Page 11 of Devoted (Love and Burlesque #2)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VIVIAN
Am I into this? No, of course not. Well…
“ T hat goddamn asshole!” As much as I’d like to scream right now, my curse comes out as more of a hoarse whisper because I don’t want to wake up Em accidentally.
I feel like a fool for not realizing what was going on. I finally discovered the answer to why Knight has been acting so weird since the day of the gala at his house. This explains how he can look at me like I’m his world one second and then sneer at me like I’m gum beneath his shoe the next.
Knight has been stalking me.
His liking of my latest photo from a seemingly random art account was only the tip of this deception iceberg, and I knew there was more to dig into.
Clutching my sketchbook and phone with a shaking hand, I speedwalk over to my bedroom where I can properly freak out without risking Emma realizing what’s going on.
Once in my room, I sit myself on my bed, back against the headboard, as I flip to an empty page. With anger, I start writing everything down before I forget.
Proof of my bitch-ass stalker:
1. He’s using an old account to go through my posts (I know it’s his art).
2. He’s been in my office when I’m not there (and leaves it smelling amazing).
3. He can’t interact with me like a normal person (serious whiplash).
My brain starts analyzing the past few weeks and every interaction I’ve had with Knight.
Suddenly, I remember how odd he was acting that day when I almost fell onto him in the stairwell.
He was injured; his body was full of tiny scratches and bruises, while he walked with a limp.
Even then, he carried me in his huge arms like I was nothing… but that’s not the point.
Raking my memory even further, I realize that was the day after Em and I heard someone outside our apartment. I recall because I slept like shit that night and I was so groggy at work that I ended up stupidly falling up that last step of the stage stairs.
No, there’s no way those two things are related, right? That would mean Knight was outside my fucking window for god knows how long that night. A burst of laughter involuntarily leaves my lips when I think of how ridiculous this all is. I swear to god, it’s like I’ve read this in a book before.
I have a crush on my boss.
My boss is apparently stalking me.
And it doesn’t feel as weird as it should.
Before I start overthinking my reaction, or lack thereof, the memory of the muddy piece of clothing I found that night pops into my mind.
I know I have it somewhere here. Honestly, once Rhett had come over to spend the night as our guard, I totally forgot about the scrap of clothing I shoved into a baggie with the promise of investigating it later.
I’m no forensic scientist, but if I can find it, I know I can at least see the color of the fabric or check for any tags that might still be on it.
Jumping out of bed and abandoning my list for now, I head into the adjoining bathroom and look around to see if I put the item in there.
It doesn’t take much searching after looking in the cabinet below the sink.
The mud is still wet in the bag because it’s only been a week since the night I found it.
Opening the bag and dumping it into the sink, I start rinsing out the mud with cold water, and within seconds, I can see the material isn’t brown but a rich navy blue instead. The fabric becomes clearer after I wring out the extra dirt and apply some soap before repeating the process a few times.
Like I’m the fabric whisperer or something, I notice how this particular piece of fabric looks and feels familiar as I dry it out. Who knew my costume design knowledge would make me a detective in the future? Mom would be so proud.
Damp fabric in hand, I leave the bathroom and head back into my bedroom to continue my analysis.
Bringing it over to a ring light resting on my nightstand, I hold it up to see that there’s a tiny scrap of label still attached, but no letters or numbers are visible.
Even with the crucial clues missing, I recognize the color of Madam Zhān’s signature crimson tag.
An established designer who also happens to be the Adler family tailor.
The fabric feels luxurious, thick, and well woven even after the mud bath it’s been through. It has to be her work. Rubbing it between my fingers, I could swear I’ve seen this exact material before, but I know it’s not Ezekiel’s. That’s when I see it.
From the corner of my eye, I spot something in the room that matches the same hue of blue that’s right in front of my face.
“ Hijo de su pinche …” I grit the curse out, strangling the fabric between my fingers.
It’s Knight’s suit jacket! The one he left in my office almost a month ago when I confronted him about trying to control how the dancers interact with me. I nearly trip over the corner of my bed rushing toward the jacket.
Costume designer or not, anyone could see how the fabric is an exact match! My frustrated sigh echoes in the room as I pace back to my bed. Guess there’s more to add to the list now.
Proof of my bitch-ass stalker:
1. He’s using an old account to go through my posts (I know it’s his art).
2. He’s been in my office when I’m not there (and leaves it smelling amazing).
3. He can’t interact with me like a normal person (serious whiplash).
4. He was stalking my apartment (mark me down as scared and maybe a little horny?).
I mean, do I like how he’s invaded my privacy? No. But part of me, one I’m used to keeping buried and quiet, actually likes how I’m so deep under his skin.
Someone who loves me obsessively and with endless devotion has always been something I’ve wanted.
You could blame it on all the gothic romances I read and all the romantic movies I grew up watching, but my thoughts of ‘the one’ have always involved a (un)healthy amount of adoration and passion.
Am I this to Knight? Is he the Gomez to my Morticia? Erik to my Christine?
While I can’t say I’ve necessarily thought of Knight to that extent—I mean, I hardly know the man—I can see myself feeling the same way. The attraction is there and growing by the minute.
I want Knight.
Once that thought crosses my mind, it’s all I can think about… Despite his erratic behavior and how he is so hot and cold with me, I want him.
I just don’t know what the issue is for him to keep me at arm’s length. While he’s a good bit older than me, no one would give a shit about our age gap. We’re grown adults who can consent properly and make our own decisions.
I’m aware there’s some history between him and Alek from when they started The Garden of Eden. Alek told me the story of how they ended up becoming business partners and nothing else. It’s not an issue for me.
All I truly know is how Knight makes me feel and how every feeling I’ve had when talking or even thinking of him has felt profoundly intense compared to anything I’ve experienced with other people.
Knight might have started this game, but he’s not alone in it anymore.
And he has no idea what’s coming for him.