𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘 (+𝟏𝟖)

CH. 20: GALA NIGHT

M A L L O R Y

Two weeks flew by in a haze of notes and coffee, one caffeine-fueled study session bleeding into the next.

Midterms were over, but they left me teetering between relief and unease. The second I started each test, my brain just switched off. I'm honestly convinced I have a rare form of amnesia that makes me forget everything I've learned in times of stress.

Two weeks of preparation, only to glitch on half the multiple-choice before crashing on writing prompts.

When I wasn’t buried in test prep, my mind kept circling back to the scene of my boss pissing on a family grave. To say I was shocked would be the understatement of the century. I didn't know what to make of it but one thing was clear—Hunter’s family was far more complicated than he led on.

He had opened up to me, sharing prologues about his parents, hinting at chapters he had yet to read aloud—pages of his story I doubt he shared with many.

His family was fucked up, but so was mine. So, I left it at that. His family affairs weren’t mine to judge.

Then there was Damian, who practically lives here now. Mortifying naked introductions aside, he was good company whenever Hunter was away, flooding the otherwise desolate mansion with a lighthearted atmosphere in ways that remind me of Celina. He even took Luca off my hands while I was swamped with online assessments, which I was grateful for.

And with the dark clouds of bullshit finally parted, only one thing holds my attention this morning.

Gala night.

It’s been engraved on my mind ever since Hunter invited me as his plus-one a few days ago, stirring a cocktail of anticipation and unease deep in my gut. I'm no stranger to social events, but this was different; This was the Annual Sionis Harvest Gala—where influencers, politicians, and the city’s elite will gather. And Hunter had chosen me to be his date.

The thought makes the besotted schoolgirl in my chest jump and squeal with anticipation. Eeeeee!!!

The Gala starts at seven and I stand before my wall mirror, smoothing my hair, adjusting the fit of my cute knitted sweater dress and thigh-high boots before I head to Tiffany's boutique—Hunter’s friend who’s helping me find something fitting for tonight.

I’m halfway through sculpting my lashes into dark, feathered fans, before hands still, overhearing the anchor's voice drift from the TV in the reflection.

“…the murder of Sara Lynn marks yet another grim strike by the Long Island Reaper. Authorities urge citizens to obey the city's new curfew and to stay off...”

I switch the channel to the Food Network and toss the remote onto the comforter. Not today, Satan.

The Reaper's recent killings dominated social media, stirring almost as much firestorm as the controversial presidential election results. He'd left a trail of bodies from Long Beach to East Hampton, shifting from male public figures to targeting and killing random ordinary citizens, including innocent women.

The last thing I wanted was a reminder of the psycho who’d stalked me for weeks, leaving me with a hickey to show for it— a hickey I had to conceal from Hunter until it healed. Since the frat party, I withdrew from anything concerning him, no research, no news.

Exams were over, I haven't left the mansion in days, and I wasn't letting him or anything ruin tonight.

A gentle tap sounds at the door. “Come in,” I invite, smoothing my hair in the dim mirror's reflection.