Page 46 of Stalk Me

My heart stutters. I should've left him alone earlier. It's my fault he's in danger. But after what I've discovered, I know it's too late for that. They've already targeted him.

I take a deep breath, relief and terror warring in my chest as I take in the sight of him. His uniform is rumpled, hair disheveled as if he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. Dark circles shadow his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights that match my own.

"I got invited to a party," he says without preamble, filling in the silence I managed to stretch. "Some fancy thing at a mansion on the mainland."

A paralytic dread, cold and visceral like mercury poisoning, floods my veins. "Erik?—"

"I wasn't going to go," he continues, pacing like a caged animal. "But then I started thinking—this could be the opportunity we need."

I stare at him, unable to process what I'm hearing. "What opportunity?"

He turns to face me, eyes bright with something that looks dangerously like hope. "To get out. To escape. The invitation says I can bring a guest." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an elegant cream envelope, the heavy paper embossed with a familiar crest. My family crest. "This is our chance, Luna. We can leave Shark Bay together."

The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet. I snatch the envelope from his hand, my pulse a desperate Morse code against my ribs as I examine it. It's real—the high-quality paper, the precise lettering, the gold seal. My father's signature scrawled at the bottom, the flourish of his pen like the elegant curve of a scorpion's tail, an elegant trap waiting to be sprung.

"Erik, you don't understand." My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears. "This isn't an opportunity. It's a death sentence."

His brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"

I sink onto his bed, exhaustion suddenly weighing on me like a physical force. "Sit down. There's something I need to tell you."

He hesitates, then takes a seat beside me, keeping a careful distance that breaks my heart. After our last interaction, I'm surprised he's talking to me at all, much less smiling and calling me beautiful.

"Do you know what my family does?" I ask softly, eyes fixed on the invitation clutched in my trembling hands.

"They're in finance, right? Your father runs some kind of investment firm?"

A bitter laugh escapes me. "That's the cover story. The pretty veneer that makes everything look legitimate." I take a deep breath, the weight of secrets pressing against my chest. "The truth is much uglier."

I force myself to meet his gaze, to watch his reaction as I tear down the last wall between us. "My parents host parties. Exclusive gatherings for the elite—CEOs, politicians, judges. People with power, money, influence. But these aren't normal social events." My voice catches. "They're opportunities for blackmail, for control."

Erik's expression remains neutral, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench into fists. "What kind of control?"

"The most effective kind. They compromise their guests, document everything, and then use the evidence to manipulate them. Business deals, judicial rulings, political favors—my parents have their hands in all of it." I look down at the invitation. "And this is how they recruit new victims."

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "That's why you pushed me away. You were trying to protect me."

I nod, throat tight. "They target people with connections, with something to offer. And once they have leverage over you, they never let go." My voice drops to a whisper. "I know, because they've been using me as bait since before I was even ten."

The room falls silent save for our breathing. I can feel him processing this, can almost see the pieces clicking into place behind his eyes. Understanding. Fear. Anger. Betrayal.

"The parties you mentioned during the storm," he says slowly. "The ones your father said were perfect timing…"

"They drugged me," I confirm, the words feeling like broken glass in my mouth. "Made me compliant, used me to entrap others. It's why I was sent away from my last school—I got too close to someone. I told him bits and pieces of the truth and tried to get away. My parents found out."

I pull out the USB drive, holding it up between us like an offering. "I hacked into my father's emails. They're planning to do the same to you. This invitation isn't a coincidence, Erik. It's a trap."

He takes the drive from my hand, turning it over as if it might provide answers. "Why me?"

"Because of your family. Your connections. Your father is a congressman, isn't he?"

Erik's face drains of color. "How did you know that?"

"It was in the emails. They want leverage over him, and you're their way in." I reach out, hesitantly covering his hand with mine. "But also because of me. Because we've been spending time together. They can't risk me forming attachments, breaking free from their control."

He's silent for a long moment, processing. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady. "Show me."

I take his laptop, inserting the drive with shaking hands. As the files load, I watch his face, searching for disgust, for rejection, for any sign that this is too much. But all I see is a growing anger, a determination that mirrors my own.

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