Page 62 of Stalk Me

I turn to him, drinking in the concern etched across his features. “I want to. I need to.”

David nods, respect evident in his eyes. “We’ll protect you, Luna. Every step of the way.”

“What happens now?” Erik asks. “With Luna?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications. What does happen to the daughter of criminal masterminds, a girl whose entire life has been a carefully orchestrated performance?

“For now, security protection,” David replies. “At least until the immediate danger passes. We’ve also arranged an apartment.”

“We?” Erik raises an eyebrow.

David’s expression softens marginally. “Both of you, if that’s what you want.”

Something flickers between the brothers—an entire conversation condensed into a look.

“It is,” Erik says firmly.

Heat spreads through my body at his certainty. I’ve spent my life being a possession, never having choices. Now Erik is choosing me, not as an object to be controlled, but as someone worth protecting.

“I need some air,” I murmur, suddenly overwhelmed.

Both men rise as I stand, but I wave them back. “Just five minutes. I’ll be right outside.”

The hallway is mercifully empty. I lean against the cool wall, breathing deeply. Freedom feels terrifying—a vast unknown without boundaries or scripts to follow.

The door opens behind me, and Erik steps out, concern evident in his storm-gray eyes. “You okay?”

“I don’t know what ‘okay’ feels like anymore,” I admit.

He moves closer, not touching me but close enough that I can feel his warmth. “Whatever you’re feeling is valid, Luna. You’ve been through hell.”

“Have I?” I whisper. “Or was I part of creating it?”

Erik’s eyes darken. “Don’t do that. You were a victim, not an accomplice.”

“I did things, Erik. Terrible things. I used people. Manipulated them.”

“To survive,” he counters. “What choice did you have?”

The question pierces through my defenses. What choice have I ever had?

“I don’t know who I am without them,” I confess, the words tearing from somewhere raw and vulnerable. “Without the performance, the manipulation. How do I just… exist?”

Erik reaches up, his fingers hovering near my cheek without touching. “May I?”

The fact that he asks—that he gives me the choice—breaks something open inside me. I nod.

His hand cups my face, thumb brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “You exist by breathing. By making choices, even small ones. By figuring out what you want, not what someone else wants from you.”

I lean into his touch, craving the warmth of skin-to-skin contact that asks for nothing in return. “What if I don’t know what I want?”

His lips quirk in a half-smile. “Then you experiment. Try things. Discover what you like and don’t like.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Nothing about this is simple,” he acknowledges. “But you’re not alone in figuring it out.”

Something shifts between us, the air growing thick with unspoken possibilities. I’ve been drawn to Erik since that first day on the cliff, but there have always been barriers—my parents, Belle’s schemes, our own walls of self-protection.

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