“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.

Ghost hums, his grip tightening. “You think I do? That it’s ever been this way for me?”

A psychopath and a psychologist…

Neither of us know what to do. Or how to stop it.

Whatever this madness is.

CHAPTER 40

I wake up disoriented and confused, lying naked and tangled in the sheets. The memory of Ghost’s hands on my skin rushes through me, and I sit up, my pulse racing.

Was it a dream? A hallucination? Or did it actually happen?

I press my hand to my chest, trying to steady my erratic heartbeat as the room comes into focus. The pale light of dawn filters through the curtains, soft and mild, the opposite of the storm raging inside me. My skin feels warm, hypersensitive, as if his touch lingers even now.

It had to be a dream, I tell myself, though the conviction isn’t there. Because it felt so vivid, so real. His hands gripping my hips, the way his lips moved against mine… each detail is etched into my mind with a startling clarity.

I glance at the sheets, twisted and rumpled with use. Meanwhile, the comforter lies disregarded on the floor as if it was a hindrance. I drag my fingers over the curve of my hip, over the trace of a bruise, and a shiver runs through me.

The memory—or the illusion—floods back with force, Ghost’s voice low and rough in my ear, saying things that make my breath hitch even now. I shake my head, trying to clear it. The logical part of me knows the truth. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t have been. And yet, the pull of him is so strong, so consuming, that the boundary between reality and desire is almost nonexistent.

I scan the room, searching for any indication that he was actually here. That he’d come for me, touched me, been with me in a way that wasn’t just a fantasy born of my selfish desires. But there’s nothing. No clothes discarded. No sign of the man who’s ruined my life.

Except for a single magnolia resting on the pillow beside me.

My breathing halts as I stare at it, my chest tightening with a wave of emotions so twisted I can’t unravel them. Fear. Desire. Confusion.

And something I don’t want to name.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the flower, the smooth petals cool against my skin. The soft fragrance wraps around me, heady and intimate, like a whisper of the night before.

The magnolia is real.

Ghost was here.

The memory surges forward, vivid and inescapable. His hands on my skin, his body against mine, the way he claimed every inch of me with a mix of raw intensity and startling tenderness. The way he looked at me, like I wasn’t just someone to him, but everything.

My cheeks flush, my pulse quickening as the reality sets in. I close my eyes, clutching the flower tighter as the weight of what we did presses against my chest. And my heart.

This isn’t just a crossing of boundaries; it’s a complete obliteration of them. Every rule, every line I told myself I’d never cross, gone in an instant.

But the fear isn’t as sharp as I expected. It’s there, simmering beneath the surface, but it’s overshadowed by something else. Desire. For intimacy. For connection.

For him.

It’s a yearning I can’t ignore. The memory of his lips on my skin, his cock thrusting deep, the way he unraveled me completely… it all lingers, refusing to let me go.

The magnolia is his message. A silent confirmation of what we shared. A reminder that he’s never far. That I can never be apart from him.

I gently set the flower down on the nightstand, my fingers lingering on the stem. My mind spins with questions, but the answers don’t matter right now. What matters is that it happened. That he happened.

And that nothing will ever be the same.

Later that evening, I gesture to the garment bag hanging in the corner. “Well, I got the dress. The rest is up to you.”

Sarah beams, practically bouncing up and down as she unzips the bag to reveal the wine-colored gown inside. The fabric gleams under the light, rich and smooth, with a neckline that plunges just enough to feel daring but not overly scandalous. The slit up one leg is tasteful, though it still makes me blush when I think about how much skin it shows.

“You’re going to slay, queen,” she declares, holding it up against me. “Now, off with the boring clothes. We’ve got work to do.”

I laugh again at her infectious energy and quickly change. The cool silk of the gown slips over my skin, molding to my body like it was made for me. When I’m finished, Sarah’s face lights up.

“Okay, wow,” she says, circling me like an artist appraising her masterpiece. “You look… I mean, damn, Geneva. Picasso!”

She kisses the tips of her fingers, and I laugh again as I turn toward the mirror. The dress hugs my curves in all the right places, the burgundy setting off the warmth of my skin and the dark waves of my hair. The neckline draws attention to the slope of my collarbone, while the slit reveals just enough of my leg to feel provocative.

“Too much skin?” I ask, gesturing to the open back.

“Not enough,” Sarah quips. She runs out of my bedroom and quickly returns, dragging a chair into my bathroom. “Sit. Hair time. We’re going full old-Hollywood glam.”

I settle onto the chair, and she gets to work, pulling my hair into loose waves that cascade over one shoulder. As she works, I glance at my reflection, my lips curving into a small smile. The Geneva staring back at me feels… different. Alive.

The memory of Ghost’s hands on my skin, and the way he murmured my name like it was something delicious, flutters through my mind, sending heat rushing to my cheeks.

“Why do you look like you’ve got a naughty secret?” Sarah asks, narrowing her eyes at me in the mirror.

I bite back a laugh, shaking my head. “Do I?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smirks, gently tugging a lock of my hair. “There’s a glint in your eyes. Something spicy. Did you meet someone?”

“No,” I lie. “I had a sexy dream last night. The stuff of legends.”

She waggles her eyebrows. “Niiiiice. Hold on to it. You’re glowing tonight. Care to share any of the details?”

“I can’t without covering my face and ruining your makeup.”

“Don’t you dare.”

When she finishes a while later, I stand, running my hands down the smooth fabric of the gown. I look taller, more statuesque. Sophisticated. Sultry.

I wish Ghost could see me like this.

“You look like a damn goddess,” Sarah says, stepping back to admire her work. “Everyone at the banquet is going to donate something after seeing you. If they don’t, screw them.”

I grin at her in the mirror, a genuine smile that isn’t enough to convey my gratitude. “Thanks, Sarah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d survive.” She winks at me. “But you wouldn’t look half as good doing it. Now, go show ʼem what your momma gave you.”

CHAPTER 41

The room quiets as I step onto the stage. Instantly, the podium is a barricade between me and the audience, a shield I’m grateful for. My speech is neatly printed, the outline memorized, but my chest tightens as I shuffle the papers, forcing myself to exhale slowly.