Page 39 of The Villain We Tempt

“Exactly,” Lucia laughs. “I mean, even as a kid, his room was alwaysspotless. He used to line up his toy cars and action figures by size or color. Uncle Carmine and Aunt Lyra used to worry about it, I think. But it’s truly just Dame being a psycho neat freak.”

Arianna makes a face. “Yeah, or a psychoserial killer.”

A few minutes later, Yelena goes upstairs to shower. I use the distraction of Lucia, Wren, and Ari debating if Damiano Barone is secretly an ax murderer to open my phone and take a peek at my Velvet Villainess account.

…Which has something like a trillion new mentions in the comments of The Ghost Prince’s latest video.

Great.

I switch to my own comments, scrolling through the hundred or so that were left in the last twenty minutes on the new post. It’s all the usual stuff: mostly female fans telling Villainess how great she looks, how awesome she is, how much they loved the book, that she dropped her crown emoji…

But that’s it.

There’s not another incendiary comment fromhim.

…And goddammit, do I hate that the emotion I feel is “crestfallen”.

I’mbummedthat he hasn’t made an appearance in the comments section.

…Or in real life.

God, what is wrong with me?

When I opened my phone just now, I told myself I was looking for a comment from him in the same way you’d scan your surroundings for a threat.

Instead, I’mdisappointedthat he hasn't left one.

Hmm.

Maybe my friends are righter than they know when they tease me about how coo-coo I am for my fictional red-flag men. Maybe my obsessions are hemorrhaging too heavily into real life. In the real world, a masked man using blackmail to force you into giving him a lap dance, who tells you there’ll be a “next time” and who then stalks you across social media platforms is athreat.

Not a swoon-worthy “book boyfriend”.

Get it together, Galina.

I scowl to myself as I think about the other night again, and his casual threat…or was it a promise?…of a “next time”. Slowly, the absurd “disappointed” feeling from him not commenting again turns into anger at what transpired the other night.

Like, how fuckingdare he?

Blackmail is fucking blackmail, and I’mnotgoing to live my life in fear of any “next time”.

My mouth purses as I open my account again and deftly navigate to The Ghost Prince’s profile to send him a DM.

Like, fuck you, creep.

Velvet Villainess

Delete that video.

I’m about to put my phone down and rejoin the conversation, which has segued from Damiano being a Dexter-type serial killer to Wren talking someexcellentshit about her ex, Bryce.

But then I get a reply.

The Ghost Prince

which one?

My pulse spikes as I glare at the screen.