Ghost had been waiting for you to get out of the shower, sprawled lazily across your bed, the faint hum of rain against the window filling the silence.

His eyes wandered, eventually settling on the bookshelf standing tall against the wall.

Curiosity tugged at him, and with nothing better to do, he rose and scanned the titles lining the shelves.

It didn’t take long for his fingers to pull one free, flipping it open with casual interest. But the further he read, the slower he turned the pages.

His curiosity turned into amusement as he grabbed another book. And another.

Smutty, dark romance. Dominant, possessive male leads with a penchant for danger and obsession. He huffed a low chuckle, a smile tugging at his lips.

When the bathroom door creaked open and you stepped into the room, towel-drying your hair, you froze mid-step.

A stack of your most scandalous, smut-filled, dark romance novels lay sprawled across the bed. Ghost sat comfortably among them, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee.

In his hand, he held one of the worst offenders — the one with dog-eared pages and worn spine.

His gaze lifted lazily to yours, his grin widened, slow and dangerous. "Well now," he drawled, tapping the book with his fingers, "this explains a lot."

"Simon, put that down," you began, your voice tight with embarrassment.

Instead, he thumbed through another page, eyes glinting with mischief. "Possessive. Dominant. A touch unhinged," he mused aloud. "Seems I’ve got some competition."

His hand drifted to his mask, tugging it back over his face with deliberate slowness.

"Run, my love," he murmured, voice dipping to something dark and teasing. "Run like they do in your silly books."

"Ten," he started, his voice steady, eyes locked on yours. He took a step toward you, his his head tilting slightly.

"Nine…"

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you bolted, your embarrassment forgotten, replaced by the thrill of being chased by the man who seemed to step right out of one of your fantasies.