Page 25 of Damsel in Disguise

I don’t chase after him. I trail behind. That’s the difference.

Every time he turns, I turn. Every lane change, every subtle adjustment of speed, I mirror it without making it obvious.

This isn’t about getting closer. It’s about syncing. About learning how he moves when he believes no one is watching him.

My heart kicks harder with every passing second, not from fear but from anticipation so sharp it almost hurts.

He pulls into a stretch of road and turns left. I follow.

He turns left. I follow.

Another block, another left. My brows furrow.

The third turn comes too intentionally, looping us back toward the same stretch of road we just left.

It’s not a coincidence anymore. It’s a test.

My lips curve beneath the helmet. He’s checking his tail.

On the fourth turn, I intentionally don’t follow after. I let him go—ease off, let distance bloom between us like fresh blood spreading in white satin.

I glide straight ahead, keeping my head unbothered, my pace unhurried, already blended in by the time he’d look again.

If he checks his mirror now, he’ll find nothing.

No proof.

No confirmation.

Just absence, and maybe a growing sense of paranoia. Whether he brushes that feeling off or not, I’ll take my chances again.

Once I’m out of his range, I slow just enough to keep him in sight. The helmet muffles my breathing. I tell myself this is just an observation. Just another layer of understanding him.

I pull over a few streets down, killing the engine and letting the silence settle around me. From the cover of shadow and brick, I watch the road where his Aston Martin disappears completely—no headlights, no echo, no trace.

I don’t follow anymore, but memorize the spot instead. This will be where I wait next time.

A feeling of thrill coils low in my guts. For the first time, I’m not watching him from the edge of his world. I’m moving through it.

An unrepentant smile curls on my lips beneath my helmet. A few days from now, I’ll start from here, and I won’t stop until I know exactly where he goes when he thinks he’s alone.

You run on routines, Professor. Let’s see how you handle an interruption.

9. DELIBERATE

alistair

My eyes flick to the rear-view mirror. The bike is there.

Same distance.

Same discipline.

Same patience that has no business belonging to an amateur. I know it’s the same one that followed me days ago.

However, today it begins exactly where it stopped last time. Unfortunately, they dropped off before I could notice what type of clothing they were wearing.

Nevertheless, I bet on any digit that it’s the same presence I used to feel lingering at the edges of my world. Now it has grown bolder.