Page 61 of Stalk Me

I’m rushed out of the salon and directly toward the stairs. Erik follows us up, and somehow, his heavy tread is comforting. We’re still together. He’s going to make it. It’ll be fine.

Behind us, the chaos of police sirens and panicked guests continues. Something slams, but Stevens doesn’t react. We pass the floor with my parents’ suite, a floor filled with entertainment rooms that were decorated during the Cold War, and continue down the hallway. Past the bathroom and three bedrooms. And a door that hasn’t been opened in years, except for the monthly maintenance check.

Stevens’s key card opens the door easily, and he rushes us inside a barren suite. To the left is another door—more solid and stronger than even the one I chose to withstand against my parents.

“Get in there,” Stevens orders, pushing us toward a makeshift cell that has no business being in a panic room.

The butler locks the door of the cell, grinning at us through the bars. Though he’s enjoying this, there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes, which makes me realize that the arrival of the police wasn’t on their agenda. There’s a possibility that whoever crashed the party is here for them and not for the sick auction.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ve come to save us.

Checkmate

The polished conference room in Boston’s federal building feels worlds away from the horror of my parents’ gathering. I can’t believe it was only two days ago that the police broke us out of the panic room’s cell.

The dark wood table gleams under soft lights, creating an atmosphere of authority and safety that still feels foreign to me. Erik sits beside me, our hands occasionally brushing—subtle touches that ground me in reality as David Stone paces the room, his presence commanding and protective.

“They’re all in custody,” David confirms, his voice carrying the same storm-gray intensity as his brother’s eyes. “Your parents, Griffiths, Gallagher, most of the guests at the party—we caught them red-handed. The FBI raid couldn’t have been timed better.”

Relief floods through me, yet it feels hollow, distant. “And the evidence?”

“Safe.” David taps a secure laptop on the table. “Professor Austin delivered everything just in time. The USB drives, your father’s emails… it’s all here. Combined with what we found during the raid—” He pauses, his professional demeanor faltering for a moment. “Luna, I need to be honest with you. What we discovered at that house…”

My throat tightens. “I know what happened at those parties.”

David’s face hardens. “This was beyond anything we’d imagined. The Munich facility, the blackmail operation, the surveillance equipment throughout the estate—it’s unprecedented. Your parents built an empire on human suffering.”

Erik’s hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently. His thumb traces circles on my palm—a gesture that has become our private language of comfort.

“What about Belle?” Erik asks, giving voice to the question I can’t bring myself to ask.

David flips open a file. “Belle Gallagher was working directly with your parents, Luna. She was feeding them information about both of you. Her father’s company managed several offshore accounts tied to the operation.”

The betrayal stings, even though I’d known. “She was their spy from the beginning.”

“She’s been expelled from Shark Bay,” David continues. “Her father is already locked up and facing charges, but her mother’s still under investigation. Belle will likely face charges of conspiracy, though her age and some of the other circumstances might work in her favor.”

I laugh bitterly. “She never had a chance either, did she? Just another puppet for her family to manipulate.”

David studies me with eyes so similar to Erik’s, yet harder, more weathered by what he’s seen. “Luna, I need to prepare you. The prosecutors want your testimony. As the… insider, your perspective is invaluable. But it means reliving everything they did to you.”

The walls seem to close in. All those years of forced smiles, of pills dissolving on my tongue, of hands that took without permission—laid bare in a courtroom.

“Do I have to?” The question emerges smaller than I intended.

“No,” Erik says immediately, his tone fierce. “She’s been through enough.”

David holds up a hand. “There are options. Written statements, video depositions, immunity agreements—we can work with you. But your testimony would strengthen the case substantially.”

I meet his gaze. “Will they go to prison without it?”

“Yes,” David says without hesitation. “The evidence we have is damning. But with your testimony, we can ensure they never see daylight again.”

The thought of my parents behind bars—stripped of their power, their control, their empire—sends a wave of dizzying freedom through me.

“I’ll do it,” I say, my voice stronger now. “Whatever it takes.”

Erik’s grip tightens on my hand. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

---