Page 9 of Stalk Me

Gasps and snickers erupt around the room. Professor Austin fumbles with his computer, face burning red as he tries but fails to stop the video. Either way, the damage is done.

Part of me admires her technique. Belle may not rule this school by sheer force of personality, but she’s obviously mastered the more subtle arts. Blackmail is my bread and butter. I thought I’d see it coming.

I refuse to cover my face as laughter echoes through the room. My fingers curl into fists beneath my desk, nails biting crescents into my palms. Shame is for the weak, the people with something left to protect. To hide is to admit weakness. No, not again. I’ll never beg again. Not for anything.

Belle’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. In less than twenty-four hours, she’s managed to turn my own weapon against me. Now, my value is dependent upon hers. She owns the Queen, and therefore, she is the Queen. Unless I challenge her reign, which I will. My parents might not want me to speak about our truth, but they’d punish me if they knew I was letting anyone tarnish our name. Belle put me on the cliff, and there’s too much on the line for me to fall.

Professor Austin struggles to regain control. His eyes land on mine, desperate and pleading. I meet his gaze, forcing myself to stay calm, even as shame threatens to burn me from the inside. My expression is blank as I will the shame to turn into rage, burning through my veins. Amateur move, Belle. If she thinks this will break me, she has no idea what I’m capable of.

Professor Austin finally manages to shut off the video, his face ashen. “I… I apologize for that inappropriate content. Someone seems to have gained access to my computer. Rest assured, we will find out who’s responsible.”

“No need,” I say, my voice carrying clearly across the shocked silence. I stand slowly, gathering my things. “We all know who did it. The question is—what are they going to do when it backfires?”

I click my tongue, shaking my head. Belle’s blue eyes widen just slightly, and behind her, Nicolas’s mouth twists in a wicked grin. They think they have me cornered, that I’ll roll over and take whatever scraps of power she deigns to toss me. They think they can do whatever the hell they want with their riches and powers, taking whatever I’m stupid enough to leave unprotected.

Belle’s smirk falters slightly as I walk past her desk. I pause just long enough to whisper, “Thanks for the free publicity. Now everyone knows what they’re missing.”

Her perfect mask cracks for just a second, revealing the insecurity beneath. Good. She needs to learn that in these waters, there are always bigger sharks.

I stalk out the door without turning back, focusing every ounce of energy on hiding the trembling of my legs. Rage and shame battle to consume the few fragile embers of my heart. I can’t go back—don’t want to go back to that place, to the weakness, to the broken fragments of who I used to be. Failure isn’t an option.

Belle thought she could use my sexuality to shame me? Time to show her how that game really works. By the time I’m done, every guy in this school will be wrapped around my finger, and her carefully constructed kingdom will crumble. All I have to do is cast a spell or two—easier than it sounds. Spells have consequences, though, and some games even I can’t afford to lose.

The hallway outside the classroom is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy, like it’s waiting for something to happen. My heels click against the polished marble floor, each step echoing like a gunshot in the empty corridor. I can still feel the heat of their stares, the weight of their judgment pressing down on me. But I won’t let it break me. I can’t.

I round the corner, my mind racing. Belle’s move was calculated, precise. She didn’t just want to humiliate me—she wanted to assert her dominance, to remind everyone that she’s the queen of Shark Bay. But she made one critical mistake: She underestimated me. She thinks I’m just another broken girl, another pawn in her game. She doesn’t know what I’m capable of.

My footsteps quicken as I make my way down the hall. I can hear the hushed whispers of the students as they follow my progress, no doubt eager to spread the latest gossip. I push the doors open, blinking against the bright sunlight as I step outside.

The grounds are buzzing with activity, but I don’t stop to take in the view. Instead, I head straight past the stone building and down to the beach. Older students sit around the plaza, basking in the midday sun while waiting for their classes to start. Perfect.

Some of them glance at me, but I ignore them. I’m used to the stares. Word must’ve spread. Gossip always travels fast.

With the waves crashing behind me, the soft wind blowing around me, and my eyes set on the sandy beach stretching on toward eternity, my head feels clear. I didn’t think the school could live up to its reputation of a vacationed prison, but looking out over the magnificent white sands as the crystal blue water stretches on for miles, I’ve no choice but to accept its beauty.

I set my bag down and sit on a low stone wall overlooking the sea. The breeze carries the familiar scent of saltwater and sunshine, and for a moment, I can almost pretend I’m back home. But the illusion quickly fades, replaced by the chill of reality. I’m not home. I’m trapped on this island, forced to play by their rules or risk losing everything.

“Is this seat taken?”

I look up to see a handsome boy in a Shark Bay yellow and navy-blue uniform. His white shirt is buttoned up, the tie perfectly knotted, but there’s something in his mischievous gray eyes that tells me he’s not a typical highbrow lackey. In his hand is a book, the title hidden.

“It is now.” I scoot over, patting the space beside me. He grins and sits, folding his long legs underneath himself.

“Erik Stone,” he says, offering his hand. “Born and raised in Washington. Previously expelled from North Ridge Preparatory School for alcohol and drug possession. Since it didn’t align with my family’s politics, they decided to send me away.”

“Luna Queen,” I respond, shaking his hand. His grip is strong, his palm calloused, and the spark in his eye is enough to make my stomach flip. “New York City. Too many expulsions to list.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Luna.” His smile is blinding. “So, why’d you end up here?”

“Because I’m out of control.” It’s a half-truth. My parents wanted me in a controlled environment; they thought sending me here would help. At least, they hoped it would. Every teacher here is probably spying, every conversation I have, recorded. Just like freedom, privacy is also an illusion.

Erik chuckles, shaking his head. “Aren’t we all?”

“Probably.”

We sit in silence, watching the waves crash against the shore. The sound is soothing, calming, and from the corner of my eye, I find myself studying Erik. His hair is pale blond, the ends slightly curled. His jaw is squared, and his eyes are a gray so light it’s almost white. Though he cleans up well, there’s a darkness behind his polished looks.

Suddenly, he stands and takes a step closer. He reaches a hand out for me to take.

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