Page 76 of The Villain We Tempt

Fuck me.

It’s a camera lens.

The Ghost Prince wasn’t just bugging my room with a microphone.

He was watching me.

I rapidly start mentally flipping through every single private moment I’ve had over the last two weeks, and the color drains from my face.

Changing. Showering. Walking around my room naked becauseit’s my fucking room and why the fuck shouldn't I.

My pale face suddenly blooms with fire.

The times I was masturbating.

I turn, my cheeks throbbing as I stare haggardly at my bed.

The scene of the crime, where Ifrequentlytouched myself over the past week while thinking of this creep.

I cringe.

Please God, tell me I didn’t say his name out loud while I was doing that.

I turn to look at the corner of the desk where my lamp was. Then I squat a little and try to gauge the angle of the hidden camera.

Good lord.

It’s a straight shot to my bed.

Here I was so nervous about going there tonight, wondering what would happen, and that motherfucker’s already seen the whole show.

I glance down at the device in my palm. The little wire hanging from it must be a transmitter.

“You still watching me, motherfucker?!” I snap as I lift the little camera in my hand and glare death down the lens. “Choke on a dick, asshole!”

I drop it onto my desk, grab the heaviest schoolbook I can find, and smash it down as hard as I can. The camera shatters into fragments of black plastic and green and copper circuitry.

I exhale in a rush, relief washing over me.

The feeling doesn’t last. But half an hour later, after I've scoured every fucking inch of my bedroom and determined there isn’ta secondcamera, I finally allow myself to unclench and slump onto my bed, hugging my knees to my chest.

I’m actually alone now.

But over the last week or however long he had that camera in here, Ihaven’tbeen.

He’s been with me, in a weird, supremely fucked-up way.

I refuse to acknowledge the throb of heat in my core that accompanies that idea. But it grows, coiling through me until all I can do is replay what happened earlier.

His hands on my body. His growls in my ear. His tongue making me see fuckingGod…

I quickly yank out my phone and navigate to my Velvet Villainess account, hungry for a distraction…which, let's face it, is what social media does best.

The second I open the app, I see that I’ve been tagged in a video.

I smile, curious. I do occasionally have fans make “response videos” to my reviews, or try to imitate my latest upload, whichI always find really flattering. But when I tap on the notification, my face drops, along with my heart.

It’s not a fan video.