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The limo finally came to a stop, and the excitement inside the vehicle reached a fever pitch. Doors swung open, and we spilled out onto a blood red carpet, bathed in the glow of cameras and flashing lights. As we moved along the red carpet, the air filled with the hum of celebrity names and fashion praises. I kept my composure, going into my “plastic mode” as I’d called it in New York, when my sole purpose was to smile for society cameras. Just like there though, I couldn't help but feel like an imposter in my skin, like any minute someone would shout, “she doesn’t belong.”
The entrance to the party was a spectacle in itself, a surreal transition from Charlotte and I’s cramped apartment. The party organizers had morphed the historic Hollywood mansion into something straight out of a chilling Gothic novel—a haunted mansion designed to send shivers down your spine, complete with the imposing presence of a wrought-iron gate, its intricate details crawling with contorted, ominous vines.
Past the gate, a cobblestone path had been set up. It twisted and turned, guiding guests toward a grand, ancient-looking door adorned with sinister motifs like haunting gargoyles and demon figurines with mouths stretched into a sharp-toothed scream. Dim lanterns, sheltered in ornate wrought-iron sconces, flickered erratically, casting an uncertain light that played tricks on your senses.
Right as our group got to the entrance, a sudden, chilling gust of wind swept through—movie magic at its best—rustling the fallen leaves that littered the path. The heavy door, with its hinges groaning ominously, swung open slowly.
We stepped inside, and I was…immediately impressed. Gargantuan spider webs adorned with sparkling faux jewels stretched across the grand entrance. Pumpkins, meticulously carved with intricate designs, lit up the hallways, casting dancing shadows.
Celebrities and industry insiders mingled under the soft glow of chandeliers draped with cobwebs. Elaborately costumed guests swept past, their outfits rivaling any cinematic character. The walls were adorned with creepy paintings, and the floors were covered in red, rich, velvety carpets that silenced our footsteps as we navigated the maze of rooms.
A massive dance floor beckoned on one of the floors, pulsating with music that seemed to reverberate through the very foundations of the mansion. DJ booths disguised as haunted houses overlooked the revelry, while performers in elaborate, otherworldly costumes entertained the crowd.
Cocktail bars offered spooky concoctions, from "Witch's Brew" to "Vampire's Kiss,” and the aroma of gourmet food stations wafted through the air.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the group to disperse. Charlotte was the last one to stay with me, but after one drink she ducked away, claiming she “would be right back.” Spoiler alert, both of us knew she had no intention of coming back.
So there I was, navigating the crowded venue in a vast throng of unfamiliar faces. I stood in the corner, Hollywood’s version of a wallflower. I kept glancing at my phone, waiting for a message from Clark. Where was he?
Finally my phone buzzed.
Clark: Meet me on the third floor.
Hmm. That was odd. Why wouldn’t he just have told me when he got here so I could meet him at the entrance. I headed towards the stairs anyway, relieved I wasn’t going to be alone at this party any longer.
The haunted mansion theme was carried upstairs, more cobwebs strewn along the bannister, candles flickering against the walls while speakers shot out a mix of thumping sexual beats and low groans. Kind of like what you’d think monsters would sound like if they were having sex.
I passed a dusty, cobweb decorated mirror leaning against the wall and stopped to check my outfit. In the dim lighting of the place, I didn’t feel like I looked quite so bad. The sleek, form-fitting bodysuit was crafted from glossy black vinyl, hugging my every curve with tantalizing precision. The outfit featured a plunging neckline, showcasing a ton of cleavage, while a slender zipper ran down the front.
My legs were sheathed in matching thigh-high boots, adorned with sleek, silver zippers that glinted in the dim light. A wide, black belt cinched my waist, making me look like I actually had an hourglass figure and adding a touch of danger with its faux-leather texture.
My mask completed the transformation. The girl in the mirror looked nothing like Blake Shepfield. That had to be a good sign for the night.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Ari Lancaster would think of it.
Charlotte obviously hadn’t said, but I’d assumed she was meeting up with Soto tonight. Would the rest of the team be here too? If so, I’d just have to leave. I couldn’t let anything mess up my night with Clark.
Me: Okay, I’m up here. Where are you?
There weren’t as many people up here as there’d been on the other floors, and I made my way through the rooms, my heart beginning to race for reasons I wasn’t quite sure of. The music had shifted, transforming into a dark, sensual thumping beat that seemed to reverberate deep within me, a tantalizing rhythm that pulsed in between my legs. The sound of laughter and hushed whispers filled the air.
I glanced at my phone to see if he’d texted, because it felt like he was playing some kind of game at this point, but Clark hadn’t sent anything else. I typed out a ?, and stared at it for a moment, sighing when he didn’t respond right away.
Continuing to stroll through the dimly lit rooms, I caught sight of a lot…evidently this was where all the hookups were happening. A gorgeous brunette in a Playboy bunny costume was moaning against the wall, a large man dressed as a lumberjack on his knees in front of her, his face buried between her legs. My cheeks flushed as my gaze connected with hers. She reached out her hand towards me, a enigmatic smile on her face. I hurried away, my core feeling suspiciously wet by the erotic scene.
A few steps into the next room and I saw him, Clark, leaning against the wall in his Batman costume. He was striking, his tall, muscular frame accentuated by the snug-fitting costume. The dark fabric clung to his chiseled physique, emphasizing every sinew and curve beneath.
He looked good. Better than good. I’d been wrong about him not pulling off Batman…because I was having a wild reaction just staring at him. My breasts felt heavy, my nipples tightening under his dark green gaze. My insides were softening…my thong was soaked.
Had he always been this big, this powerfully built?
His strong jawline was adorned with a hint of rugged stubble, adding a raw, primal edge to his handsome features. HIs green eyes smoldered beneath his mask, a lusty animal look in them that had me rubbing my thighs together…desperate for some relief.
The room's shadows danced across his sculpted form…and I wanted him.
I raised my hand to call out to him, but before I could make a move, he slipped away into the next room. "What the fuck?" I muttered under my breath, following after him. Was this some kind of sexy roleplay?
I crossed the room and slowly stepped over the threshold into the next room. The atmosphere grew charged with a sensual tension. Suddenly, I felt a strong grip around my wrist, and I squeaked as I was pulled into a dark closet. The door clicked shut behind us. The lighting was even dimmer in here, and I could just make out the outline of Clark standing in front of me.
