Page 78 of Stalk Me

“Luna.” Her voice is raspier than I remember. “You look… healthy.”

Coming from her, it’s practically an insult. Healthy was never the goal—thin, perfect, and marketable were her standards. I’ve gained weight in the past year, muscle from the kickboxing classes I take with Leyla, and curves from actually eating regular meals without fear.

“I am healthy,” I confirm. “In every way that matters.”

She glances down at my simple jeans and sweater, a far cry from the designer outfits she used to insist upon. “I see your taste has… evolved.”

“Among other things.” I place my hands flat on the table between us, deliberately showing off the absence of the family ring she once insisted I wear. “I’m not here for fashion advice, Mother.”

She sighs, a flicker of the old impatience crossing her features. “Why are you here then? You made your feelings quite clear at the trial.”

The question is fair. I’ve visited my mother exactly three times in the year since her sentencing—twenty-five years without possibility of parole. My father received life, his network of crimes deemed more extensive, more calculating. He’s in a maximum-security facility across the country. I haven’t visited him at all.

“Professor Austin is publishing a book,” I say, watching her face carefully. “About systems of power and exploitation. He’s asked me to write the foreword.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You wouldn’t.”

“I already have.” I keep my voice steady. “It doesn’t name names—the legal team made sure of that. But it tells the truth about what happened. What you and Father did.”

She looks away, jaw tightening. “More public humiliation. Hasn’t there been enough?”

“This isn’t about humiliation.” I lean forward slightly. “It’s about breaking the cycle. Helping others recognize the patterns before they’re trapped in them.”

“Always the crusader now,” she says with a dismissive wave. “I suppose that boyfriend of yours encourages this… activism.”

I can’t help the small smile that forms at the mention of Erik. “He supports me in everything I do. That’s what healthy relationships look like, Mother.”

Her lip curls slightly. “And I suppose you’re the expert now?”

“No,” I admit. “I’m still learning. We both are. But we’re learning together, with help.”

Dr. Marshall has been instrumental in my recovery, in teaching me what normal boundaries look like and how to recognize manipulation, how to trust my own perceptions again. Erik has his own therapist, helping him work through the aftereffects of his addiction and the trauma from that night at my parents’ mansion.

“The mighty Queen fortune, wasted on therapy,” my mother murmurs, a shadow crossing her face. “Your father would be appalled.”

“My father is serving life for crimes against dozens of people,” I remind her. “His approval isn’t exactly my priority.”

She flinches slightly, then composes herself. “What about your studies? At least tell me you haven’t abandoned those.”

It’s such a mundane, almost maternal question that it catches me off guard. For a moment, she sounds like a normal parent, concerned about her daughter’s education rather than a woman who once drugged that same daughter for business advantage.

“I switched majors,” I tell her. “From business to psychology, with a minor in criminal justice. I made the dean’s list both semesters.”

Something flickers across her face—pride? Regret? Calculation? With my mother, it’s impossible to tell.

“And do you still live on campus? In that dreadful dormitory?”

“It’s the school’s condition, but they did allow Erik and me to share the room. It’s small, but it’s ours.”

“You’re living with him.” It’s not a question. Her mouth tightens with disapproval.

“Yes.” I don’t elaborate, don’t justify. My relationship with Erik is one of the few pure things in my life; I won’t have her taint it with her judgment.

“And what about your… social circle?” She says the words as if they taste unfamiliar. “I imagine most of your former acquaintances have distanced themselves.”

A laugh escapes me, genuine and unexpected. “You’d be surprised. Belle and I have coffee every Thursday.” After her testimony, Belle was accepted back to Shark Bay to finish her degree. Our relationship is complicated—we’ll never be the carefree best friends of college movie tropes—but we understand each other in ways no one else can. “Leyla’s my kickboxing partner. And Jessica from Belle’s old group is in my study cohort now.”

“How… quaint.” Her voice drips with disdain, but there’s something else there, too—confusion, perhaps. The idea of friendship based on genuine connection rather than strategic advantage seems to genuinely puzzle her.

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