Page 266 of Trick or Stalk

My phone stays stubbornly silent.

I hate him.

I hate that he lied.

I hate that he manipulated me.

I hate that he stood there asking me what I thought about the man in the mask when he already knew the answer.

I hate that he made Wilder wear the mask so I would believe the impossible thing standing right in front of me wasn't true.

Most of all, I hate that he let me feel guilty.

That one hurts differently.

I close my eyes, loathing rolling through me. The fucker blindfolded me in the bookstore and fingered me in front of the window above the festival.

Then he texted me afterward, making me feel guilty that I’d just betrayed one man with another.

There weren't two men.

There was only Hades.

The bastard knew it.

And he let me twist myself apart anyway.

My phone nearly slips from my hand. “Fuck you.”

Still no texts or calls from him.

I blow out a breath. I don’t want him to text. I want him to suffer.

Preferably somewhere damp and uncomfortable.

Maybe with mosquitoes.

And poison ivy directly on his dick.

But I keep looking at my phone because my anger doesn't erase everything else.

That's the problem.

If I could take the truth and use it like a giant eraser, this would be easier.

Hades lied. Therefore, every good thing disappears.

Simple. Clean. Done.

Except that's not how it works.

He still stayed when I asked him to. He listened when I talked about Grandma. About my dreams to finish school and become a college professor.

And the bastard gave me a choice. Agency.

He chased me through the woods only after I asked him to. He gave me a safeword.

But the Masked Man⁠—