Page 67 of Stalk Me

I nod, afraid to speak past the lump in my throat. Then, before I can change my mind, I turn and walk away, each step taking me farther from what might have been and closer to what is.

Erik is waiting in the rental car, just as promised. His face lights up when he sees me, that rare, genuine smile that still makes my heart skip. “How did it go?” he asks as I slide into the passenger seat.

I lean across the console and kiss him, pouring everything I can’t say into the press of my lips against his. He responds immediately, one hand cradling my face with that careful tenderness that still surprises me after everything we’ve been through.

“That good, huh?” he murmurs when we break apart, his thumb tracing my lower lip.

“It was necessary,” I say, settling back into my seat. “And now it’s done. Take me home, Erik.”

As we drive away from Ebonridge, I don’t look back. The past will always be part of me—the darkness, the trauma, the people I’ve hurt and been hurt by. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a chain around my neck.

I reach for Erik’s hand, intertwining our fingers as the university fades in the rearview mirror. “Thank you for waiting,” I say softly.

His grip tightens, a silent promise. “Always.”

We drive in comfortable silence, heading back toward the uncertain future that awaits us. There will be more battles to fight, more demons to face. But right now, in this moment, I allow myself to believe in possibility. In healing. In the kind of love that doesn’t destroy, but builds.

And for today, that’s enough.

Healing Wounds

The rain patters against the office windows, creating a rhythmic backdrop to the silence between us. Dr. Marshall sits in her ergonomic chair, patient as always, her notepad balanced on her knee. I’ve been coming to this softly lit office for weeks now, but the words still stick in my throat like glass shards.

“Luna,” she says gently, “you mentioned last time that the trial proceedings have intensified. How are you handling that?”

I trace the pattern on the couch with my fingertip, focusing on the swirls of fabric rather than meeting her eyes. “They arrested Judge Harrington yesterday. It was all over the news.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

A laugh escapes me, bitter and sharp. “How does it make me feel that a man who used to pat my head at parties before disappearing upstairs with girls who looked just like me is finally facing consequences? I don’t know, Doc. Vindicated? Terrified? Nothing at all?”

She doesn’t flinch at my tone. That’s one thing I appreciate about Dr. Marshall—she doesn’t scare easily.

“All of those reactions would be valid,” she says. “This is uncharted territory for you.”

Uncharted territory. Such a clinical way to describe watching your parents’ empire crumble while you testify against them. The evidence Erik and I managed to get to his brother has sparked the biggest political scandal in decades. Every day brings new arrests, new faces paraded across TV screens in handcuffs—judges, politicians, CEOs, celebrities. People who once seemed untouchable now look small and desperate in orange jumpsuits.

“My mother’s lawyer called again,” I say, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. “They’re offering another deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“The same as before. If I recant my testimony, say I made it all up for attention or revenge or whatever, they’ll make sure I’m ‘taken care of.’” I make air quotes with my fingers, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “As if I’d ever trust them to ‘take care’ of me again.”

Dr. Marshall’s pen pauses on her notepad. “That must be difficult, having that pressure on you.”

“It’s not just me. They’re threatening Erik now, too.” My voice cracks, betraying the fear I’ve been trying to suppress. “His father’s political opponents are calling him compromised because of what happened at the party. They’re saying he should resign.”

“And how is Erik handling that?”

I finally look up at her, the question hitting a nerve. “Better than I am. He says he doesn’t care what they say about him as long as the truth comes out. But I care. He didn’t ask for any of this. This isn’t his mess.”

“Yet he chose to stand by you,” she points out. “From what you’ve told me, he’s made his choice very clear.”

The memory of Erik’s face as we were rescued from my parents’ mansion surfaces unbidden—the determination in his eyes, the way he refused to let go of my hand even as David’s team swarmed the property. He’s been my constant since then, through the safe houses and the depositions and the endless meetings with prosecutors.

“I don’t deserve him,” I whisper, voicing the thought that’s been haunting me.

“Why do you say that?”

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