Page 65 of Stalk Me

For the first time since I can remember, the future stretches before me not as a trap, but as possibility.

Blast From the Past

The early autumn sun filters through the trees at Ebonridge University, casting dappled shadows across the same paths I once walked. My fingers tighten around the strap of my designer bag as I take in the familiar redbrick buildings and manicured lawns that once served as the backdrop to my carefully constructed prison where, funny enough, I felt the freest. It’s been over a year since I was dragged away from this place—from Alex—and into the nightmare of Munich from where they shipped me straight to Shark Bay. The memories swirl around me like fallen leaves—the midnight study sessions in Alex’s cramped dorm room, the stolen kisses behind the library stacks, and the false sense of normalcy I clung to even as my parents’ web tightened around me.

Now I’m back, and everything looks the same. Yet nothing is.

Students mill about between classes, oblivious to who I am or what I’ve survived. Their carefree laughter and casual touches feel like scenes from another lifetime—one where I hadn’t yet learned the cost of trust. One where I hadn’t been forced to witness Erik’s slow, methodical breaking at my parents’ gathering, where I hadn’t fought tooth and nail to escape with him when David finally came through with the evidence.

My heels click against the concrete pathway as I make my way toward the psychology building where Alex should be finishing his class. The sound echoes like a countdown, each step bringing me closer to confronting another ghost from my past.

“You don’t have to do this,” Erik had said this morning, his arms wrapped around me from behind as I stood staring at my reflection. His storm-gray eyes met mine in the mirror, that familiar protective intensity burning in them. “We can turn around, go back to Boston.”

I’d turned in his embrace, pressing my lips to the scar along his jaw—a permanent reminder of what my father’s men did to him when they dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night. “I need to do this,” I’d whispered against his skin. “I need to close this chapter properly.”

Now, as I approach the school building, that certainty wavers. What right do I have to disrupt Alex’s life again? After everything I put him through—the manipulation, the lies, the abrupt, cruel departure—wouldn’t it be kinder to let him forget me?

Before I can reconsider, the doors to the building swing open, and students begin pouring out. I press myself against a nearby tree, scanning faces until?—

There he is.

Despite the photos I’ve seen, Alex looks different, yet achingly familiar. His hair is shorter, his shoulders broader, his stance more confident. He’s laughing at something the petite redhead beside him has said, his head tilted back in that way that makes his entire face transform. The sight of him—whole, happy, rested, unburdened by the darkness that follows me like a shadow—sends a jolt through my chest.

I step forward without conscious thought, drawn by an invisible thread that still connects us despite everything that’s happened.

“Alex.”

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, too soft to carry across the crowded walkway. But somehow, impossibly, he hears. His head turns, eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me. The laughter dies on his lips, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief that makes my stomach clench.

For a long, suspended moment, we simply stare at each other across the sea of moving bodies. Then, with a few murmured words to the redhead, he starts moving toward me, his expression unreadable.

I force myself to stand my ground, though every instinct screams at me to run. This isn’t Shark Bay, and Alex isn’t Erik. I don’t know my role here, don’t have a script to follow or a mask to hide behind.

“Luna?” He stops a few feet away, close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the slight furrow between his brows. “Is that really you?”

I swallow hard, finding my voice. “It’s me.”

“Jesus.” He runs a hand through his hair—that familiar nervous gesture that makes my heart ache with remembered intimacy. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” I admit, the truth easier than expected. “To talk to you. If that’s okay.”

He glances back at the redhead, who’s watching us with undisguised curiosity. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She nods and walks away, throwing one last glance over her shoulder.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” I ask, too aware of the curious stares from passing students.

Alex hesitates, then nods. “My apartment is close. We can walk there.”

The ten-minute walk passes in loaded silence. I steal glances at his profile, cataloging the changes a year has wrought. There’s a hardness to his jaw that wasn’t there before, a guardedness in his posture that I recognize all too well. I did that to him.

His apartment is small but tidy, with mismatched furniture and textbooks stacked on every surface. It feels lived-in, personal in a way that makes my chest tighten with an emotion I can’t name.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, keys jangling as he drops them on a side table.

“No, thank you.” I remain standing, unable to settle into this space that belongs so entirely to him. “I won’t stay long.”

He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “Why are you here, Luna? After a year of silence, you just… show up? I thought you were done with me.”

The hurt in his voice slices through me. “I never wanted to leave you,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “My parents forced me to. They threatened to hurt you if I didn’t cut all contact.” The memory of my father’s cold smile as he showed me the photographs of Alex leaving his apartment and going to class, completely unaware of the men following him, makes my stomach turn even now. “One call,” he’d said, tapping his finger against Alex’s face in the glossy print. “That’s all it takes.”

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