Page 22 of Stalk Me

My phone buzzes—a text from an unknown number. The message contains a single photo, similar to the last: Alex walking across his college campus, head down against the wind. He looks even thinner than in the previous picture, and the shadows under his eyes got deeper and more profound. The timestamp shows it was taken today.

Another message follows: "He looks tired, doesn't he? Stress can do terrible things to a person's health."

It's clear what the threat is. Alex will pay if I don't show up tomorrow. And knowing my parents, that's just the start. They probably have similar photos of Erik, of everyone else I've dared to let close. That's how they operate—finding the things I care about and turning them into weapons.

The old anger flares hot and bright, banishing the chill in my chest. Okay. I'll play with them. They'll be sorry they took my life as a hostage one day. I'm tied down now, but these chains can only hold me for so long. I'll fight back even more if they try to control me. I can follow their rules and stay inside the lines, but I can also find little things to displease them. Nothing major, but just enough to piss them off.

I sink onto my bed, the mattress too soft beneath me, everything too soft in this place except for the sharp edges of my own thoughts. The air gets thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe, and the walls seem to close in. I'm in need of a good run. It'd help me get rid of the stress piling up in my chest. Breaking something would also work. I can't, though, not here. Not until the game is over. Probably not ever.

Instead, I do what I always do. I start planning my armor.

The uniform skirt will have to go—too schoolgirl innocent for what they want me to be, the things they want me to do. I dig through my closet until I find the black dress I've been saving for occasions like this. The fabric clings in all the right places, the neckline low enough to draw attention but not so low as to seem desperate. Professional enough for a family gathering, provocative enough to remind their guests about the real reason for the party.

My hands move on autopilot as I lay out the rest of my weapons: stilettos sharp enough to double as actual weapons, makeup that can create any mask they want to see, and jewelry that is chosen to reflect their wealth rather than my taste. Each piece is carefully chosen and adds another layer of defense between me and the new hell that awaits me at home. I'll need every piece of defense I can get.

A knock at my door startles me from my preparations. "Luna?" Erik's voice carries through the wood, concern evident in his tone. "You missed the study group. Everything okay?"

For a moment, I consider ignoring him. It would be safer that way—for both of us. But something in his voice draws me to the door, my hand turning the knob before I can stop myself.

Erik stands in the hallway, gray eyes clouded with worry. He's changed out of his uniform into dark jeans and a fitted sweater that makes him look softer somehow, more approachable. The sight of him sends an unexpected ache through my chest. All the reasons why I should keep him at a distance, all the ways my parents could use him against me, feel unbearably heavy at the prospect of letting him in even this little bit.

But at the same time, a strange longing rises inside me. Maybe it's the way he looks at me like he can see past my masks, the way his presence makes the darkness recede. Whatever it is, something keeps drawing me to him—something I've never felt with anyone else. Probably not even with Alex.

"I'm fine," I lie with ease, careful to keep my voice neutral. "Everything's fine. I'm just tired."

His eyes narrow slightly as they take in my appearance—the crumpled envelope on the floor, the dress laid out on my bed, the barely concealed panic I'm sure is written all over my face. "Try again," he says quietly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I force a smile, but it feels brittle even to me. "I just need to take care of some family business."

"Family business," he repeats, his tone making it clear he doesn't believe me. "The kind that requires that dress?"

I glance back at the bed, at the carefully assembled armor waiting there. "It's just a party," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Nothing I haven't handled before."

Erik takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle, like aged leather and rain. "Luna," he says softly, "you don't have to handle everything alone."

The softness in his voice makes me afraid to fall apart. I need to tell him everything: about the parties, what happens at the after-parties, the threats, and how often I'm watched. I want to let him in and share the lies that are making me feel so bad. I can't, though. As soon as I do, they can use him as another tool against me. They can hurt me in more ways now. I can't afford to be vulnerable, not now. Not with so much at stake.

"I'm fine." The lie comes easy, but my voice betrays me with a slight tremble. "Really, Erik. Everything's fine."

He reaches out as if to touch my shoulder, but I jerk away. I can't afford comfort or kindness—not when my heart is already so bruised from all the times I've had them taken away. I don't think I could bear to lose this too. Physical touch is dangerous right now—one gentle gesture and I might shatter completely.

"Luna." His features twist in a shadowy mirror of his usual concern, searching my expression for some kind of opening. When he finds none, a flash of hurt crosses his face. "At least let me help. Whatever's going on?—"

"Stop." My voice comes out sharper than intended. "Just… stop. You can't help me, Erik. No one can."

"That's bullshit and you know it." There's steel in his voice now, matching the storm brewing in his eyes. "You're not as alone as you think you are."

I laugh, the sound harsh and broken. "You have no idea what you're talking about. This isn't some teen drama where the good guy swoops in and saves the day. This is real life, and in real life, the monsters win."

"Only if you let them." He steps into my room, closing the door behind him. The space suddenly feels too small, too intimate. "I know about monsters, Luna. I've faced my own demons, remember?"

"This is different." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold all my broken pieces together. "Your demons were internal. Mine have platinum cards and private jets."

"Then let me help you fight them." He moves closer, and this time I'm too tired to back away. "Whatever they're holding over you?—"

"Don't." The word comes out as a plea. "Please, Erik. Just… don't."

He studies me for a long moment, those gray eyes seeing far too much. Finally, he nods. "Okay. But I'm not going anywhere."

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