The VIP lounge smelled like fresh paint and fake joy.

The maids shoved Katelyn into the center of the lavishly decorated room.

An easel stood by the window. On it rested a half-finished canvas-a sickeningly sweet landscape of sunlit lawns, blooming roses, and a pristine white dove taking flight.

It was exactly the kind of commercial, soulless garbage Chelsea loved.

"Don't try anything stupid," the older maid sneered. "Finish it."

The maid stepped out into the hallway, leaving the heavy door cracked open just an inch.

Katelyn walked slowly toward the easel.

Her stomach churned violently as she stared at the canvas. The bright yellows and soft pinks made her want to vomit.

She picked up the wooden palette. Her fingers felt stiff, resisting the motion.

She squeezed out a blob of bright yellow paint and picked up a brush.

Out in the hallway, Etienne moved silently.

He had bypassed the security cameras with the ease of a ghost, following the path the girl in the gray dress had taken.

He strolled past the partially open door of the VIP lounge.

He didn't stop. He just leaned his shoulder against the wall, perfectly positioned in the blind spot, watching her reflection in the glass panel of a display cabinet.

Inside the room, Katelyn dragged the brush across the canvas, adding the final rays of sunlight.

She dropped the brush into a jar of murky water.

She stared at the painting. It was a lie. Her entire existence in this house was a lie.

Through the cracked window, a sudden eruption of cheers echoed from the lawn.

"To the bride and groom!" a voice boomed over the microphone.

The sound hit Katelyn like a physical blow.

Her chest tightened. Her breath started coming in short, sharp gasps.

Her fingers began to twitch. The wild, manic energy of her true artistic persona-The Wilds-clawed at her insides, demanding to be let out.

She couldn't breathe. The sweet landscape was suffocating her.

Her eyes darted to the side table.

She grabbed a heavy tube of pure, dark crimson paint. It looked like dried blood.

She didn't reach for a brush.

She squeezed a thick, heavy glob of the crimson paint directly onto her bare index and middle fingers.

Her eyes went completely dark. The terrified orphan vanished.

She slammed her paint-covered fingers directly into the center of the pristine white dove.

Out in the hallway, Etienne's lazy posture vanished.

His spine snapped straight. His eyes locked onto her reflection, his jaw tightening as he watched the sudden, violent explosion of movement.

Katelyn's fingers scraped fiercely across the canvas.

She dug into the wet layers of the underlying paint, using the thick texture to create a destructive, optical illusion.

The blood-red color bled into the sweet landscape.

She moved with terrifying speed, relying on pure muscle memory and an absolute mastery of spatial perspective.

Her breathing was heavy, ragged. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

In less than three minutes, the bright sunlight was swallowed by dark, jagged shadows.

The white dove was gone.

In its place, hidden beneath the sweeping strokes of the landscape, was a grotesque, screaming skull dripping in crimson.

From a distance, it still looked like a messy landscape.

Up close, it was a nightmare.

Katelyn stepped back. Her chest heaved.

A cold, sick smile curled the corners of her lips. A profound sense of physiological relief washed over her, settling the nausea in her stomach.

She grabbed a wet wipe and scrubbed furiously at her fingers.

She rubbed the skin until it was raw and red, erasing the evidence.

The floorboards in the hallway creaked.

The maid pushed the door open, poking her head in. "Are you done yet?"

In a fraction of a second, Katelyn's spine curved. Her shoulders slumped.

She took two quick steps back from the easel, dropping her head.

The maid glanced at the canvas. From the doorway, the optical illusion held. She only saw a chaotic mess of colors. She didn't see the skull.

"If you're finished, cover it up and get back to your room," the maid snapped. "Don't embarrass us."

"Yes," Katelyn whispered.

She picked up a heavy canvas drop cloth and draped it carefully over the easel, burying the skull in darkness.

The maid turned and started walking down the hall.

Katelyn followed, her eyes glued to the floor.

As she stepped out of the VIP lounge, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She felt a heavy, predatory gaze burning into the side of her face.

She snapped her head to the right.

Etienne was leaning against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows.

His dark eyes were locked onto hers, gleaming with a dangerous, mocking amusement.

Slowly, deliberately, Etienne raised his right hand.

He extended his index and middle fingers and made a violent, scraping motion in the air, mimicking exactly what she had just done to the canvas.

One corner of his mouth lifted into a wicked smirk.

Katelyn's heart slammed against her ribs. The air vanished from her lungs.

He saw. He saw everything.

The maid turned the corner at the end of the hall.

Katelyn's brain fired on all cylinders.

If this stranger opened his mouth, Arnett would lock her in the basement. She would never get out.

