Page 11 of Twin Deception

That dismissal didn’t stick, though, because I was once seen as someone of importance. I’d dealt with the fear of someone coming after me for no other reason than the fact that I was my father’s daughter. Louis Flores never cared about making friends, only pawns and enemies.

He was touted as a successful businessman with a wide portfolio of wealth, but I knew otherwise. My father was a grifter. A conman. A crook, only dressed better than most.

It’s impossible.

I filed for emancipation and left my father’s house seven years ago. From that day on, I cut off all ties to him. I went full no-contact, severing any and all associations with him when I struck out on my own, got a new number, and went to college.

I hadn’t seen him in forever. I hadn’t spoken to him in years.

Yet, he was the first and only reason I could be followed now.

My life was simple and unassuming, just the way I liked it. No one could want anything from me, no beef to settle with me—but there would always be someone who’d have an issue to take up with him.

But I’ve been so careful.

The whole mural and outdoor art tour passed by in a blur. So stuck on this feeling of being watched—of being followed, too—I went to lunch at a bistro area and tried to scan my surroundings.

Here, in the middle of so many, it would be noticeable if someone tried to take me or hurt me.

I am not his daughter anymore.I hadn’t gone so far as to change my name, but I was nothing to Louis Flores. He hadn’t ever tried to contact me, and I would never reach out to him.

My mother’s reply to my call stung. It hurt for her to so cleanly reject me as my father’s child. Not hers. She was so stubborn to believe that all the evil and wrongdoing my father did was an instant reflection on whoIwas as a person.

It wasn’t true. I was nothing like Louis Flores, and I never would be. I wanted no part of his huge empire, a cent of his vast wealth, and definitely no connection to him as a relative.

There was no lost love between us.

Yet, someone thought to follow me.

“More water?” the waiter asked as he stopped at my table.

I tucked my hair back over my shoulder and shook my head. “No. No, thanks.”

Three times now, he’d come to ask me if I wanted any more water, and each time, I said no, sipping slowly and not letting him guilt me into going and freeing up the table. I’d tip him well. I just needed more time to decide what to do about this development.

What do I do now, though?

It was already on my mind to go home and give up on this solo vacation. After realizing someone was watching and following me, though, I viewed this as logically as I could.

Being watched necessitated staying on the move.

Going back to my hotel was out of the question. Because over my light lunch, I thought back through the day and pinpointed when I’d started to feel off. When I assumed I was too idle and thinking too much, I figured that was why my thoughts headed to depressing things like loneliness and never fitting in. That had begun in the morning, though, when I left my hotel.

All day long, as I walked along the sidewalks and played the part of a sightseer, I had been feeling that sixth sense withoutrealizing it. I had turned that survivalist mode off, assuming I’d be safe since cutting ties with my father so long ago.

I’d felt that funkiness when I was walking through the museums. It lingered when I walked toward the mural tour’s start point. And then it hit me just as I had taken my seat on the bus.

All. Day. Long.

This wasn’t a case of someone noticing me and taking an interest in a passerby who’d caught their attention. This was a matter of someone following me. Maybe even stalking me.

No. Stop.

I shook my head at the thoughts, fighting to stem them and cease this nonsense.

No one was out to get me. There was no reward to be found in watching me or stalking me. And I’d be damned if I'd let my previous fears and concerns get the better of me now.

You’ve got to stop this.

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