Chapter 35 Suspicious
Zoe's POV
I felt him following me.
Felt his eyes on my back, burning into me like a brand. His presence behind me was undeniable—heavy, intense, magnetic.
Good. The plan was working.
I kept walking. Down the path. Away from the ball and its glittering lights.
Toward the inn. Toward safety. Toward control.
My heart pounded in my chest—hard, fast, relentless. But not from fear.
From... something else. Anticipation? Excitement? Satisfaction?
No. I couldn't name it. Didn't want to name it.
I pushed it down. Buried it deep. Focused on the role I was playing.
This was just part of the plan. Nothing more. A calculated move in a carefully orchestrated game.
The cool night air brushed against my exposed shoulders, making me shiver slightly. Or maybe that wasn't from the cold. Maybe it was from knowing he was behind me, getting closer with every step.
The inn wasn't far now. Just a few more steps. A few more moments of this electric tension.
My gold dress whispered against my legs as I walked, the fabric catching the moonlight. I kept my pace steady, unhurried. I couldn't look desperate. Couldn't look like I was running.
Even though part of me wanted to run.
Then... a hand on my arm.
Gentle but firm. Warm. Strong.
The touch sent electricity shooting through my skin, and I had to force myself not to react.
"Stop."
His voice. Deep. Commanding. Desperate.
That desperation—I heard it clearly. It was raw, unguarded, vulnerable.
I stopped. Didn't turn around yet.
Took a breath. Steadied myself. Reminded myself who I was supposed to be.
Lady Margaret. Mysterious traveler. Not Zoe. Never Zoe.
Then slowly... I turned.
Jeremy stood there, chest heaving slightly like he'd been running. His mask still on, covering half his face. But his eyes...
His eyes were wild. Searching. Confused. Desperate.
They bore into mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Who are you?" His voice shook slightly.
I tilted my head, arranged my features into polite confusion. Kept my voice steady, the accent perfect.
"Sorry?" I pretended like I didn't know what he was talking about.
"Don't." His grip tightened slightly on my arm—not painful, but insistent. "Don't play games with me."
"Games? I don't understand what you're saying." I kept my voice light, bewildered, innocent.
"You touched me. In the ballroom. Your hand... it..." He couldn't finish. Couldn't say it out loud.
Couldn't admit what that touch had done to him.
I could see the war in his eyes—between logic and instinct, between what his mind knew and what his body was screaming.
"I touched many people in the ballroom, Alpha. It's crowded. Accidents happen." I shrugged delicately.
"That was no accident." He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Who are you? Really?"
The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning.
I reached up slowly, deliberately. Grasped the edges of my white mask.
And removed it.
Revealing my face fully in the moonlight.
"It's you?" he questioned, moving closer, his eyes scanning every feature of my face like he was trying to memorize it. Or recognize it.
"Lady Margaret, please, I need you to be sincere with me. Don't lie to me." His voice rose with frustration, then dropped, almost pleading. Broken. "Please. Don't lie."
He looked... shattered. Desperate. Lost.
Like a man drowning and searching for something—anything—to hold onto.
For a moment, I almost felt bad.
Almost.
Then I remembered. The forest, dark and cold. The gun, heavy in his hand. The shot that rang out, echoing through the trees.
My supposed death.
The way he'd walked away.
"What are you talking about, Alpha?" I kept my voice calm, carefully confused. "I need you to be clear, please."
He stared at me. Long. Hard.
His eyes traced every line of my face, every curve, every detail.
Then he started walking.
Around me. Circling slowly. Deliberately. Studying.
Like a wolf examining prey. Or trying to solve an impossible puzzle.
His eyes traveled over me. Head to toe. Back again.
He moved closer, his breath warm on my neck as he studied my shoulders, the slope of them, the way they sat.
He stepped back, looked from my head to my toes like he was checking out my height, comparing it to some memory only he could see.
The way he examined me should have felt threatening. Invasive.
But it didn't.
It felt... intense. Personal. Intimate.
He stopped in front of me again, so close I could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes.
"How?" He whispered, and the word sounded torn from somewhere deep inside him. "How is this possible?"
"How is what possible, Alpha?" I asked, keeping my expression open, concerned. "I don't understand what you're talking about."
"You..." The word came out raw. Painful. Like it hurt him to say it. "You reminded me so much of her, yet you're different."
"About who?" I prompted gently.
"Not someone you may know." His voice was distant now, lost in memories I couldn't see.
"Was that why you left the way you did when we were having a conversation at the inn?" I asked, reading his expression, watching the pain flicker across his face. "I reminded you of someone. Was it a painful memory?"
He opened his mouth to answer, his eyes locked on mine.
But before he could speak, another voice cut through the moment like a knife.
"What's going on here?"
We both froze.
Turned.
Mia stood there, maybe ten feet away. Her red dress looked black in the moonlight, her silver mask still in place.
But I could see her eyes even from here.
Sharp. Cold. Calculating.
She'd followed him. Followed us.
And now she was watching, seeing everything.
The way we stood close—too close. The intensity crackling in the air between us. The way his hand was still on my arm, like he couldn't bear to let go.
"What's going on here?" Mia asked again, her voice steady and controlled.
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
But her eyes... her eyes were ice.
And they were fixed on me with an intensity that promised trouble.