Chapter 3 Chapter 3

CASSIAN'S POV

My feet wouldn't move.

They stood rooted to the spot like someone had poured concrete over them while my brain short-circuited like a broken fuse box. The bass from the party thumped somewhere in the distance, but all I could hear was the echo of his words.

Enjoy the show, baby.

He knew.

The bastard knew I was there. He knew about the recording. He probably knew about the entire fucking plan before I even thought of it. And he let me go through with it anyway because watching me squirm gives him some kind of sick satisfaction.

I ripped the mask off my face and sucked in a sharp breath. The humid night air did nothing to cool the heat crawling up my neck. My hands were shaking. From anger or something else, I refused to acknowledge.

"Cassian!"

Darius appeared beside me, his mask hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes were wide, darting between me and the direction Dominic had disappeared in.

"What happened? Did you get it? Did you catch him doing…."

"No." The word came out strangled. "He knew. He fucking knew, Darius."

"What do you mean he knew?"

I grabbed Darius by the arm and dragged him away from the pillar, away from prying ears and curious eyes. We ended up near the back of the house, where the pool's chlorinated water glittered under the moonlight. The party continued on the other side, muffled laughter and splashes providing a twisted soundtrack to my unraveling.

"He whispered in my ear, Darius. He said enjoy the show." I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, a nervous habit I'd never been able to shake. "He knew I was there. He knew about the phone. He…"

"Wait, wait, wait." Darius held up both hands like he was calming a spooked horse. "Back up. Did you actually see him do anything? Drugs? The white powder?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

No. I hadn't seen anything. I'd followed him and that guy into the room, set up my phone, and waited like an idiot while nothing probably happened. Or something did happen. Something that made him smell like…

I shoved that thought into a box and locked it away forever.

"I need to get my phone," I muttered, already moving toward the room.

Darius followed close behind, his flip-flops slapping against the wet concrete. "This is a disaster. You know that, right? This is a full-blown, five-alarm disaster."

"You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to help. I'm trying to prepare you for the inevitable humiliation that's coming."

We reached the door to the room. My hand hovered over the handle for a moment before I pushed it open.

The room was empty.

Not just empty of people, empty of everything. The bed was made. The windows were open, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of chlorine and cheap perfume. There was no evidence that anyone had been in here at all.

Except my phone was gone.

The spot where I'd hidden it behind the stack of towels on the shelf was bare. I checked twice. Three times. I pulled the shelf away from the wall, crouched down to look underneath the bed, even checked the bathroom like a madman.

Nothing.

"He took it," I said, my voice hollow.

Darius leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Well. On the bright side, at least he didn't leave a ransom note."

"Shut up, Darius."

"I'm just saying…"

"I said shut up."

I paced the length of the room, my bare feet pressing into the cheap carpet. The mask dangled from my fingers like evidence of my own stupidity. I'd been so careful. So calculated. And he'd still managed to outmaneuver me without breaking a sweat.

This was what Dominic Costello did. He got inside my head, rearranged the furniture, and left me to deal with the mess while he moved on to his next victim.

"We need to leave," I said finally. "Before he does something with that footage."

"What footage? You said you didn't catch him doing anything."

"I don't know what I caught. That's the problem." I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "He could have done anything in that room. Or nothing. And now he has proof that I was following him, setting up cameras, acting like some kind of.."

"Psycho stalker?" Darius offered helpfully.

"I was going to say concerned citizen."

"You were going to say concerned citizen?" Darius's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Cassian, you broke into a room at a party to secretly record someone. That's not concerned citizen behavior. That's restraining order behavior."

I didn't have a response to that because he was right. God, he was so right. What the hell was I thinking? Since when did I sneak around and set up surveillance? Since when did I let Dominic Costello turn me into someone I didn't recognize?

"Let's just go." I grabbed a random t-shirt from a pile on the dresser, someone else's, probably, but I didn't care and pulled it over my head. The fabric smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, but it was better than walking out in just my swim shorts.

We made our way through the party, past grinding bodies and half-empty cups floating in the pool. A girl tried to hand me a drink. A guy grabbed my arm and asked if I wanted to join them in the hot tub. I shook them all off, my eyes scanning the crowd for a flash of that snake tattoo.

I didn't see him anywhere.

Good. Maybe he'd left. Maybe he'd gotten bored and moved on to whatever hole he planned to occupy for the night.

The thought should have brought me relief. Instead, it made my stomach twist in a way I refused to examine.

---

The walk back to my apartment was quiet. Darius had peeled off halfway, muttering something about needing to "decompress" after tonight's events, which probably meant he was going to find someone to hook up with. I didn't ask. I didn't want to know.

My apartment was exactly how I'd left it, clean, organized, every book on the shelf arranged by height and color. The faint smell of vanilla from the candle I'd lit this morning still lingered in the air. This was my space. My sanctuary. The one place where Dominic Costello had never set foot.

I intended to keep it that way.

I peeled off the borrowed shirt and threw it in the trash. Then I stood under the shower for twenty minutes, letting the hot water pound against my shoulders until my skin turned pink. The heat helped. A little. It washed away the smell of the party, the chlorine, the lingering trace of whatever I'd inhaled secondhand.

