Page 6 of Lost to the Woods

I watched her from across the penthouse, watched the way she moved, the way she glowed under the dim lights. I adored how bubbly and animated she was. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was hypnotic. Her voice was high. Her laugh was loud. Her hands moved when she spoke. And every single guy in the room was eyefucking her with the kind of desperation that made me want to rip their fucking eyes out.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my grip to loosen on the glass in my hand before I shattered it.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to me?

Oh, she had to. I caught her peeking at me way too many times to count. She was terrible at pretending we werejust friends.

But she wasn’t alone. Of course, she wasn’t. She never was.

Herboyfriendwas right there beside her, anchoring her, keeping her tethered to the life she didn’t belong to anymore. A liability.

I’d done my homework on him.

Aiden. Some up-and-coming band vocalist, who coasted on his pretty-boy face and half-baked charisma and gained a following on TikTok doing covers of real artists. Unremarkable. He was temporary.

She was mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

The entire night, I watched them. And the longer I did, the more obvious it became—she was miserable.

They fought. A lot. More so than I’d imagined based on her confessions.

She smiled less and less as the night went on, her voice got sharper, her hands moved in clipped, frustrated gestures. And him? The asshole barely seemed to notice. He never paid attention.

He was losing her… No, scratch that. He’d already lost her.

I just had to be there when she realized it.

And so I waited.

I found her outside on the terrace later. Alone at last. The Manhattan skyline stretched out behind her—a thousand glittering city lights framing her like a fucking painting. She wasleaning against the glass railing, her arms hugging herself, her hair blowing in the wind.

The crisp fall air bit through the fabric of my clothes as I stepped closer, but she didn’t notice me right away.

She was crying. A broken doll, standing on the edge of the world, tears slipping past the black mask.

I didn’t feel much. Not really any natural human emotions. Certainly no empathy. But I knew this moment mattered.

Diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder in my preteen years, I’d learned how to blend in.

It was funny—in a sick way. Everyone thought the mask I wore in my videos was the performance.Ghost Daddy, the urban legend in the flesh. But that was the joke.

The real mask was this.This.

The act of being normal. From trivial things like learning the gestures and regulating my voice, to mimicking a whole range of feelings I’d never actually felt. I’d seen the movies, read the books, studied every social cue. I’d spent years perfecting it, crafting a version of myself that people wanted to be around. The charming, irreverent, darkly humorous man behind the mask. The one they trusted.

It worked. It always worked.

And for Bunny, this was a moment when the right kind of guy would step in, comfort her, and earn her trust.

So I moved closer. Quiet, careful. Like a shadow. Like a predator who knew exactly how to strike. But she was already wounded. I didn’t need to rush it.

“He’s not worth it, you know,” I murmured, my voice low, barely a whisper, cutting through her sobs.

She jolted, turning fast, her baby-blue, doe eyes wide beneath the mask.

“Ghost?” She sniffled, swiping at her face. But she knew it was me before she saw me. “Jesus, you scared me.”

That’s what I do, baby.

---