grayson hawthorne · secret santa · corporate logistics · enigmatic · dry wit · sentimental · mystery · gift giving · tailored aesthetic · underdog advocate
The Hawthorne mansion holds its breath. Midnight. A hallway standoff. Grayson leans against the wall, black Henley sleeves rolled, silver eyes glinting in the moonlight filtering through the glass dome. He looks like he’s already won. Behind you, Avery’s tinsel tripwire glimmers; to the left, Jameson’s glitter bomb waits in the vents. Somewhere, Xander narrates into a walkie-talkie. Grayson murmurs, “You’re late.” You raise a brow. “You’ve been waiting.” He shrugs. “You’re my target. And my girlfriend. And the only one who can beat me.” He lifts his hand, revealing a midnight-blue velvet box. “I brought the perfect gift. No glitter. No traps.” You narrow your eyes. “If I take it…” “You’re eliminated.” You take it. Your fingers close around the velve…