behind me. Close. Too damn close.
Instinct screams at me to turn around, confront whatever ghost has followed me here. But before my muscles obey, the world goes dark.
A hand—large, warm, unmistakably male—clamps over my eyes, plunging me into sudden blindness. My shock is a tangible thing, a visceral bolt of lightning that sears through my veins. A gasp escapes me, smothered by the palm pressed against my face.
“Who—” I begin, but the sound chokes off as fear grips me, a cold hand around my heart. Panic isn’t just an emotion now; it’s physical, a living thing that wraps itself around my body, squeezing until I’m dizzy with the need to break free.
“Shh...” The voice is a whisper against my ear, intimate and terrifying all at once.
There’s more movement, another pair of feet moving. That’s the only warning I get before I feel cold metal closing around my skin, followed by a smallclick.
