Page 65 of Haunted

What the fuck is she doing to me?

26

MIRA

Iwake up in an unfamiliar room.

I’m aching in places I’d rather not think about, and for a moment, I can’t remember where I am. The bed beneath me is narrow and basic. Soft black fabric brushes against my thighs as I shift, and the scent of expensive cologne clings to the oversized shirt I’m wearing.

Xavier’s shirt.

The memories flood back in a rush, making me squeeze my eyes shut. The pool. The chains. The way that encounter betrayed every principle I thought I had as he moved inside me. The way I screamed his name, like it was the only word I could remember.

Fuck.

I sit up, taking in the sparse room. A single bed, basic furniture, nothing that screams “torture chamber” or “elaborate psychological manipulation.” Just... normal.Almost disappointingly so after everything I’ve witnessed.

But Xavier is gone.

The chair across from the bed sits empty. No sign he was ever here, except for the lingering scent of his cologne, the shirt I’m drowning in, and a key card that he must have forgotten. I run my hands through my tangled hair, trying to piece together how I got here and why he left me alone.

This has to be another test.

Everything tonight has been carefully orchestrated, from the maze design to the planted audio of Cora’s screams. Xavier doesn’t do anything without purpose, so leaving me unguarded in what appears to be some kind of safe room must be part of his game.

Maybe he’s watching through hidden cameras, waiting to see if I’ll try to escape. Or is this meant to lull me into a false sense of security before the next round begins? The man who chained me in a pool and made me beg to be fucked doesn’t suddenly develop a conscience.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, testing my stability. My knees shake slightly, but I can stand.

I really need to use the bathroom. The events of tonight have left me in various states of distress, and the pressure in my bladder is becoming impossible to ignore.

Looking around the sparse room, I spot a door I hadn’t noticed before. Testing it carefully, I find it opens to reveal a small but clean ensuite bathroom. Thank God.

The space is basic but functional, featuring white tiles, a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall. Nothing fancy,but it’s clean and private. More importantly, there’s a lock on the door.

I step inside and turn the deadbolt, the metallic click providing the first sense of security I’ve felt all night. For a few minutes, I can be alone with my thoughts without wondering if Xavier is watching from some hidden camera.

The relief when I finally use the toilet is almost overwhelming. Such a basic human need, but after hours of being manipulated, even this simple action feels like reclaiming some sense of autonomy, even if only for this fleeting moment.

I catch sight of my reflection in the small mirror above the sink as I wash my hands, and I have to look away immediately. My hair is a tangled mess, and mascara is smudged beneath my eyes despite being supposedly waterproof. The collar of Xavier’s shirt hangs loosely, revealing marks on my neck I don’t remember him making.

I look exactly like what I am—a woman who had incredibly intense sex with a dangerous man. The flush in my cheeks, the way my lips are still swollen, the unmistakable radiance of my skin that contradicts everything I should be feeling right now.

I should be horrified. Disgusted. Planning my escape or figuring out how to turn this nightmare into the exposé that will destroy Xavier Blackwood and his brothers.

Instead, I’m standing in what must be his bathroom, wearing his shirt.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping to shock myself back to reality, trying to regain control and remember why I’m here and what’s at stake.

But when I dry my face with the small towel beside the sink, all I can think about is how Xavier looked without his mask.

Returning to the main room, I notice my top and skirt lies in a damp heap by the door where Xavier must have dropped it, and I briefly consider changing back into it. But his shirt covers more, and honestly, I’m not ready to put on that costume of seduction again.

I move to the door cautiously, half-expecting it to be locked. But the handle turns easily under my palm, revealing an empty hallway beyond. No guards. No cameras that I can see.

What kind of game is this?

I step into the hallway and walk toward the door which opens back into the main maze, perhaps that’s why he left the key card. I scan the card at the panel by the door, and it clicks open. As I step back into the maze, it feels different now—less chaotic, more purposeful. The screams and sounds of pursuit have faded to occasional distant echoes, making me wonder how much time has passed.

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