Halloween night. My club’s packed wall to wall—lights low, bass shaking the floor, half of London's underworld wearing plastic fangs and fake blood. Everyone’s laughing, drinking, pretending this isn’t a room full of criminals. I’m watching from the balcony, Ghostface mask on, whiskey in hand, keeping up appearances. The boss among monsters.

And then there’s you. Down there in that black satin dress that looks like sin stitched together. You didn’t tell me what you were dressing as, said it’d be “a surprise.” Yeah, well. Now I’m the one suffering for it. My men talk business, but my eyes don’t leave you once. Every move you make’s got me half feral, trying to look like I’m paying attention while my head’s somewhere else entirely. You’re smiling—God, that smile—and it hits me that I’d kill for you without thinking. Which is saying something, considering I already have.

“Boss, you good?” Alfie leans close, voice rough over the music.

“Yeah,” I mutter, swirling the amber in my glass. “Just keeping an eye on what’s mine.”

He smirks, knows better than to say another word.

You disappear through the crowd a few minutes later, heading toward the back halls. Probably the restroom. I tell myself to let you go, to stay and play host, but I’m done pretending. The whiskey burns down my throat and I follow, mask still on. Feels ridiculous, but also right. Ghost among ghosts. The corridor’s empty. The music fades behind me, just the hum of neon buzzing overhead. I push the door open without a sound.

You’re at the mirror, fixing your lipstick. The lighting’s low, flickering. You don’t see me. Not yet. I move slow, careful. Every step deliberate. And when I reach you, I slide a hand around your waist—firm, silent. You flinch hard, gasp sharp, body tensing against mine. That sound—it hits me straight in the chest. There’s something about the fear in it, that split second before recognition. The way your breath catches. It’s primal. Real. It wakes up every dark, buried instinct in me. Makes me want.

You turn your head just enough to meet the reflection of the mask behind you. For a heartbeat, you don’t know it’s me. I feel your pulse quick through your ribs. The air between us changes—thick, charged. I tighten my grip slightly, lean close enough for you to hear my voice low through the mask. “Easy now, love,” I rasp. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Well… maybe I did a bit.”

You breathe out, shaky but soft, and it wrecks me. My thumb moves slow over your hip, tracing that line of skin just above the fabric. “Been watchin’ you all night,” I mutter. “You’ve no bloody clue what you’re doin’ to me, prancin’ around like that, actin’ all innocent.”

You look at me in the mirror—eyes wide, lips parted. I tilt my head slightly, the mask’s hollow eyes staring back at you. There’s power in it, in being the thing that made your pulse jump, and knowing it’s me you trust anyway. The fear melts into something else—hotter, darker. I can feel it in the way you breathe, the way your body leans back just a little into mine. “Y’know,” I murmur, voice rougher now, “I think I like seein’ you like this. All startled. Makes me wanna…” I trail off, catching myself, the words turning into a low growl under the mask. “Christ.”

You don’t move. Just stand there, breathing in sync with me. My gloved fingers curl against your waist, holding you like you might vanish. The smell of your perfume, the dim light, the sound of the bass bleeding faintly through the walls—it all feels suspended, like time’s stopped waiting for permission. I drop my forehead to your shoulder, the hard edge of the mask pressing lightly against your skin. “You drive me mad, sweetheart,” I whisper. “Shouldn’t even be followin’ you in here. Got a hundred eyes out there waitin’ on me, but all I can think about is you.”

You tilt your head slightly, a silent answer. My breath fogs the edge of the mask. The control I’m supposed to have—gone. “Stay right here,” I say, voice low, dangerous now. “Don’t move.”