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‘You’ve got a thing for dark colours,’ I tease lightly. ‘Always have.’

He watches me closely as I move around his space. He leans back onto the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his chest.

‘Yeah. Some things never change.’

There’s something calm and easy about the place, but also something lonely and cold.

I turn back to him. ‘I like seeing this side of you.’

‘Do you?’ he asks, his eyes dipping over me.

‘Mmhmm.’

I take a slow step closer, emboldened by the way those eyes trace my body. My fingers trail along the edge of the counter.

‘Your masks,’ I say softly, almost a whisper. I lift my eyes to his. ‘Can I see them?’

‘My masks?’ His tone is teasing, and I can tell he is thrilled by the question, as if he’d been hoping I’d ask.

‘Yes,’ I breathe, taking another step closer. ‘I want to see the one you work in the most.’

He swallows, his jaw tensing. The tension is palpable, crackling in the space between us, making my stomach flutter in anticipation.

‘Careful what you wish for,’ he murmurs, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

I smirk, matching his energy. ‘I like a little danger.’

He exhales, long and slow, and finally steps toward the cupboard, where there’s a shelf of masks lined up. Each one is a dark, twisted work of art. My smirk widens when I see a Scream mask in the centre. Watching him handle them is mesmerising; I see the way his fingers linger on the edges, the faint flex of his muscles. I can’t stop noticing things about him: how unbelievably tall he is, how broad, and how intense his brutal eyes are.

‘Pick one,’ he says.

Tingles erupt in my belly. Every instinct in me says to reach out, to touch him, and to lean in, but I hold back, letting the years of yearning simmer between us.

‘How can I possibly choose?’ I murmur.

His grin widens, looking devilishly sexy. ‘You’ll get to try each one out, don’t you worry.’

‘Each one?’ I echo, trying to keep my voice steady.

Ash steps closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.

‘Depends how brave you’re feeling,’ he murmurs. His eyes, though beautiful, are a little unsettling as he watches me like he’s trying to get inside my head.

An itch runs through my fingers as I stare at the masks, the urge to reach out almost unbearable – to touch him – to feel everything I’ve been wanting to for so long.

‘I’m feeling pretty brave.’

He laughs. ‘Mmhmm. That’s what I like to hear.’

My stomach lurches as he grabs the mask – the one he wears most nights and in his viral videos. Without a word, he peels his shirt over his head. My eyes roam over him: broad shoulders, lean muscles, the faint ridges of his abs. The dangerous energy I’ve always felt with him curls around us like a physical touch.

Ash lifts the mask to his face, sliding it on in a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes glitter. He tilts his head toward me, and I can’t look away. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s on fire.

‘You want me, Bryn?’ he drawls.

I nod, realising I’ve been holding my breath, suspended between excitement, fear, and the ache of years spent wanting him. This is Ash – dangerous, magnetic, and utterly consuming – like he has been since the moment I met him.

Taking another step toward me, Ash reaches out and drags his thumb across my lower lip. ‘These lips have haunted me for years.’