16. Through the Lens

CHAPTER 16

Through the Lens

WREN

She's magnificent.

Every movement she makes consumes the space around her. Her limbs move like liquid silver under the dim light, turning the ballroom into her domain. My phone's camera keeps clicking, but it can't capture the essence of what I'm seeing. The lens flattens her—an insult to the electricity sparking off her every step. It’s like trying to trap the ocean in a glass—futile, frustrating. The way her body moves, every muscle taut and purposeful, can't be confined to pixels.

"Get out." The words escape through gritted teeth, when I catch sight of Monty and Nico by the doors. They're watching her with too much interest, their eyes focusing on something that belongs to me.

"What?" Monty's surprise is evident. "But?—"

" Out . Now." I don’t even look at them, my focus locked on Ileana as she dives into another turn, her body catching the light like an ember. "This isn't for you."

The door closes behind them with a soft click that gets lost under the music.

Now it's just us. Her dance and my hunger, spinning together in a storm. The air between us hums, every beat of the music syncing her movement to my pulse.

But the photographs are wrong. She’s here in front of me, burning with life, and the images reduce her to nothing but pixels and blurry shapes. The camera strips her bare, but not in the way I want. It misses the fire beneath her skin, the tremor in her breath, the way her fear fuels her grace.

"Higher," I demand as she lands a jump, my voice slicing through the music. "You're holding back. "

She obeys instinctively, lost in the darkness the music pulls her into. Her next leap is perfection—her back arches, her body defies gravity, and for a heartbeat, she hovers. The sight burns itself into me, a scar I don’t ever want to fade.

My fingers curl around the phone, desperate for more than the cold distance of a screen. I want to press my hands against her skin, feel the tension coiled in her muscles, taste the heat radiating off her body. But not yet.

She spins again, her reflection multiplying infinitely in the mirrors. I circle her, changing angles, but no matter where I stand, the images fall short. They’re sterile. They can’t touch the storm of her presence, the way her body tells a story with every movement.

" Stop ."

She halts mid-motion, chest heaving. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on her skin, catching the dim light like a second glow. The urge to reach out and trace it, to press my lips to her throat and taste her exhaustion, nearly breaks me.

"Stay there." I step closer, closing the distance until her heat seeps into me. My hands move over her waist, adjusting her position slightly. Her body trembles under my touch—a small rebellion I relish.

"Now hold it."

The pose is exquisite—one leg extended behind her, arms curved like she’s cradling something unseen. But when I check the photograph, it’s lifeless. It doesn’t capture how her pulse leaps under my fingers, how her breath hitches when my hands linger too long.

"Again." I step back, though it feels like a loss. "From the beginning."

Her eyes meet mine, and for the briefest moment, there’s defiance—a spark that cuts through the haze of fear. It’s fleeting, but it ignites something dark in me. I’ll extinguish it soon enough. But not yet .

The music swells again, and she moves, her body surrendering to the rhythm. Every leap, every turn, every breath peels away her defenses. She’s unraveling, her resistance crumbling under the weight of my attention.

The lighting in the room is wrong. It doesn’t worship her properly. The shadows are too harsh, the highlights too flat. I need better equipment. Something that can capture the flush on her cheeks when she catches my gaze in the mirror, the way her movements stutter when I get too close.

She’s tiring now. The tremor in her limbs has grown more pronounced, her breathing uneven. The cracks in her composure widen, and I glimpse what’s hidden beneath—the untamed chaos waiting to be unleashed.

My hand clenches as she executes another jump. I could touch her now, could wrap my hand around her throat and feel how her pulse races. Could press against her back and feel every movement as she dances. The need burns through my veins, but not yet. First, I need to capture this perfectly. Own every moment of her dance, imprint it on my mind so deeply that even her memory will be mine.

"Enough."

I cut off the music, and she stills, her chest heaving as she tries to mask the way her body shakes. But she can’t hide from me. I see it all. The way fear dances with something darker, something she won’t let herself name.

I scroll through the photographs, my jaw tightening. They’re a mockery of what just happened.

Oh, they show the steps, the positions. But they miss the fire, the way her movements sing of resistance and submission tangled together. They miss the way she resists me even as her body responds.

"You can go."

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief. A bead of sweat trails down her neck, and my fingers twitch with the need to follow its path.

"What?"

“You heard me." My voice is casual, while anticipation coils tight in my chest. "You’ve given me what I wanted. For now."

She doesn’t move. Smart girl. She knows a trap when she sees one.

"The front door is that way." I gesture vaguely, my lips curving into a smile that I know will set her on edge. "Unless you’d prefer to stay?"

The flash of panic in her eyes is beautiful. It gets her moving. She backs away, her gaze darting to the door like she’s expecting it to vanish before she can reach it. When she finally turns and bolts, I don’t stop her.

The door closes with a soft click, and I pull out my phone.

Me: Follow her. Don't let her see you. Make sure she heads toward the woods.

Monty's reply comes straight away.

Monty: On it.

I scroll through the photographs again, frustration simmering beneath my skin. They’re wrong. These lifeless images can’t capture the way her fear hones her movements, how her fight bleeds into surrender with every step.

But it doesn’t matter. The next part of the game won’t need a camera.

The property’s cameras will track her as she stumbles through the darkness, her fear growing with every misstep. The woods are vast, designed to swallow anyone who doesn’t know their paths.

And I’ll be there, waiting. Watching. Drinking in her desperation until it transforms into something sweeter.

I give her five minutes. Just enough time to let hope take root. To let her think she might actually escape.

The dance was only the beginning. A prelude to the real performance.

Now the hunt begins.