Page 24 of Stalked

I am not the girl who sleeps with Vane Blackwood.

My phone buzzes again, making me jump. Another text from him. I grab it, my finger hovering over the notification.

At least tell me you're okay.

A wave of panic crashes over me. I can't do this—whatever this is. Last night was a mistake. A moment of weakness. A temporary insanity that cannot, under any circumstances, become something more.

Three more weeks. That's all I have to get through until graduation. Then I'm off to Columbia’s summer program for incoming freshmen. I've worked too hard for too long to let some guy—especially one like Vane—derail everything.

I take a deep breath and type a reply.

I'm fine. Don't contact me again.

My thumb hovers over the send button. It sounds harsh, even for me. But I need to be clear. No ambiguity. No room for interpretation.

I hit send.

Almost immediately, the typing dots appear. I quickly silence my phone and shove it under my pillow. I'm not in a position to deal with his response right now.

Three weeks. I just need to avoid him for three weeks. We only have chemistry together, and I'll beg one of the other students to switch lab partners with me. I'll skip debate club meetings. I'll eat lunch in the library. I'll be fine.

I pull the covers over my head, trying to block out the memory of his hands on my body, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.

My phone vibrates under my pillow. I ignore it.

Three weeks. I can do this.

I stare at the ceiling, my breathing finally slowing as exhaustion creeps in. This isn't me. I don't do impulsive. Every aspect of my life runs according to plan—color-coded planner, meticulous study schedules, college applications submitted months before deadlines. Even my room screams order, with books alphabetized and clothes sorted by color and season.

Control isn't just something I like—it's who I am.

But last night... last night I surrendered it all. The memory hits me in flashes: Vane's hands in my hair, the way I arched into him without hesitation, how I begged—actually begged—for more. My cheeks burn. I let him take charge completely, following his lead like I'd forgotten every boundary I'd ever set.

My perfectly organized life had spiraled into chaos in a single night, and I'd welcomed it.

I grab my planner from my nightstand, flipping to today's date. The neatly written tasks mock me—study for AP Government, email Mrs. Chen about a recommendation letter, and confirm summer program housing. Normal, controlled, responsible Lia things.

Where exactly doesrecovering from losing virginity to Vane Blackwoodfit into that schedule?

My fingers trace the precise handwriting on the page. This is who I am—not the girl who threw caution to the wind last night, who let herself be completely vulnerable, who surrendered control so willingly.

I need to get back on track. I need to reclaim the reins of my life before last night's momentary lapse becomes something more permanent. Because the scariest part isn't that I lost control.

It's that for those hours with Vane, I didn't miss it at all.

10

VANE

Iscan the crowd of blue graduation gowns, searching for her. Three fucking weeks of silence. Three weeks of her ducking into bathrooms when she sees me coming, switching lab partners without a word, and ignoring every text and call.

“Who are you looking for?” Knox tugs at my gown, his small face peering up at me with curious eyes. His hair is sticking up despite Xavier's attempts to tame it this morning.

“No one, buddy.” I ruffle his hair, making it worse. “Just trying to find my row.”

“You're lying,” Knox says with the blunt honesty only an eight-year-old can get away with. “You're looking for that girl with the pretty hair. The one in your picture.”

I feel heat rise to my face. Landon snorts beside me, his gangly fifteen-year-old frame awkward in the suit Xavier forced him into.