I hear the word police and another surge of protectiveness floods my system. This time it is for me. There’s no way I’m going home, and if the police are involved in any way, I’ll be dragged there and the next four years will vanish. I shut my eyes, filling my lungs with the strangers’ very sweet, very addictive honey scent before I open my eyes. He’s watching carefully, I nearly lose myself in his eyes again. I go to say something, explain I’d never put him in danger, but my mouth and brain are offline.
“It’s okay,” he says, and he reaches out a hand for me.
“Bullshit, Rye. There’s a fucking fence for a reason. I’m having her charged. You’re sick, and she’s fucking overstepping boundaries putting you in danger.”
“Settle down, Dale. I said I was fine. You focus on that, since my safety is your concern, and I’m the one telling you I’m fine.”
The threat and suggestion I’d bring danger to the situation are like a harsh slap of reality. I’m shocked at the immediate sting of his words, but at the same time he’s only telling the truth. I could be anyone. I was so focused on myself and getting out of here, I didn’t think for a second my presence could impact anyone else. I look back at the sick Alpha, Rye.
My stomach knots, and I realise it’s guilt making me feel sick because I put him, and myself, at risk. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t give anyone the chance to speak again, I haul ass towards the fence at the far end of the alley. The guy who said he had called the police gives chase.
The sound of his running fuels my panic, sending a surge of speed and strength through me. Before he can catch me, I’m climbing the fence. This time, I don’t stop to take in the view.
As I go to jump down, my costume snags—the hem catches, and my dress rips clean off. I land hard, nearly rolling my ankle. It hurts but not enough to stop me. Nothing would.
Running in black briefs, a bra and a lace face mask is the only possible end to the crazy chain of events that led me here. I nearly lock up in fear and embarrassment when I step out into the crowd, but strangely, or maybe not considering the calamity of the night, I blend in.
Chapter
Two
SIMONA
The airport is bustling, people are everywhere, despite it being New Year’s Day. Miraculously, given the crowd, I found a seat near the gate where my flight is due to depart.
Getting any rest after I got back from my strange night was dashed by the room parties going on. But the truth is, even if the night was dead silent and I had the most comfortable bed in the world, I don’t think I would have been able to get a wink of sleep. A hundred emotions and circling thoughts made it hard for me to stay still for even a minute, making rest that much more difficult. The news reports and subsequent posts on Koded’s socials made it impossible for me to do anything but pace.
Minutes before Koded was due to go on stage he cancelled his sellout show because Ryder was suddenly sick with the flu.
A sceptic could write off the coincidence of me meeting a man named Rye, who was sick, at the same venue, as being a continuation of the chaos of the evening. And no one couldever say Rye and Ryder were the same person, unless of course you saw Ryder out of costume and mask free which I hadn’t but at the same time, a lot of my energy was stemming from the fact I’m pretty sure I met Ryder. And he is my scent match. Of course, that’s the biggest shock out of the two scenarios.
Since Koded blasted onto the music scene, he has never appeared without his signature costume. If anything, he is as recognised by his trademark look—slender black pants, white button downs, black ties, and a ‘Guy Fawkes’ inspired mask—white with a small moustache and a knowing smile—as he is for his music. A stark contrast to the usual rockstar aesthetic, but then again, Koded is all about shattering convention.
Speculation about who he is offstage fills his socials as much as his latest hits. As an artist, he fuels the theories—almost turning it into a game—only to shoot down each one, keeping his anonymity a guarded secret.
I know I’m not special, but I can’t ignore the fact that I have something the rest of the world would probably kill for—a piece of the mystery behind Koded’s identity. Two damning pieces, actually. Because this morning, Ryder posted an apology to his fans—along with a plea for help finding his ‘Cinderella’, even showcasing my ripped dress like the prince does the shoe in the actual story.
And I am now down with a brutal flu. So bad, I don’t think I’ll be able to fly. Not that it matters—I have no money, no way to call Brody or my parents, and nowhere to go. So I sit in the airport, pretending not to be sick.
My phone rings loudly, making everyone around me give me a side eye as if I’d intentionally interrupted their conversation or book. I miss the call, fumbling with the side of my bag, but it starts rings as soon as it stops.
Brody’s contact flashes on the screen, and I seriouslythink about not answering it because of my headache, but the pounding in my head is the reason I do.
“Where the hell are you, Simona? Are you playing games right now?”
His yelling draws more inquisitive looks from those around me, making me stand up and search for a spot with fewer prying eyes.
“Hello.” My greeting is nearly lost when my voice cracks and a cough makes it impossible to talk.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the coughing, but it’s like flipping a switch—the flu that was lurking is now in full control. I look around and find a space to sit on the floor. It’s that or risk fainting.
“Brody, I’m sick,” I whisper, fighting to keep the whine out of my throat.
“And that is my problem?”
“Not at all,” I mumble, trying not to incite him, but he did ask where I was. “I’m waiting for a flight because the one from yesterday was diverted. I must have come in contact with someone sick.”
