My thoughts and strange, unshakable feelings—ones I can't even begin to organize—are all jumbled up in a mental folder labeled Shit to sort out later. But the longer I shove it aside, the more chaotic I feel inside. That's exactly why I need to be home—in my safe place, where I'm in sole control of my environment.
I'm practically sprinting around the corners toward the elevators when I collide with a tall man in a red suit, his platinum-blond surfer hair falling into his eyes. The red catches my eyes and that leads me to look up at his face. He quickly apologizes and continues past me without pause. I'm tempted to glance back, the urge clawing at me. I never forget a face, and I've definitely seen him before—but where?
Who cares right now, Marcie? Just get your ass home, my brain screams out as the elevator doors close and carry me down to the lobby.
All I want is to go straight to sleep once I finally bury myself against my plush pillows. But instead, my brain launches into overdrive. Memories I thought I'd archived from my years at Sera Elganza—specifically the late nights I was summoned to his house for ridiculous last-minute errands—unravel like an old film reel in my drowsy head. Only a few moments forced themselves to the forefront: the time the lights went out at his house and I discovered him in a terror-stricken state as Grant ordered me outside. . . and the morning, specifically at 4:30 a.m., when I found him asleep in his bedroom closet.
There's something about him and the dark—something he can't escape. Almost every single light in his house always stays on. And that scar at the back of his head—what exactly is the story behind that?