Page 9 of Your Masked Haunting

When you act like you know where you’re going, people don’t often stop you.

But I haven’t gotten too close. I’ve kept my distance, watching and waiting for the perfect time to steal her away. Clearly, from our run-in at Moore’s Crafts, she can be a bit … volatile.

But there’s more to the sassy spitfire than meets the eyes, just as I suspected. She’s a loner; she keeps to herself. I’ve barely witnessed her speaking to anyone besides her management and coworkers when absolutely necessary.

She has many masks herself, ones that shift, given the environment she’s in. Soft-spoken and sweet. Professional and curt. Quiet and submissive. Giggly and outgoing. She’s a chameleon, and I know her past experiences have forced her into this role.

It was clear well before the background check I had one of my family’s assistants run, having grabbed her full name and date of birth from the database in HR. I can practically see the background check file open in my mind, and I click on the Childhood tab.

Raised only a few towns over, she grew up in an unstable house with even more unstable people. Her parents have quite the rap sheet and history together. DCYF—Department of Children, Youth, and Families—made countless visits to their home.

It took a little bribing and voluntary donations to get access to the sealed files, but once I found the price, I happily paid it.

The notes left from the agency staff emphasized messy living conditions, lack of food, drug use by the parents, and more horrendous things that should’ve given the agency ample opportunity to remove Mona from the home.

Yet she remained there years after the incredulous behavior was well documented. Eventually, the agents stopped showing up, and the case was closed with regard to alleged improvement. Her case is yet another horrible example of the way the system has failed the very people it was created to protect.

After that, the only indications she still lived in that town were the honor roll reports from her junior and senior years of high school. I can’t find any social media accounts under her name, not old ones or new ones. There’s barely any digital footprint when it comes to her.

I had to get especially creative to find pictures of her at her high school graduation, tracking down photos from her classmates and their families. But in the background of some, I found her. The same long black hair. The same chip on her shoulder. A downward tip of her chin as she tried to shrink herself away.

At least she seems to have grown more confidence since then. Or she’s gotten really good at faking it. Regardless, I’ll be sure she knows exactly who she fucking is, even if I have to whisper it in her ear over and over as she comes undone.

I don’t know why I feel so drawn to her, but I have since the first time I saw her. At that moment, I knew she was the one I wanted. To protect. To care for. To cherish. It was that simple. And there’s no going back.

I’m not sure if it was the way she cursed at me or how she took me by complete surprise with so much sass coming out of such a short body. I just desperately wanted to know more about her. I still do.

Not just the information I can find, but the things she’s never admitted out loud. I want the whispered secrets she’s scared to share, but does it anyway, knowing they’re safe with me.

I might have forced my way into her life, but I made sure that she was accepting and eager for more before I crossed another line.

If she had pushed back in any way when I left the first note, I’d probably have tried once more, and if she’d turned me down again, I would’ve stopped altogether and severely struggled to leave her alone. But in the end, I would have. If it was truly what she wanted. But if anything, she’s leaned into my affection, and as each day ticks along, I’m only becoming more and more possessive. And her adoration for me is growing all the same.

The tension has been building for weeks, and I’m going to burst at the fucking seams if I can’t get my hands on her soon. Running them through her hair. Wrapping one around her neck. Slipping a thumb into her mouth. Sliding my fingers between her legs. Fucking hell, she’s my undoing, and I’m already ruined before ever touching her.

I’m desperate to know what she likes and hates, what she’s been dying to try, everything. I need to know everything about her, and I will. Soon enough, there won’t be a single thing about Mona Greer that I don’t know.

My hands twitch; I want to text her and tell her how happy I am like she likes our little game so far. But that’s another door I haven’t walked through. I’ve had her number since I discovered she was technically one of my employees. But I want the moment when I text or call for the first time to be just right.

Perfection is the only standard I’ll accept when it comes to her. She’s had enough people fail her throughout her life, and I won’t ever be one of them.

She likes this dynamic we have. She likes … me, and I have no intention of ever stopping or letting her go. But I’m not showing her who I really am, not for a little while at least. It’s safer that way, for the both of us.

Once anyone catches wind that I’m seeing someone, her name will likely be plastered everywhere. They’ll dig up her past and lay it out like an exhibit. We’re not crossing that road until she’s ready, if that's what she wants.

There have been plenty of times in my life when people tried getting close to me just because of my last name and my family. I haven’t gotten that vibe from Mona in the slightest, but I’d rather be safe than sorry and hurt in the end. Which is why the mask is the perfect shield, and I happen to love watching her behind my mask. Even though she hasn’t seen it up close and personal yet, I get the feeling she’s going to love it too.

Her love for Halloween and the theatrics of it are obvious from the way she studies her surroundings every day like she’s seeing it for the first time. Fall is her comfort zone, just like it is mine.

We’re soulmates. I just have to convince her of that too.

The nagging question appears again in my mind. What if she hates blond men and that’s why she freaked out at the craft store? I mean, I’ll dye my hair for her; I don’t care. But these are obstacles we have to cross by getting to know one another.

A little boy running in my line of vision pulls me from my thoughts, and I immediately recognize him as the one Mona was painting. The T. rex looks impressive on his cheek, especially since he gave her no help in cooperating.

My eyes drift over to her station, but it’s empty. A gasp straightens my spine as I sit up and scan the event. She couldn’t have gone far. If I can’t find her in a second, I’ll check the cameras. Maybe she went back to her room.

“Do you see her?” I ask the guys, not stopping my search.