Page 4 of Stalk Me

“Maybe we can skip the introductions,” I grit out, ignoring her blatant flinch. Even Leyla can see that her enthusiasm will come to nothing with me. But she keeps smiling, as if she isn’t fazed. What’s she trying to do? Family has never meant anything good in my experience, and there’s nothing she can do that will make me change my mind. “Just show me where I’m sleeping.”

Leyla’s smile seems plastic, brittle, as if she can barely hide how false it is. Despite my attitude, she soldiers on. “This way! The East Wing has the best views of the ocean. And wait until you see the common room—we just got new furniture last semester, and there’s this amazing window seat where you can watch the storms roll in…”

I tune out her cheerful chatter as we wind through the maze-like halls. Every corner we turn reveals more evidence of wealth and privilege—gilt-framed portraits of stern-faced founders, elaborate stained glass windows, and antique furniture that probably costs more than most people make in a year. It’s all designed to remind us of our place in the hierarchy. From the moment I set foot on this campus, I have known that I didn’t belong. This isn’t the real world, I remind myself. It’s the stage we use to entertain ourselves while we play cruel tricks and carry out unnecessary tests that, ultimately, mean nothing.

We climb three flights of stairs before Leyla finally stops in front of a heavy wooden door marked 314. She produces a key card from her pocket with a flourish. “Home sweet home! Well, for the next year at least. I know it seems a bit old-fashioned, but?—”

The door swings open before she can finish, revealing a girl lounging on one of the twin beds. She’s gorgeous in that carefully cultivated way that screams old money—perfect blonde waves, manicured nails, designer jewelry that probably cost more than a car. Her uniform skirt is rolled just high enough to be noticeable without technically breaking the dress code. Dark eyeliner surrounds her deep blue eyes, and when she meets my gaze, they remind me of the night sky just before a storm—hiding something terrible.

For a moment, the three of us stand silently, frozen. Then, with a loud sigh, the stranger rolls her eyes. “You must be the new girl,” she drawls, not bothering to get up. Her eyes rake over me with calculated precision, taking in every detail from my windblown hair to my slightly wrinkled dress, which would soon be replaced by their horrid yellow and navy-blue uniform. “I’m Belle Gallagher.”

The name hits me like a bucket of ice water. Belle Gallagher—daughter of Senator James Gallagher, heir to one of the oldest banking fortunes on the East Coast. I’ve heard whispers about her family at my parents’ parties, usually accompanied by knowing smirks and raised eyebrows. They’re players in the same sick game as my parents.

The Gallaghers are masters of the public façade —their name appears on hospital wings and charity foundations, their faces grace magazine covers touting their philanthropic efforts. The world sees their millions flowing to disaster victims and veterans’ organizations, hears their earnest calls to combat disease and human trafficking. But I’ve seen the steel behind those camera-ready smiles, heard the calculated discussions at midnight galas where they plot which communities to “save” while lining their own pockets. When tragedy strikes, they’re the first to hold press conferences from their mansion’s manicured lawn, but behind the scenes, these monsters are gleefully counting the spoils of the world’s misery.

My fingers tighten around my suitcase. “Luna Queen,” I reply, matching her bored tone. “But you already knew that.”

A slight smile curves her lips. “Of course I did. Your… departure from Ebonridge University caused quite a stir in certain circles.”

In other words, my entire family wants her to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t step out of line, and report to them if I do anything suspicious. It’s all perfectly orchestrated, another neat little trick by the people who ruined my life.

Leyla’s head swivels between us like she’s watching a tennis match. “Oh, you two know each other?”

“Not exactly,” Belle says, examining her perfect French manicure. “But everyone knows about the Queen family’s black sheep daughter. Tell me, Luna, did Daddy finally get tired of cleaning up your messes?”

I force my face to remain blank even as rage burns through my veins. She has no idea what really happened—what my parents are capable of. “Careful, Belle. Your desperation to prove yourself relevant is showing.”

Her eyes narrow. “Did you just threaten me?”

I’m so fucking done with these games. Leyla can sing my praises all she wants, but Belle has caught me on a bad day, and if she had any sense, she’d be hiding in a corner by now. Instead, she’s trying to provoke a fight she can’t possibly win. “Take it however you like. But tell me, how does it feel knowing you’ll never actually earn anything in your life?”

Belle sits up slowly, her casual pose transforming into something more predatory. “You might want to watch yourself, Queen. You’re not at Ebonridge anymore. Things work differently here.”

“Is that what you call a threat?” I ask, letting a hint of amusement color my tone. “How quaint.”

“More like a friendly warning. Shark Bay has a very specific pecking order, and right now, you’re at the bottom of it.” She brushes a nonexistent piece of lint from her skirt as she stands. “Try not to become a problem we’ll be forced to fix.”

I laugh, the sound sharp enough to make Leyla flinch. “Oh, sweetie. If you think your little high school power games scare me, you clearly haven’t done your research.”

Belle’s eyes flash with anger, but before she can respond, Leyla steps between us. “Okay! How about I show Luna where everything is? The bathroom is just down the hall, and the laundry room is in the basement…”

“Don’t bother,” Belle cuts her off. “I’m sure Luna can figure it out herself. After all, she seems to think she’s so capable.” She grabs her purse, shooting me one last venomous look. “I have a study group to get to. Try not to destroy anything while I’m gone.”

She sashays out of the room, leaving behind the lingering scent of expensive perfume and unspoken threats. Leyla watches her go with visible relief. “She’s not so bad,” she offers hesitantly, smoothing her palms against her skirt. “Belle just doesn’t take well to change, is all.”

I snort, dropping my suitcase onto my bed. Leyla is so different from Belle. One clearly holds ambition and ambition alone, and the other is desperately trying to fit in, but I can only care about protecting myself right now, and since her family is undoubtedly tied to mine, there’s no use getting too close. Getting hurt again is the last thing I need right now, not with Alex’s life on the line. I have to stay detached, or they’ll tear me apart.

Leyla chews on her lower lip, eyeing me carefully. “I know Belle can come across a bit rude, and I agree that she can be a bit... intense sometimes. But she’s not always like this! She actually does a lot for the school—she’s student body president, and she organizes all these amazing charity events?—”

“Save it,” I cut her off, dropping my suitcase on the empty bed. “I don’t need you to make excuses for her, and I definitely don’t need you to try to make us friends.”

Leyla’s perpetual smile finally falters. “I just thought… maybe if you gave her a chance…”

“Let me make something very clear,” I say, turning to face her fully. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m not here to join your little social circle or participate in your charity events or whatever other wholesome activities you have planned. I’m here because I have to be, and the sooner everyone accepts that, the better off we’ll all be.”

“But—”

“Thank you for showing me to my room. You can go now.”

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