Lost in the Chase, page 31
We laugh as the tears dry up without ruining my foundation. Then she steps closer and places the mask over my face, adjusting the fit gently. We stand there in front of the elevator mirror, staring at our reflections.
“You look beautiful, Lila. And screw Kage. He does not deserve you.”
And for the first time… She is right. He doesn’t deserve me. Beck walks over and places a hand on my shoulder.
“You know… she’s right. He’s my best friend, but honestly?” He shrugs. “I think he’s blinded by his own stupidity. So once again, the offer stands… You can always come join us.” He winks.
I throw up my arms and roll my eyes. “Not this again.” Aster cackles as we step into the elevator. She presses the button for the 2/3 floor, and for the first time, my watch stays silent. Surprisingly, my heart isn’t racing. Not from nerves. Because for the first time in a long time, I know I look good.
No. I look unforgettable. And tonight, I could have anyone I want. I take a deep inhale and slowly exhale.
“All right, guys,” I say, straightening my spine. “Let’s do this damn thing.”
The elevator doors slide open. Beck steps out first, and we follow. Me on one arm, Aster on the other. The room stills. People freeze mid-step, mid-sip, mid-sentence. The masks may hide our faces, but there is no hiding who Beck Heartford is.
The whispers ripple instantly.
“Is that him?”
“That’s Beck.”
“Wait, who’s with him?”
“Who is she?”
They don’t know who I am. But they will.
We walk through the rose-draped gazebo archway into the ballroom. The doormen swing the grand doors open. A wave of gasps and silence washes over the space like a spell. It feels cinematic.
The string quartet and piano begins playing “Wicked Games,” by The Weeknd. Each note moves with grace. But beneath the beauty, something stirs. A chill that crawls across my skin.
I almost laugh. Why am I not surprised this song is playing. My whole life has felt like one giant game. A cruel, beautiful, twisted game. But then, my smile fades. Across the ballroom, past the soft candlelight and spinning couples, I see him. Ice blue eyes. Locked on me. Unmoving. Unblinking. A smirk curls at the corner of the mouth I can see. My stomach drops.
No. No, it can’t be. He wasn’t real. He was just a hallucination… a product of a panic attack. But then I see it. His mask. Black. Custom. Etched in intricate gold roses, exactly like the Phantom from the Halloween party. My breath catches in my throat.
It’s him. He’s here. He’s real. And he’s watching me like he’s been waiting for this moment. The ballroom spins around me, blurred faces and glittering lights melting into the background. But all I see is him. The Phantom.
Frozen in place, I can’t move. I can’t look away. Not from those eyes. Not from that smirk. Not from the mask that haunted my dreams.
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. And then he tilts his head. Just slightly. Like a dare. Like a game he’s been waiting to play. And before I can even breathe, he disappears into the crowd. But then I hear it. That hum.
A low, haunting melody seeps into my bones. It winds through me like a siren’s song. Gentle. Dangerous. Each note pulls me deeper, wrapping around something I thought I had buried. My breath catches again.
But that hum… it doesn’t belong to him. The Phantom never hummed. That sound... it came from the Red Mask. The one who stalked me in the maze. So why am I hearing it now? Is he here too? The Red Mask? Both of them? Are they together?
My heart stutters. The music coils tighter around my ribs. My eyes scan the ballroom. I turn in place, dizzy like I’m stuck on a carousel I can’t escape. Every masked face is a mystery. Every glance, a question. Every man… could be him. I feel it. The heat. The pull. He is here. Both of them are. Somewhere in the shadows, watching my every move, playing a twisted game of cat and mouse, waiting for the moment to strike, calling me back into the game.
And just like that, I forget how to breathe. My watch buzzes at my wrist, a jolt against my skin. But this is not fear fueling my pulse. It is adrenaline. It’s the thrill. The chase. And I cannot help myself. I am already lost in it and lost in it with them. Lost in the chase.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
LILA
“Damn, Princess,” a voice says behind me, low and playful. “You look like a candy apple. Sweet, shiny, and irresistible. I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of—”
I spin around, already smirking. “Clint.”
