Page 36 of Villainous Intent

When the climax hit, it felt like being torn apart.

I cried out, a raw, broken sound that echoed off the tile. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall, my hips bucking against my hand, chasing the aftershocks and milking them for every drop of dopamine I could get.

I slumped on the floor of the shower, the water beating down on me.

I stayed there until the water ran cold, until I was shivering and my skin was pink and raw.

I emerged from the shower and pulled on my oldest sweatpants and a faded Tower Fun Run t-shirt.

I kept my eyes averted from the bedroom window. If I didn’t look, maybe he wasn’t there.

As I reached for the lamp, my phone buzzed.

You sounded beautiful.

He hadn’t looked. He hadn’t needed to. He had listened to every gasp, every whimper, every wet, desperate sound I’d made while fantasizing about him.

Get some sleep, Annie. You’re going to need your energy.

I turned off the lamp and crawled into bed, pulling the comforter up to my chin, but I couldn’t stop shivering.

My phone pinged again. A different sound. An email notification.

I grabbed it, desperate for a distraction. A work crisis. Anything to pull me out of this spiral.

The subject line read: “MANDATORY ASSIGNMENT: FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE.”

Oh no. No, no, no.

I opened the email with a sense of impending doom.

“Mandatory Assignment: First Public Appearance with Cipher. Tomorrow, 8 PM, League Season Opener. Formal attire required, stylists will be assigned. Cipher will collect you at 7:30.”

I stared at my screen, blinking rapidly as if that might somehow change the words in front of me.

It was happening. Tomorrow. With stylists. And formal attire. And Cipher “collecting” me.

A text notification slid over the email.

Did you get the email?

I didn’t reply.

I’m looking forward to collecting you, Annie.

Wear something easy to remove.

CHAPTER 8

CIPHER

The airship hummed beneath my feet as we approached the Tower, its crystalline structure catching the sunset in a way that made the whole thing look like it was on fire.

“Sir, we’re two minutes out,” Number Three announced from the helm.

I nodded. My henchmen had never seen me like this, fidgeting with the components of my suit, pacing the command deck. My suit felt both too tight and too loose. I’d calibrated each system to perfection. Tonight mattered.

The League Season Opener was the most anticipated event on the League’s social calendar. For the first four hours, we played nice for the media and wealthy donors. We were a glittering, sanitized façade of unified villainy. Then came midnight. “Lights out.”