Chapter 40: THIRST TRAP FOR MR. STALKER

MIA

I excused myself to the bathroom twenty minutes later when the champagne and the forced smiles had gotten to their peak where I couldn't keep up anymore. Thankfully, it was empty and clean as I stood at the sink, running cold water on my palms and telling myself to calm down.

Then my phone buzzed. I rolled my eyes, picking it up thinking it was Dante only to see a message from a number I recognized but hadn't seen in weeks.

My stomach dropped. It was from the stalker and they had sent a picture. With shaky hands, I waited for it to load and then I saw a picture of me tonight, outside the gallery as I got out of the car, looking completely unaware.

Then a second message came in: You look beautiful. He doesn't deserve you.

Terror shot through me as I stared at it. They had been so close again and I didn't notice because I had let my guard down.

My hands were shaking when I typed back.

"Who are you?"

No response.

"I know you're watching. I want to talk to you."

Still nothing.

I stood there waiting, heart hammering as the walls closed in on me and the world tilted sideways. I felt a wave of panic hit me, chest tightening, vision tunneling and breath coming in too fast. I gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white as I stared at my reflection.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But the fear kept clawing up my throat. How long would I keep going through this?

I couldn't keep doing this. Running, waiting, hiding and letting Dante provide me a false sense of comfort when the shadows still lurked outside. Even if I wanted to tell the police, I still had no information on them.

You know what? I need to do something. This person hadn't harmed me and seemed to just be fascinated with me, so what better way to draw them out than to get close to them?

Dark romance novels I used to devour in secret flashed through my mind. The obsessive anti-heroes and the heroines who walked straight into the fire instead of running away from it. I'd always wondered what that kind of madness felt like. What it would be like to stop being the prey and become something else.

Dante's overbearing control had left me suffocating for weeks with his always watching, deciding and keeping me safe in his own twisted way.

"Fuck it."

If this person wanted to watch me so badly, I would give them something to watch.

My hands were still shaking as I locked the bathroom door then slipped the thin straps of my dress off my shoulders and let the fabric pool at my waist. The black lace bra I wore underneath pushed my breasts up, the cups barely containing them. I cupped one breast with my hand, thumb brushing over the nipple through the lace, and took the first photo in the mirror. Then another, this time with my hand covering just the nipple.

The third picture was bolder as I pinched my nipple slightly, lips parted and eyes half-lidded as I thought about someone touching me.

It felt dangerous, reckless and liberating. Then I sent it to them with a message: "You want to watch? Fine. Watch this."

I stared at the screen, heart pounding as I waited for a response but didn't get one. I saw that they had seen it which made me smile then I pulled my dress back up with trembling fingers, smoothing the fabric into place. My cheeks were flushed, nipples still hard against the bra, a dark thrill pulsing between my legs. I didn't know if this was brave or completely insane.

But for the first time in months, I didn't feel like the one being hunted.

I felt like I was finally hunting back.

I put my phone in my bag and went out with a smile as I shook hands and answered questions. I saw Dante shoot me an odd look but I didn't think much of it because I had other things to focus on.

In the car home Dante held my hand as I looked out the window in silence.

"I'm proud of you," he said. "Tonight was exactly what your work deserves."

"Thank you."

"But I didn't like how that critic looked at you."

I turned to look at him. "How did he look at me?"

He kept his gaze focused ahead. "I just didn't like it."

"I'm a professional at a professional event—"

"I know what I saw." His thumb moved over my knuckles. "We just need to make it clearer that you're not single."

I didn't ask what that meant. Partly because I was tired and the night had wrung me out but mostly because my mind was somewhere else entirely, already drafting the next message to send to that stalker. Something more scandalous than the last one.

I was done being the one who waited.

Whatever the stalker wanted with me, it was time to find out.

On my own terms.