Of course it’s him. Only he would flirt like a pervy fairytale character. Typical Clint. I cut him off before he could finish the sentence. “Remember, you’re my boss,” I say, fluttering my lashes with a sweetly sarcastic smile.
He throws up his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I’m just here to support female empowerment one compliment at a time.” Then he bows with a dramatic flair, like I’m royalty. “May I have this dance, my lady?” he asks, holding out his hand like a true gentleman.
Which he is not.
“That’s actually cute, Clint. Maybe if you don’t talk, it’ll stay that way,” I mutter, placing my hand in his. He brings it to his lips and kisses it sweetly. Then he licks it.
Spoke too soon.
“Mmm… just as tasty as a candy apple.”
“Ughhh, you’re disgusting.” I yank my hand away and wipe it on his tux. “Are you going to keep being ridiculous, or are you going to dance with me?” I huff.
“Princess… are you asking me to dance?”
“You’re annoying,” I grumble, turning to walk away. Someone grabs my wrist and pulls me back. “Clint, I swear I have a taser tucked in this dress just for you,” I snap without looking, already prepared for his next joke.
But then I freeze. Because it’s not Clint, it’s him. The Phantom.
He towers over me, his hand still around my wrist, black leather glove firm and unyielding. That same custom black mask, etched with gold roses. That same unnerving stillness. And those ice-blue eyes locked on me with a feral glare. My breath catches. My chest rises and falls too fast. Flashes from that night hit me like a drug I never knew I craved.
The way we touched ourselves from across the room, the way he watched, the way I came undone just by his response to her, and the way his head tilted back in pure bliss with his large tattoo sprawled across his chest.
My mouth goes dry just thinking about it. I’m parched for him. Thirsty for the idea of my lips wrapped around him.
“Hey, man,” Clint’s voice breaks the haze. He steps forward, clueless. “We were about to dance…” He eyes the Phantom up and down, wrinkling his nose. “And you are?”
I’ve never heard the Phantom speak.
I thought he was a hallucination. A shadow. A ghost. A figment of my imagination.
But then he says, in a voice low, dark, and devastatingly real, “none of your fucking business, wise guy.” He doesn’t look at Clint. Not even for a second. His eyes stay glued to mine. Like I’m the only thing that exists.
“Umm… Lila, you know this guy?” Clint’s voice is cautious now. Protective.
“Yeah, Lila?” the Phantom taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know me?”
The truth is, I don’t know him. I have no idea who he is. I thought I made him up. But every inch of my body remembers him. And that terrifies me.
His gaze roams over me, slow, filthy, possessive. It’s not just a look. It’s a claim.
And the worst part? I’m okay with it. Clint’s still waiting for my answer, tense at my side.
I finally speak.
“Oh yeah… we know each other. From the Halloween party.”
Clint hesitates. “Okay, well… if you need me, text me.”
“She won’t need you.” The Phantom cuts him off without breaking eye contact. “Thanks anyway.”
The Piano starts playing, slow and ghostly. It’s “Candy Necklaces,” by Lana Del Rey, but not like the version I know. This one is stripped down. Raw. Sorrowful. Every note feels intimate, like a dance with fate. My fate. All three of the men that I can’t escape.
We stop in the center of the ballroom, and I freeze. He’s standing so close I can smell him, something clean and completely addictive.
“Did you miss me?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost careful, like he needs the answer more than he wants it. I stand there, silent, staring at him in pure shock. “You look… delicious,” he says.
My lips part, but no words come out. Because yes.
God, yes.
But I’m too stunned to speak.
The mask is more intricate up close. Black velvet carved with gold roses. It hides most of his face, but not the sharp cut of his jaw… not the curl of one side of his mouth. And those eyes. Ice blue. Piercing, sparkling like they know exactly what they’re doing to me.
