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“Youlittle slut,”Iwhisper with a chuckle.
“Hey,I’mhere for a good time, not a long time,” she replies, her tone proud as she nudges me playfully.
Itug her closer. “Aslong as you promise to be safe.”
“Yes,Mommy,” she teases, her grin widening.
“OhmyGod.Areyou ever going to stop with that shit?”Igroan, rolling my eyes.
“Nope!” she quips, clearly enjoying herself.
“Whatever.Justremember, if we get separated and you need help, text me our keyword,”Iremind her, my tone more serious now.
“Yes,I’llmake sure to pull out my phone and text you whileI’mbeing murdered,” she says in a mockingly dramatic tone.
Istop in my tracks, shocked by her flippancy. “IsabelLuciaSoto.Beserious for two fucking seconds,”Ihiss, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Fine, fine.I’llmake sure to reach out if anything looks sketchy,” she concedes, her tone softening when she sees the worry in my eyes.
Weround a corner and enter a grand hall, where more people are gathered, talking and drinking.It’san intimate party, but there are at least twenty other people here, most of them men in those spine-chilling masks.Thesense of danger hangs thick in the air.Wearereallyoutnumbered.
Aserver glides over to us, holding a silver tray with flutes of champagne.Thebubbles fizz enticingly in the crystal glasses, but something about the scene makes me hesitate.Iexchange a glance withIsabel, who looks just as uncertain.Still, we each take a glass, the cold metal of the tray brushing against my fingers asIaccept it.Thewaiter’s face is expressionless, his eyes vacant, as if he’s just another part of the decor.
Withour drinks in hand, we scan the room.Theother women present are a mixed crowd.Somehold themselves with a haughty air, their noses slightly upturned as they gaze downat us, as if being at aWhitmoreparty is some kind of exclusive privilege they’ve earned.
Butothers, hidden or standing awkwardly near the walls, paint a different picture.Theireyes dart nervously around the room, and they cling to their glasses as if for dear life.Theylook frightened, their faces pale and tense, as if they’ve been coerced into attending this event.Icatch one girl’s eye—she looks like she’s barely out of her teens, her hand trembling as she brings her glass to her lips.
Suddenly, an older man with graying hair steps forward, commanding the room’s attention with a loud, authoritative clearing of his throat.Hissuit is impeccably tailored, his posture straight, and there’s an air of long-standing power around him.
ThelongerIstare at him, the more recognition hits.It’sLionelWhitmore,Camila’sadoptive father.I’mrooted to the spot.
Theconversations die down as everyone turns to face him, the room falling into a tense silence.
“Goodevening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Welcometo tonight’s gathering.Asalways, it’s a pleasure to see so many familiar faces...and a few new ones,” he adds, his eyes briefly sweeping overIsabeland me, causing a shiver to run down my spine.
“Fortonight’s entertainment,” he continues, his tone growing darker, “we have chosen a game both thrilling and exhilarating.I’msure many of you are familiar with it.”Hepauses, letting the anticipation build, andIfeel the room collectively hold its breath.
“Wewill be playing...hide and seek.”
Myheart drops, andIglance atIsabel, who is now visibly tense, her earlier bravado fading.Lionel’ssmile widens at the reaction his announcement elicits, and the men in the room exchange eager looks, their excitement barely contained.
“Therules are simple,” he continues, his eyes gleaming with something almost sinister. “Youhide, and when the clock strikes midnight, we seek.Butbe warned—those who are found...Well, let’s just say that’s when the real fun begins.”Hischuckle is low and menacing, and it reverberates through the room, chilling me to the core.
IgripIsabel’shand tightly, feeling the cool sweat on her palm as we stand there, our nerves fraying with each passing second.
“Lookslike we’re in for a real treat,”Isabelwhispers.
Thegame might seem harmless in theory, but in this context, it feels ominous.
Mr.Whitmore, still standing in the center of the room, raises a glass in a toast. “Toa night of thrills and surprises,” he announces with a grin. “Maythe best hiders win.”
Hisspeech is followed by a chorus of muted laughter and a few nervous giggles.IsabelandIexchange a worried glance.
“Doyou think we should stick together?”Isabelasks.
Wewatch as the guests scatter, disappearing down shadowy corridors.
“Definitely,”Ireply, trying to keep my own anxiety in check. “Weneed to stay close and keep an eye out for anything strange.”
