The drive to the studio was quicker than expected, and I’m here a little early. I look around the parking lot for Dante’s bike or car, but I don’t see either yet. There are a few cars in the parking lot, but not as many as I expected for a Friday at the university.
I pull out my phone, opening my messages to Dante:
When he doesn’t answer right away, I swipe away, open VidTok, and send Wolfy a message:
Dante’s already inside? Why didn’t he text me?
The foreboding feeling I felt early churns in my stomach.
I push my anxieties to the back of my head and focus on the now. I’m here to do content, and that’s it. After it’s done, I can go home with Dante, and I’ll never have to do this again.
I open my car door and step out. I grab my purse from the back seat, tossing my phone in, and head for the building's entrance. When I open the door, no one is sitting at the desk. I look around and see the sign for the classroomsin the two hundreds, to the right. I look back at the desk, peering over the top to make sure someone wasn’t hurt on the floor, but no one is there.
“Okay, guess I have to find it myself.”
I follow the corridor to my right, down, and to the left, until I find room 213. The hallway is eerily quiet and still, the fluorescent lights flicker, and I can’t help but feel like I’m at the start of a slasher film.
The room's door is cracked open, and I take my fingers, pushing it all the way open. “Hello?” I call out, stepping into the room. It looks like a student film lab: a wall of computers on shared tables, wires along the back wall, a projector screen to the right, pulled down to the floor, and movie reels stacked in the corner behind it. I set my things on an empty chair near the center of the room.
“Dante?” No response. “Wolfy?” No response.
The studio door slams shut behind me, and I turn to see what happened. Wolfy stands behind the door, his arms across his chest.
I clutch my chest, “Holy shit, you scared me, Wolfy.” He says nothing. “It’s me, Luna Stirling,” I say, waving. He doesn’t move from his position, and fear prickles on the nape of my neck. “Listen, if this,” I say, waving my hands in his general direction, “is how you work, then I think I should go home. You said Dante was here. Where is he?” The light in the room shut off, and I’m plunged into darkness.
I gasp, dropping to the floor, and quickly crawl away from where I just was. I don’t know where to go to hide, but anywhere is better than in the middle of the room. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I don’t fucking like it. My brain is in overthinking mode, and I have a terrifying thought as I frantically look over my shoulder, afraid for my life.
What if he killed Dante?
Ice spreads through my veins, and fear sinks low in my belly.
What if this was just one big plan to get me here and kill me? But why? Why would he pick me? Why would he risk his career to kill me? He read my books, does he think I think this is fuckingsexyor something? I don’t know, I’mrationalizing because this feels like a nightmare, and I need to wake up right now.
The sound of metal clanking together nearly makes me jump out of my skin, but a light flickers and shines brightly on the project screen, and images start flashing. I look around the newly lit room and see no sign of Wolfy. I scan every corner of the room, and he’s not in here. I turn my attention back to the screen and cover my mouth in horror when I see myself on the screen. Not as I am now, no. These were candid pictures taken of me from outside my window—multiplewindows, at impossible angles that no one who wasn’t dedicated to getting them could reach. So many images of me at the same angle flash across the screen, some I remember, but there are so many that it’s hard to tell if they're the same videos repeated or if he’s just been watching me for that long.
I watch the screen as more and more videos flash by until it stops, and I remember the one that’s playing right away. I’m under my covers,fingering myselfwhen I thought I was alone. It was the night that Peeping Tom showed up at my apartment, and I—The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, knocking the air from my lungs.
Oh my god.
Wolfyismy stalker.
Of course, it makes sense now. I’m so stupid. How could I let this happen? How could I be this dumb and reckless? Meeting an anonymous self-proclaimed psycho for content? I should have known better than this. I’m so fucking stupid.
I fell into my stalker's trap, and he killed my boyfriend.
Dante.
I can sense myself starting to break down, but I can’t; I have to get out of here. Dante wouldn’t want me to cry over him and get myself killed.
I focus on my surroundings and see my bag sitting on the chair, illuminated by the projector screen. I look around again, no sign of him still, so I make a break for it. I get up quietly and quickly grab my purse, digging through it to find my phone and call Olivia.
Fuck calling the police, Olivia will get her faster anyway. I type in her number and hit call, but it fails immediately. I check my service, no bars.
My skin prickles, and I sense someone behind me. I slowly turn around, coming face-to-face with the skullmask I used to dream about being between my thighs. “Where’s Dante?” I don’t know why I ask; I know he killed him, but I need to hear him confirm it.
Wolfy cocks his head. I can hear him breathing behind the mask, so I know he’s not some masked killing robot come here to kill off all the dark romance authors.
He reaches his hand up, nearly touching my face, before I shrug away, “Touch me, and I’ll scream. Let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about this. I’ll make something up, and it’ll be over. Okay?” I was good at begging for my life with Greg; maybe I can sway Wolfy into letting me live.