As she walked past Etienne, her hand shot out.

Her fingers clamped around the thick fabric of his hoodie collar.

She threw her entire body weight backward, yanking him hard.

Etienne didn't resist. He let her pull him.

They stumbled into a small, unlocked linen closet.

Etienne kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his sneaker. It closed with a muted thud.

Total darkness engulfed them.

The tiny space smelled overwhelmingly of starched linen and bleach.

Katelyn shoved him hard against the wooden door.

She pressed her forearm against his chest, her face inches from his.

"What do you want?" she hissed, her voice dropping its pathetic tremor, turning sharp and lethal. "How much money to keep your mouth shut?"

Etienne let out a low, dark chuckle.

The vibration of his chest rumbled against her arm.

"Money?" His voice was a deep, gravelly rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. "That's a little cliché, don't you think?"

Before she could react, his hands clamped around her waist.

With a sudden, effortless display of brute strength, he spun them around.

Katelyn's back hit the metal shelving unit. Stacks of folded towels tumbled to the floor.

Etienne pressed his body flush against hers, pinning her in place.

He lowered his head, his mouth hovering just a fraction of an inch from her ear.

"That skull," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Was the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

Katelyn froze.

Her breath hitched. For ten years, her art had been called garbage, crazy, a symptom of her disease.

No one had ever called it that.

"Katelyn?"

The maid's voice echoed from the hallway outside. Footsteps approached the closet.

Katelyn's blood turned to ice. Her muscles locked up.

Etienne pulled back slightly. He looked down at her, his eyes glinting in the sliver of light coming from under the door.

He opened his mouth, as if he was about to answer the maid.

Panic and a sudden, violent surge of rebellion exploded in Katelyn's chest.

She didn't think.

She grabbed the sides of his face, went up on her tiptoes, and smashed her mouth against his.

Etienne's entire body went rigid.

For one agonizing second, he didn't move.

Then, a feral groan ripped from his throat.

His hands tangled in her hair, gripping her scalp, and he kissed her back with a punishing, bruising intensity.

The doorknob rattled.

The metallic click echoed like a gunshot in the tiny room.

Katelyn flinched, but Etienne's massive hand shot out, clamping completely over the brass doorknob. His grip was a vise of pure muscle, holding the mechanism totally immobile, preventing it from turning even a fraction of an inch from the outside.

"Stupid lock," the maid muttered outside.

The footsteps slowly faded away.

The danger was gone, but the kiss didn't stop.

It spiraled completely out of control.

It was no longer a cover-up. It was a desperate, violent collision of two people drowning in their own adrenaline.

Etienne's rough hands slid down her back, gripping the zipper of the ugly gray dress.

He yanked it down. The cheap fabric tore slightly at the seam.

His large, warm hands touched the pale, freezing skin of her back.

Katelyn squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't care who he was. She didn't care if she died tomorrow.

For the first time in ten years, she wanted to feel alive.

Downstairs, the VIP lounge door flew open.

Chelsea marched in, dragging a group of giggling socialites behind her.

"You guys have to see this," Chelsea gloated. "My crazy cousin actually painted something decent for once."

Chelsea grabbed the corner of the drop cloth and ripped it off the easel. As the heavy fabric fell away, the direct afternoon sun streamed through the cracked window, hitting the thick layers of wet paint at a sharp, unforgiving angle. The sudden shift in lighting completely shattered the optical illusion Katelyn had so carefully constructed. The layers of paint caught the light, and the skull seemed to physically leap out from the canvas.

The words died in her throat.

The socialites shrieked, stumbling backward in horror.

The sunlight hit the canvas, illuminating the grotesque, blood-red skull screaming out from the center of the peaceful landscape.

It looked demonic.

Chelsea's face turned purple. Her hands shook violently.

"Find her!" Chelsea screamed, her voice cracking. "Find that psycho bitch right now!"

Back in the closet, the air was thick with heat and the smell of sweat.

They collapsed onto a pile of fallen linens.

Etienne stripped off his hoodie and shoved it under her back to protect her from the hard floor.

His movements were aggressive, demanding, yet laced with a strange, consuming fascination he couldn't understand.

Katelyn bit down hard on Etienne's bare shoulder.

She tasted copper as she broke the skin, swallowing her own shattered moans.

Outside the door, the security radios erupted into a frenzy of static and shouting.

Inside the dark, suffocating space, the two liars pushed each other over the edge.

The frantic shouts from the hallway bled through the wooden door.

Inside the closet, the ragged sound of their breathing slowly began to settle.

Etienne pushed himself up on one forearm.

He looked down at Katelyn.

