Page 10 of Stalk Me

“Dance with me,” he says, his voice low and soft. There’s something almost predatory in the way he moves closer, like he’s testing my boundaries. I recognize the look—I’ve worn it myself often enough.

“There’s no music,” I reply, unsure if I trust his friendly demeanor. The sea breeze carries the faint scent of his cologne, something expensive that reminds me of old leather and deeper secrets. Everything about him screams danger, but not the kind I’m used to dealing with.

“I can fix that.” He taps a few buttons on his phone, and soft piano music filters through the speaker. The melody is hauntingly familiar—Chopin’s Nocturne in E-Flat Major. Of course he’d choose something so perfectly aligned with Shark Bay’s pretensions. I swallow hard, taken aback by how smoothly he’s managing to turn the attention on me. And he’s not just charming—he’s handsome. The uniform only adds to his dashing appeal.

“I’ll probably step on your feet,” I lie, but I can’t help my smile. My heart pounds against my ribs, a warning I choose to ignore. This isn’t how the game usually goes—I’m supposed to be the one in control. He’s mesmerizing.

“Don’t worry,” he replies, gently guiding me to him. He holds me with ease. His hands are calloused in places that suggest he’s more than just another trust fund baby playing at rebellion. “I don’t mind a challenge.”

I try to focus on the slow movements as we turn in a small circle on the sand, but it’s impossible. The way he’s looking at me is almost too much, like he can see through all the carefully constructed defenses and right into the black hole of a heart beating within. There’s something so familiar about him, the confidence, the determination in his eyes.

He leans in, and I allow him to press his forehead against mine, closing the space between us. The salt in the air and the fresh ocean breeze aren’t enough to distract me from the heat that’s building between us. It’s been a while since someone looked at me the way Erik is looking at me now.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” I breathe, my eyes closed and my head leaning even more into his touch.

“How do you know I want to kiss you? Maybe I’m just being friendly.”

I don’t buy it, but I don’t push. Whatever game he’s playing, I can learn the rules too.

“A smart man would,” I murmur, my heart racing. He smiles, then, to my surprise, takes a step back and puts some distance between us.

“I guess I’m not a smart man,” he replies with a playful smile. He pauses for a moment, eyeing me appraisingly. “I’ll see you around, Luna.”

As I watch him walk away, his book in one hand and his phone in the other, I can’t help but wonder what his deal is. Does he actually believe his own act? Or is he smarter than he appears?

A chorus of laughter on my left brings me back to reality. I don’t know what Erik’s playing at, but right now, the only game I should focus on is the one I’m playing with Belle.

Don’t Mess with the Crazy

Macbeth’s blood-soaked ambition stares back at me from the yellowed pages, a fictional mirror to the real power games playing out in Shark Bay’s hallowed halls. Professor Bennett’s voice echoes throughout the vaulted ceiling of the Advanced Literature classroom, her academic dissection of moral corruption oddly fitting for this pretentious prison disguised as education. The afternoon light fractures through stained glass, painting the students in unnatural hues of crimson and violet—as if we needed visual confirmation that nothing here is as it seems. Power and corruption aren’t just themes in some dusty play; they’re the oxygen these privileged sharks breathe.

“A crown is worth nothing if you lose yourself obtaining it,” she says, fixing her ponytail. “Macbeth’s ambition consumes him until there’s nothing left but the hollow shell of who he used to be.” Her words echo in my mind, a warning I can’t afford to ignore. I’ve already lost so much of myself—my freedom, my innocence. How much more will I have to sacrifice before I’m the one holding the crown?

Sounds familiar. I try to ignore the sickening twist in my stomach, the creeping panic behind the numbness. Despite the school’s seemingly endless array of course options, the one thing I have yet to find is a class that meets my needs. Of course I’d get stuck with Professor Bennett for advanced literature, a woman clearly desperate to prove her worth. Her endless attempts at preaching through fictional characters are uninspired, but her misguided ideals still hit too close to home.

And what can I say? In her assessment of the main character, she’s not entirely wrong. Her explanation of the tragic fall of humanity at the hands of people craving power cuts deeper than expected. Because Macbeth—he’s me, or at least what I’ll become if I’m not careful.

Because we’re all just pawns, caught in the machine with no escape. Desperation’s a hell of a drug, and having status, a name, means everything in this world. Everyone wants a piece of it, and people will do anything to have their way, even if it means crossing lines.

I bite back a bitter laugh. If only the professor knew how familiar that particular lesson feels. After Belle’s little stunt in computer science this morning, the whispers have only grown louder. Every conversation stops when I walk by, replaced by meaningful looks and poorly hidden smirks. But they don’t understand—I’ve been playing this game my whole life. Does Belle think she can break me with a sex tape? Amateur move. If she wants a war, I’m more than happy to oblige. No one messes with the crazy.

She doesn’t have a clue what I’m capable of. No one really does.

“Would anyone care to discuss Lady Macbeth’s role in her husband’s downfall?” Professor Bennett asks, her eyes scanning the room. “How does her manipulation contribute to the tragedy?”

“She gives him permission to embrace his darkest desires,” a familiar deep voice answers from my far left. “She makes him believe that cruelty is strength.”

I turn to find Erik Stone watching me, those unsettling gray eyes seeming to look straight through my carefully constructed walls. Somehow, he makes even the stuffy blazer and tie look effortlessly cool. His lips quirk up in a knowing smile as our eyes meet. Flutters erupt in my belly, and I turn away, unable to hold his intense gaze.

“Excellent observation, Mr. Stone,” Professor Bennett nods approvingly. “And what do you think drives Lady Macbeth to such extremes?”

“Fear,” I cut in before Erik can respond. “She’s terrified of being powerless, so she seizes control any way she can. Better to be the villain than the victim.”

The words come out sharper than I intended, filling the air between Erik and me with unspoken weight. His expression shifts subtly—there’s no pity in his gaze, but something deeper, more dangerous. Understanding. “Everyone’s a monster to someone else,” he murmurs, his voice low.

I’ve underestimated him. Despite his appearance, he’s not nearly as shallow as I thought. What exactly does he see when he looks at me?

“An interesting interpretation, Miss Queen. Stone.” Professor Bennett makes a mark on her paper. “Though perhaps a bit cynical?”

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