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My blood ran cold.

Blue fabric. White belly. And on the left ear—a tiny green patch.

That patch.

The one Anya insisted on sewing. Her "band-aid" for a bunny who "got hurt."

I knew that bunny.

And now, it was in my rose's bedroom.

The shock of uncovering the truth hit my brain like a bolt of lightning, making my breathing quick and uneven.

This wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be.

This was fate.

A raw, primal possessiveness exploded inside me, fiercer than any lust. My blood boiled in my veins, every inch of my skin burning, like a caged beast had broken free, roaring to get out.

I hit Dimitri's number.

"Pull the staff records from Anya's kindergarten. I want them on my phone. Ten minutes."

"Yes, Boss."

Ten minutes later, I had the list.

Three red-haired teachers.

Susan Miller. 35. Short burgundy hair.

Mary Johnson. 28. Copper curls.

Cassie Monroe. 24. Long, bright red hair.

I opened Cassie's photo... and everything stopped.

It was her.

Even though the photo was a formal work shot, I could still pick out her red hair, the shape of her lips, and the texture of her skin. She tried to keep a professional expression for the camera, but I could see the wild, pent-up desire lurking in her eyes. I could see it—her.

Cassie Monroe.

My rose.

Anya's teacher.

And she didn't know who I was.

Yet.

A plan began to form in my mind—dark, perfect. I'd approach her in person. Seduce her in real life, like what she did to me in this anonymous game. Make her mine again... this time for good.

But first, I needed to be sure. I needed to see her in person, to confirm she was the woman keeping me up all night.

Me: Your photos are driving me insane, ???????. But I need something more.

Rose: More? I've already shown you everything.