The pieces connect faster than logic can keep up. Lucy's reaction, Madeline's fear. The joke about the ex earlier. The way he touches her like she belongs to him. Understanding settles over me. The ex. The stalker. The one who thought he could follow her. My vision blurs. He just made my project a lot easier. The rest of the hallway fades for me.
Inside the room, she tries to pull away again. He doesn't let her. She looks toward the door. Then briefly, toward the glass. Toward me. She can't see through it. But something in her gazelingers for a half a second longer than coincidence would allow. Her breathing changes. A thought forms. A thought she doesn't say out loud. But bodies are honest even when mouths lie.
For a moment her eyes close, and the expression on her face is almost imperceptible. A flicker. A wish. Not for the police. Not for Lucy. For something else. For someone else. The corner of my mouth lifts slowly.Mine.
That brief moment still echoes in the tension of her body. A wish. A dangerous one. She wants someone to stop him. And somewhere in the quiet part of her mind, she already knows who that someone would be. Twisted satisfaction. She shouldn't want that. She definitely shouldn't want it from me.
Her protective move with the table is now useless. He leans toward her face, speaking quickly. Aggressive. His grip is tight. And then, he shoves her. Not hard enough to knock her down. But enough. Hard enough for me.
A cold, familiar calm washes over me. My hand is already in my pocket, my thumb hovering over the screen of my burner phone. He smiles after he shoves her, a smug, entitled expression that expects her to just take it. He is wrong.
I type the message with a steady hand. No hesitation. No mercy.
ME:"Leave the room right now."
I hit send.
Inside the salon, I watch Madeline's phone vibrate in her hand. Her eyes scan the screen, and the change in her is instantaneous. She doesn’t look confused. She looks… aware. She feels me nearby, the same way i felt her silent wish for someone to end this.
She steps back from him. He's still talking, still loud, still pathetic. She doesn't answer him. Instead, she turns to the door. Fast. He lunges, grabbing her arm one last time, trying to drag her back into his orbit. She rips it free with a snarl.
"Don't fucking touch me Jake!"
Her voice rings out, sharp and defiant.
Good girl.
The moment she bursts into the hallway, she freezes. I’m right here. Less than two meters apart. My mask hides my face, but I know she recognizes the predator in my eyes. Her pupils dilate. Shock. Fear. And a flicker of something that looks dangerously like relief.
She doesn’t wait. She runs. Not away from me, but past me, fleeing toward the safety of the crowd and her friend Lucy. I listen to the frantic, uneven rhythm of her heels hitting the carpet until the sound fades into the distant thrum of the ballroom music. Now, for the mess left behind.
Jake is still inside the room, pacing like a caged animal, muttering curses under his breath. I push the door open slowly. It clicks shut behind me, the sound final and absolute.
His head snaps toward me, irritation written all over his face.
"What the fu—"
He stops when he notices the mask. The suit. The way I'm standing between him and the exit.
"Private room’s taken buddy," the pathetic excuse for a man barks, his voice dropping with the arrogant confidence of someone who thinks the world belongs to him. Jake. The ghost of her past who just tried to force his way back into her life.
I stand rooted between him and the exit. I don’t move. Beyond these walls, the muffled thump of the ballroom music bleeds in, but here in this gilded cage, the silence is so thick it feels physical. He runs a hand through his hair, his posture shifting. It’s not fear yet. Not quite. It’s just the instinct of a former cop sensing confrontation.
"Did you hear me? Get the hell out," he repeats, taking a step toward me.
I take one toward him. The tension in the room snaps like electricity before a storm.
"You shouldn't have touched her," I murmur. My voice is calm, stripped of every emotion except the one that defines me now.
Jake narrows his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his face.
"What?"
“You shouldn’t have put your filthy hands on her skin,” I repeat, and this time, the edge of a blade is audible in my tone.
He scoffs, that smug, entitled sound that irritates me more than anything else.
"Oh, I see. So what are you? Her new boyfriend or something?”
