Roman Bridger has made you his cloak and dagger, his little Woodsboro spy. You're supposed to ensure his evil plans for the Prescott family run smoothly, however, you hadn't anticipated for there to be so many ghostfaces, and all so hot.
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RED AND WHITE. Seduction and innocence. Rotten and fresh. Roman had once told you that you had the face of an angel but carried the tainted soul of the devil. It wasn't until now that you believed him... about the first half that is.
You really were a product of divine intervention.
You couldn't help but admire yourself in the bathroom mirror connected to your master bedroom. A white short-sleeve top dotted with cherries covered your torso, the hem stopping just below your belly button. Your low-waist jeans, embellished with a cherry-red belt—revealed just a sliver of your stomach. You loved a good skin-slip, but never too much.
You had gotten so distracted with yourself that you nearly forgot you were on the phone with Roman.
"Y/n!" He raised his voice, capturing your attention once again. "Did you hear what I said?"
"What? About you coming here?" You asked, spinning to the side to check your outfit from behind.
"Yes," he said flatly. "And about the wallet? Did you keep it?"
"You mean the one from your mother's mistress? Thick with cash?" You glanced at the black wallet resting on the countertop beside the sink. "Yeah, I kept it."
"Good. We're gonna need it for what I have in store."
"Well," you grabbed the wallet and plucked a few twenties from it, sliding the cash into your back pocket. "I need a couple bucks for the carnival tonight. You don't think Cotton will mind, right? Also, what kind of name even is Cotton? I mean, he's gotta hate his mother for that."
"The guy's going after a woman twelve years older than him. Of course he hates his mother." Roman stated like it was a fact.
You snickered while layering your favorite perfume over your neck and wrists. "Mommy issues at its finest."
"So, we know Maureen's a tramp," he said, returning to the original subject of conversation. "What about Sidney? Have you been keeping up with her boy-toy?"
"No—" the sound of the doorbell cut you off. "Hold on, Roman. Someone's here."
You pulled the phone away from your ear as you exited the bathroom. Your bare feet padded against each step as you descended the stairs, entering the dim foyer.
Flicking on the porch light, you opened the door only to be greeted by the absence of a person. No one was there. You poked your head out the doorway, peering down your lengthy porch with furrowed brows.
