He’s cursed to forget every woman he touches. She’s the only one who makes him want to remember.

George

I know what they say about me. That I’m a monster. A curse. That I collect women like some men collect rare books—pressing them between the pages of my memory until the ink fades and all that’s left is the scent of regret.

But tonight, the Villa is restless. The storm’s crawling up the lake, thunder shaking the glass, and I can feel the old magic humming under my skin. It’s hungry. So am I.

She steps into my house like she’s at home. No fear, no trembling, just that bored, half-lidded look women get when they’re about to ruin you for sport. Mira. She’s not dressed for a masquerade—she’s dressed for war. Black dress, red mouth, eyes that say she’s seen worse than me and survived.

I want to taste her secrets. I want to drag every lie out of her with my teeth. I want to see if she’ll break, or if she’ll make me beg for mercy first.

I want to remember her. God help me, I want to remember.

Mira

The invitation said “costume optional.” I showed up in my favorite shade of fuck-you-black and a mask that cost more than my rent. Geneva’s rich love their drama, but this place? This place is something else. The Villa Diodati is all shadows and candlelight and the kind of history that makes your skin itch.

And then there’s him.

George Byron. The host. The legend. The reason half the women here are pretending not to stare. He’s beautiful, sure, but it’s the kind of beauty that hurts to look at—like staring at the sun too long. He watches me like he’s starving, like he’s already undressing me with his mind, like he knows every bad thing I’ve ever done.

I should be scared. I should run. Instead, I want to see what happens if I let him catch me.

He leans in, voice low, British, dangerous. “What are you hiding, Mira?”

I smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He grins, slow and wicked. “I always do.”

Can you fall in love with a monster… and survive?

This Halloween, the truth will set you free… or claim your soul.

The Villa doesn’t care who you love.
It only cares what you’re hiding.