He takes my waist, controlled and deliberate, his touch achingly sensual even through the leather gloves. Then he lifts my arm, places it on his shoulder, and laces his fingers with mine. We begin to move. And I swear I’m not dancing. I’m floating. My breath comes in shallow bursts. My thoughts tangle.
Why do I feel this way about him… about the Red Mask… about Kage? I’m not boy crazy. That’s never been me. But there’s something about the three of them, something I can’t sever. Can’t untangle. Can’t let go of. I want all of them, in different ways. I wish I knew what that meant…
We move in perfect sync, the music swirling around us. The tension between us is suffocating, just like it was with Kage. Just like it was with the Red Mask. The same weight. The same intensity. Heavy. Loaded with unspoken words and unanswered questions. He stares at me like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. And I stare right back. His movements are calm like this means nothing to him.
But me? My every nerve is lit. And I’ve never felt more alive. I swallow, trying to steady my voice. “Where did you learn to dance?”
His eyes flicker with something soft. Almost wistful. “My mother used to dance around our apartment,” he says quietly. “She’d blast old records, close her eyes, and pretend she was somewhere else. A ballroom. A stage. Anywhere but there.”
I blink. “She sounds like a dreamer.”
“She was.” He nods, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She took community classes when she could. She said it helped her escape reality, if only for a while. Eventually, I begged her to teach me. I wanted to be the one to dance with her.”
A beat passes. The music swells. “You’re really good,” I say. “I bet she’s phenomenal now.”
That smile fades. His gaze drops. He looks… pained. Like I just touched a bruise he hides beneath the mask. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She is.” Something in his tone sounds final. Heavy.
I hesitate before asking, “Did she ever get the life she wanted?”
His jaw clenches. A pause. “Unfortunately, no. But I’m living the life she always wanted for us.”
Us?
My chest tightens.
Who’s us? Does he mean… himself and her? Or… me?
Before I can ask, he leans in close enough that his breath brushes my ear. “But let’s not talk about me,” he whispers, a smirk ghosting across his lips. “Let’s talk about you. Tell me, Princess… have you thought about me since that night?”
Lie.
Lie.
Lie.
And how does he know my nickname?
“No,” I say, forcing a scoff. “Why would I? Honestly… I thought it didn’t even happen.”
“Oh really?” His smirk deepens. “So, you’re telling me you haven’t dreamed about me? Not once?”
Before I can answer, he lowers his head and presses a soft kiss to my neck. My skin ignites. My face flushes. Heat spreads up my throat and down between my legs like wildfire.
“I have better things to dream about,” I manage to whisper.
But he cuts me off. “You don’t remember?” he whispers. “I do. Every second of it. The way you moaned. The way you moved under the sheets. The way you called my name. The cameras see everything …Princess.”
My eyes widen, pulse crashing in my ears. “What… what do you mean?” I breathe, the floor tilting beneath me.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he spins me once, twice, pulling me closer with every turn. And then I hear it. The string quartet plays it like a haunting lullaby.
“I requested our song,” he murmurs, tightening his grip around my waist. “I know how much you love it.”
I blink, heart skipping. Trying to figure out what he means by our song. “What are you talking about?”
He doesn’t explain. Instead, he leans in closer, and this time he hums the tune playing. So close, I can feel the vibration of it against my skin.
Where have I heard that before?
And suddenly… everything clicks. That song. That voice. That night in the maze.
Oh my God. The song he is humming is The Phantom of the Opera. The melody that echoed through the maze. The hum that brushed my skin. If I had recognized it then, I would’ve known. I would’ve known he was the Red Mask. The answer was there all along. In the music. In him.
My knees go weak as the truth slams into me.
They are the same person. The Red Mask is the Phantom. The Phantom is the Red Mask. The maze. The music. The pleasure room at the club. The night I touched myself, thinking it was just a fantasy. It wasn’t. It was him. He was never a dream. Never a shadow. He was real. Every version of him pulled me in. And I let him. But this is messed up. This whole time, I thought I was losing my mind.
