Page 63 of Stalker's Toy

As I lace up my platform shoes, the silver bucklescatching the dim light of my bedroom, I can't help but wonder what Henrik would think of this outfit.

Would his eyes darken with desire?

Would he reach out to trace the lace on my corset?

I shake my head violently, dispelling the image.

"Stop it, Mia," I mutter to myself. "He's not yours to want."

With a final glance in the mirror, I step out of my bedroom and into the main area of my flat.

To my surprise, Larsa’s back, already dressed in a vintage-inspired ensemble that screams artistic chic.

"What are you doing?" I ask, unable to keep the shock from my voice.

"Oh, goodness how I’m excited!" Larsa says, her British accent more pronounced than usual. "We’re going to have a blast tonight, Mia, I promise!"

My heart sinks.

I'd been looking forward to losing myself in the crowd, blending into the shadows where I feel most at home, but if Larsa is so determined to be near me it means that she’s going to be up next to me the entire time.

Larsa's presence will make being by myself impossible.

But as I look at her eager face, I realize she's the closest thing I have to a friend in this cityof millions.

I sigh, resignation settling over me like a heavy cloak.

"Come on, then," I mutter, grabbing my keys and heading for the door.

As we step out onto Whitfield Street, the crisp London air nips at my exposed skin.

The scent of impending rain hangs heavy, mingling with the earthy smell of wet cobblestones.

In the distance, Big Ben's chime echoes faintly, a reminder of the passage of time.

"So," I begin, searching for a topic of conversation as we walk, "how's your work going?"

Larsa's face lights up. "Oh, it's going better than ever! I've been experimenting with new techniques, really pushing my boundaries."

Her enthusiasm is palpable, her hands gesticulating wildly as she speaks. "I'm trying to get into some galleries soon, but it's... well, it's really hard."

I nod, understanding all too well the struggle of an artist trying to make their mark.

"That must be frustrating," I offer, my voice soft against the backdrop of distant traffic.

"It is," Larsa admits, her shoulders slumping slightly. "But I'm determined, you know? I'll make it happen, one way or another."

As we continue down the street, the party's locationdrawing nearer, I can't help but admire Larsa's determination.

It's a quality I wish I possessed more of, instead of this constant desire to retreat into the safety of my art and solitude.

I lick my lips, debating internally.

The offer sits on the tip of my tongue, a potential lifeline for Larsa, but also a commitment I'm not sure I'm ready to make.

My fingers trace the silvery scars on my arm absently as I contemplate.

Finally, I take a deep breath.

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