𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

25.

After a series of one-sided shouting sessions, where I was reprimanded for my so-called "inexcusable behavior," the Lozeros have finally kicked me out. Well, it was more like I forced them to do it by replying with the most infuriating comments I could muster.

"You should apologize to your father," Mrs. Lozero said sternly.

"Grandpa is dead, mother. Who will you apologize to?" I retorted, a sarcastic smile barely curving my lips.

And now here I am, walking alone with nothing but my school bag and phone. In my excitement to leave and track down Wilde in the middle of the night like some damsel in distress—hoping to stir his desire to protect the "fairer sex" and maybe distract him from his plans for world demolition—I hadn’t exactly thought this through.

The Lozero estate, being as opulently secluded as it is, sits in a part of the city where public transportation can't reach. I check my phone briefly, and a sinking feeling confirms my suspicions: Mr. Lozero—or maybe it was his wife; at this point, who knows—has blocked access to all of my bank accounts. Booking a taxi is no longer an option.

Sure, I have my own funds from the businesses I set up after arriving in this world—relying on others was never my style—but using those now would mean revealing all my cards at once. I’ve already shown too much tonight. People now know that Faye is no longer as oblivious as she once seemed. The attacks coming my way will only be sharper, more calculated. It was inevitable, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. For now, I’ll have to play the part of the helpless girl.

I walk a little further from the Lozero mansion, distancing myself from the scrutinizing eyes of the wealthy neighbors and their countless security details. Finding the cleanest curb I can spot, I sit down and take a deep, steadying breath. My mind races as I pull up Wilde’s contact on my phone. Hesitation lingers, but I know what needs to be done.

Just before hitting the call button, I dig my nails into my bruised knee, the sudden shock of pain coursing through me as the call connects. I wince, forcing tears to the surface, setting the stage for what comes next.

The phone rings twice before Wilde picks up, his deep voice crackling through the speaker with an edge of impatience. "Faye?" he asks, as if already expecting some kind of disaster.

I pause for a moment, letting the silence hang, ensuring he can hear the soft tremor in my breath. When I finally speak, my voice is small, fragile. "Wilde... I-I need your help."

There’s a beat of silence on his end, as though he’s weighing my words, analyzing them with the sharp mind that has always been a step ahead of everyone else. I imagine him now, sitting in that dimly lit study of his, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the polished wood of his desk. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanning every possibility. Wilde never acts without thinking a dozen moves ahead. That’s what makes him dangerous.

"Where are you?" he asks, his voice low, but there’s a shift in his tone—an undercurrent of curiosity mixed with concern. I knew it would work.

“I... I’m near the Lozero estate,” I whisper, my words stumbling as though the weight of the night has taken a toll on me. “They… they threw me out, Wilde. I have nowhere to go.”

I bite my lip, forcing a sniffle as I glance around the empty street. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting long, eerie shadows across the pavement. Even the wind feels colder now, slicing through the thin fabric of my clothes. I pull my knees to my chest, hugging them as I wait for his response.

"They kicked you out?" He sounds almost amused now, as if the idea of the almighty Lozeros tossing me aside is some cosmic joke. But I hear something else in his voice too, a hint of possessiveness. Wilde never could stand the idea of someone else laying claim to what he considers his.

"Yes," I murmur, my voice barely audible. "They’ve blocked my accounts too. I can’t... I can’t even call a taxi." I let that last part slip out as though it’s an afterthought, but I know exactly what I’m doing. Vulnerability is a weapon, and tonight, it’s my sharpest one.

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can almost picture the wheels turning in his mind, calculating, assessing. Then, his voice returns, steady and commanding. "Stay where you are. I’ll come get you."

A quiet sigh of relief escapes my lips, though it’s only for show. Wilde is playing into exactly what I wanted. "Thank you," I whisper, letting my voice crack slightly. "I didn’t know who else to call."

“I know,” he replies, his voice softening ever so slightly. “Just wait for me.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at the darkened screen for a moment, feeling a mixture of triumph and tension twist in my chest. Wilde is coming, and that means I’m back in control—for now.

I rise from the curb, my legs stiff from the cold, and begin pacing slowly, my eyes scanning the horizon for his arrival. The city feels empty, hollow in the dead of night, but it’s the perfect backdrop for what’s to come. This is a dangerous game I’m playing, and Wilde isn’t the kind of man who likes to be toyed with. Still, if anyone can dance with the devil and survive, it’s me.

As the minutes drag on, I hear the low hum of an approaching car, its headlights piercing through the night. My heart picks up, not from nerves but from anticipation. I put myself in position, ready for the next act. The sleek black vehicle comes to a slow stop just a few feet in front of me, its glossy surface reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights.

The door opens, and Wilde steps out with an effortless grace that sends a chill down my spine. His eyes, sharp as ever, sweep over me, taking in every detail—my disheveled hair, the tired slope of my shoulders, and most importantly, the bruise on my exposed knee. I made sure it was visible, the fabric of my skirt slightly pulled up to reveal the purplish mark, a silent invitation for him to notice.

He walks over, his expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes as he crouches down in front of me. His gaze locks onto the bruise, lingering there before meeting my eyes. For a moment, neither of us speaks. I let my lower lip tremble slightly, my hand resting lightly on my knee as if I’m too weak to move.

Without a word, Wilde slips one arm under my legs and the other around my back, lifting me as though I weigh nothing. His touch is firm, but there’s an unexpected gentleness in the way he holds me. My breath hitches—not from surprise, but because this is exactly the reaction I’d hoped for.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, his voice steady but laced with something darker beneath the surface.

I rest my head against his chest, my heart beating in time with the steady thrum of his, feeling the warmth of his body seep into mine as he carries me to the car. The world around us feels smaller, the quiet street and the distant city fading into the background. Wilde lowers me gently into the passenger seat, his hand lingering just a fraction too long on my shoulder as if he’s reluctant to let go. The car smells faintly of leather and something else—something distinctly Wilde.

His eyes flick to the bruise once more, and there’s a subtle tension in his jaw, a silent promise that whoever caused this—whether the Lozeros or otherwise—will regret it.

"Don’t move," he murmurs, his tone low and commanding, before closing the door and circling back to the driver’s seat.

As he starts the car, the hum of the engine fills the silence, but neither of us says a word. For the first time tonight, I allow a real smile to play at the corners of my lips, hidden by the shadows as the car pulls away from the curb and into the unknown. Wilde has taken the bait.

Let the game begin.