But it didn't wash away the memory of his hand on my waist. The way he'd pulled me against his chest like I weighed nothing. The way his breath had fanned against my ear, warm and alcohol-soaked and entirely too close.

Enjoy the show, baby.

I slammed my palm against the shower tile.

"Fuck."

The word echoed off the walls, swallowed by the sound of running water. I pressed my forehead against the cool tile and forced myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way my therapist had taught me after my mom left and I'd spent three months refusing to leave my room.

Dominic Costello was not worth this. He was not worth the stress, the anxiety, the way my heart raced every time I saw him. He was a nuisance. A thorn in my side. Nothing more.

I repeated that to myself like a mantra as I dried off, changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, and collapsed onto my bed. My phone was still missing, Dominic had it, and the thought made me want to punch something but there was nothing I could do about it tonight.

Tomorrow, I'd deal with him. Tomorrow, I'd find a way to get my phone back and erase whatever footage was on it. Tomorrow, I'd figure out how to remove my name from that godforsaken project and get back to my carefully planned life.

But tonight, I would sleep.

Except I didn't sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, while my brain replayed every interaction I'd ever had with Dominic Costello. Middle school, when he'd pulled my hair and called me a nerd. High school, when he'd cornered me in the locker room and said I was "cute when I was angry." His mother's funeral, where he'd stood apart from everyone else, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow, until he'd seen me and something in his expression had shifted.

You're mine, Cassian. And I never let my things slip away from me.

We were fifteen then. Fifteen, and he'd looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. I'd wanted to feel sorry for him. I'd wanted to reach out and offer some kind of comfort because no one should have to bury their mother at fifteen.

But then he'd said those words, and whatever sympathy I'd felt had curdled into something else. Something that felt dangerously close to fear.

Not fear of him hurting me. He'd never laid a hand on me in anger, no matter how many times I'd swung at him. It was fear of what he represented, this chaotic, uncontrollable force that threatened to dismantle every wall I'd carefully constructed around myself.

A phone buzzed.

I froze.

My phone was in Dominic's possession. Which meant the buzzing wasn't coming from my phone.

I sat up slowly, my eyes scanning the dark room. The buzzing continued, muffled and distant. Coming from... my backpack?

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and padded over to where my backpack hung on the back of my desk chair. The buzzing grew louder as I approached. I unzipped the main compartment and reached inside, my fingers brushing against something that definitely hadn't been there before.

A phone.

But not my phone. This one was newer, sleeker, with a cracked screen protector that had been applied badly. A sticky note was attached to the back with a single line of text written in messy, familiar handwriting.

“You left something at the party. Thought you might want it back.” — D

I turned the phone over in my hands. The screen was lit up with a text message from a number I didn't recognize. No contact name. Just a string of digits and a preview of the message.

Dominic: Miss me already, sunshine?

My thumb hovered over the screen. I shouldn't open it. I should throw this phone across the room and pretend I never saw it. I should go back to bed and deal with this tomorrow when I had the energy and the mental fortitude to handle whatever game he was playing.

Instead, I unlocked the phone, no passcode, because of course he was that reckless and opened the message.

Dominic: Miss me already, sunshine?

Below it was a video file. No thumbnail. Just a white play button on a black screen.

I knew I shouldn't watch it. I knew it was a trap. I knew that whatever was on that video would only make things worse, would only give him more power over me, would only prove that he could get under my skin without even trying.

I pressed play.

The video was dark at first, the camera angled toward the ceiling. I could hear muffled voices, footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing. Then the camera shifted, and I saw myself.

From behind.

Watching and waiting. My masked face was barely visible in the dim light as I crouched behind the pillar and waited for Dominic and that guy to enter the room.

The video had been taken from somewhere near the pool. Which meant Dominic hadn't been in the room at all. He'd been outside, watching me watch him.

The footage continued for another thirty seconds before cutting out. When it came back, the angle had changed. Now the camera was focused on my face, maskless, panicked, as Dominic whispered something in my ear.

I watched myself freeze. Watched my eyes go wide. Watched the color drain from my face as his words registered.

And then I watched him walk away, whistling, while I stood there like a statue.

The video ended.

A new message appeared.

Dominic: Cute mask, by the way. Very mysterious. But I prefer seeing your face. Especially when you're flustered.

I typed back with shaking fingers.

Me: What do you want, Dominic?

His response was immediate.

Dominic: You know what I want.

Me: I'm not playing your games.

Dominic: Who said anything about games? I'm deadly serious, sunshine. Always have been.

Me: Give me back my phone.

Dominic: Come get it.

I hesitated for a moment before typing back.

Me: Where?

Dominic: My place. Tomorrow. 8pm. Don't be late.

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. Going to his apartment was a terrible idea. A catastrophic, life-ruining, what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you idea.

But he had my phone. My entire life was on that phone. Contacts, photos, notes, passwords, everything.

Me: Fine.

I typed the word before I could talk myself out of it.

His response was a single emoji. A snake.

Because of course it was.

I threw the phone onto my bed and pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. What the hell was I doing? What the hell had I just agreed to?

Tomorrow night, I was going to Dominic Costello's apartment.

And something told me I wasn't coming back the same.