Falling for three different people. Questioning everything, I felt. Everything I wanted. And he let me. He watched me spiral. Watched me ache. And said nothing.
I am still angry. Angry that he left his mask behind. Furious that he made the choice for both of us. Enraged, he decided he was not good enough for me without even asking what I wanted. I’ve spent weeks falling apart over him. Tonight, I choose to stop.
I step back, my shoulders tense, my voice cracking with fury. “Am I a fucking joke to you?”
He does not flinch. He does not blink. “No,” he says softly. “You are not, Lila.”
“Then tell me. Why?” My voice cracks. “Why would you do this?”
“I promise I’ll explain everything… just not now.”
“Then when?” I cross my arms, tapping my foot, every second stretching longer than the last.
He looks down, dragging his hands through his hair like he’s the one who’s frustrated. Then he reaches for my hand, his thumb moving in slow, gentle circles against my skin. “Trust me, I want to tell you. But…”
His voice fades like the words are stuck in his throat. I pull my hand away, take a breath, then say what I’ve been avoiding. “I can’t do this anymore. Not with you. Not with anyone.” Another breath. This one deeper. Sharper. “I deserve better than this. Better than you.”
“There you are!” Aster laughs as she grabs my arm and pulls me away from him. “Beck has someone he wants you to meet. It’s a guy and he’s totally hot and super sweet.”
“Okay, let me finish dancing, and I’ll come find you guys.”
My heart’s breaking open, right here on the dance floor, and she has no idea.
“Hurry, because if you don’t grab him, I might just ask him to have a threesome with me and Beck. But I doubt he’d enjoy that nearly as much as me and you.” She winks and walks off, laughing, while I force a smile so she won’t know anything’s wrong.
I spin on my heels, heart pounding, ready to demand answers. But when I turn around, he is gone. Like water slipping through my fingers, I try to hold him, but he disappears every time, vanishing like he was never mine to begin with.
And I am left standing there, hands empty, heart shattered, soaked in the echo of what almost was. And the worst part? I can’t even cry, because deep down, the ones I love always leave me behind.
CHAPTER FIFTY
LILA
My heels clink against the filthy concrete as my dress drags behind me. I’m walking through New York City at ten o’clock at night in a custom gown, practically begging to be robbed or kidnapped. But it’s Friday night. All the taxis are gone.
Since my dick of a man ditched me and left me to wander the streets alone? Yeah. Why the hell not? Tonight, it should have ended differently. Aster, my fairy godmother, dressed me up for a ball. I should have been the one to run from him like Cinderella. Instead, he left me. I should have danced the night away, caught in a whirlwind of magic. I should have dropped something behind so he would come after me. But the only thing I left behind was my heart.
RING. RING. RING.
INCOMING CALL - MOM
Finally. Someone to talk to.
I swipe the screen and press the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom,” I mutter, my voice low as I step around a pile of trash bags on the curb. I sound as drained as I feel.
“Hey, honey,” she says warmly. “You sound bummed. Didn’t you have fun tonight?”
I glance around at the blur of passing headlights, wondering if one of them could be him. Or maybe someone new. Someone who doesn’t leave me with emotional whiplash. “It was okay,” I say, adjusting the strap of my dress. “Nothing special. Just the usual chaos.”
“I’m sorry… Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.”
“It will be.” A soft smile creeps in, the first one I’ve felt in hours. “I’m coming to see you.”
“I can’t wait!” she says, her voice instantly brighter. “Did you ask Beck about me?”
I pause at the corner of the block, staring up at a flickering streetlamp as it blinks overhead. A chill runs down my spine. Something feels off, like something bad is already happening… or about to.
“Umm… yeah. And weirdly, he had no idea what I was talking about. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense… I literally saw him yesterday.” Her voice tightens with confusion. “Do you believe him?”
I rub my forehead as the headache creeps in. “Honestly, Mom? Yeah. I believe him. He’s like a golden retriever in human form. Sweet. Loyal. Too honest for his own good.” But then my heart skips.