Her brow was deeply furrowed. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated her forehead. Her entire body was locked in a rigid, defensive posture, her muscles trembling slightly.

Etienne frowned. He shifted his weight.

His eyes dropped to the white linen towel beneath her.

In the faint sliver of light creeping under the door, he saw it. A stark, undeniable smear of dark red blood.

His pupils dilated.

The predatory haze vanished from his eyes, replaced by a sudden, heavy shock.

It was her first time.

"Fuck," Etienne cursed under his breath.

The aggressive, reckless energy drained out of him instantly.

He reached out, his movements suddenly agonizingly slow and careful.

He brushed a damp strand of hair away from her face. His rough thumb gently stroked her pale cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, unfamiliar guilt. "I didn't know."

Katelyn flinched away from his touch as if he had burned her.

She hated that look in his eyes. She lived on pity from the outside world, and she despised it.

"Don't," she snapped, her voice cold and hollow.

She pulled the torn edges of her dress up, covering her chest.

"It was a transaction to keep you quiet. Don't look at me like I'm some fragile victim."

Etienne let out a harsh breath, half-amused, half-infuriated by her sharp edges.

The possessiveness in his chest flared hotter.

He pulled off his silk tie and handed it to her to clean herself up.

The radio static outside grew louder.

"Check the guest rooms! Sweep the second floor!" a guard barked.

Etienne stood up and quickly pulled his shirt back on.

He looked down at her, his jaw set.

"Stay exactly here," Etienne ordered. "I'm going to draw them off. Then I'm coming back to get you out of this madhouse."

Katelyn looked up at him.

She let her eyes widen slightly, softening her features into a mask of perfect, obedient trust.

She nodded slowly. "Okay."

Etienne stared at her for a long second, burning the image of her starlit eyes into his memory.

He turned and pushed the door open, slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicked shut, Katelyn's obedient expression evaporated.

Her eyes turned to ice.

She quickly fastened the torn zipper of her dress with a safety pin she found on the shelf.

She looked up.

Directly behind the metal shelving unit was a heavy, commercial-sized laundry chute door. She had mapped out the blueprints of this house years ago for this exact kind of emergency. She climbed onto the lower shelf, her muscles screaming in protest as she wedged her fingers under the heavy latch. She pulled it open and hoisted herself into the smooth, stainless-steel shaft.

Out in the hallway, Etienne grabbed a heavy porcelain vase from a side table.

He hurled it down the corridor.

It shattered against the marble floor with a deafening crash.

"Hey! Over here!" Etienne shouted, his voice echoing loudly.

Three security guards rounded the corner, their batons drawn.

Etienne flashed them an arrogant, mocking grin and took off running toward the grand staircase.

He led them on a wild goose chase through the first floor, moving with the effortless speed of a man used to violence.

While Etienne distracted the guards, Katelyn braced her back and feet against the walls of the chute, controlling her descent as she slid down in the stifling darkness. The friction burned through the cheap fabric of her torn dress, scraping her elbows raw, but she didn't stop. She reached the second-floor access panel that connected to the utility closet beside her en-suite bathroom. She forced the heavy panel open and tumbled out onto the tiled floor, her legs buckling slightly.

She stripped off the ruined gray dress and shoved it deep into the bottom of her laundry hamper.

She turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

She stood under the scalding spray, scrubbing her skin until it was bright red, trying to wash away the scent of his cologne, the memory of his heavy hands.

But her body still hummed with the phantom weight of him.

She stepped out, threw on a pair of oversized pajamas, and crawled into bed.

She pulled the burner phone from the mattress.

She opened an encrypted messaging app and sent a single text to her best friend, Eleanor:

NOW.

Outside, Etienne easily vaulted over the ten-foot perimeter wall, leaving the exhausted guards coughing in the dust.

He circled the property, using the tree line for cover, and slipped back through the side door.

He walked quickly down the hall and pulled open the door to the linen closet.

"Alright, let's g-"

He stopped.

The closet was empty.

Only his crumpled tie and the blood-stained towel remained on the floor.

Etienne stared at the empty space.

The muscles in his neck corded. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together.

She played him. She used him to get off, used him as a distraction, and threw him away. She didn't even tell him her name.

A dark, violent fury erupted in his chest.

He slammed his fist into the wooden doorframe. The wood splintered, shards biting into his knuckles.

"You little liar," he breathed, his eyes turning lethal.

Upstairs, Katelyn lay perfectly still under her duvet.

Heavy footsteps stopped outside her door.

The lock clicked.

Her uncle Arnett stormed into the room, his face twisted in absolute rage.

Katelyn closed her eyes, slowing her breathing, preparing for the storm.