Page 96 of Royal Deception
Callie shifts uncomfortably beside me on the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Well… it started with little things. First, there were the gifts. Small at first—like flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals. I thought it was harmless, maybe a secret admirer.” She exhales, as if even saying the words makes her stomach twist. “But then it started getting weirder. He left a scarf in my car. The same scarf he’d seen me wearing one time when I posted about it online. And then there was the book,The Secret History. He said he thought I’d like it. I didn’t even know he knew what books I liked.”
I pause the scrolling and look at her, my brow furrowing. “Did you ever notice a pattern with the gifts? Or how he found you?”
She nods, her face pale. “He’d always leave something after I posted. Not immediately, but within a few hours. If I posted something about a coffee shop, he’d leave a coffee gift card with a note saying,We should meet here sometime.” She shudders. “It wasn’t just random kindness, you know? It was like he was tracking everything I did, waiting for me to post so he could show up with something that made it feel personal.”
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I absorb her words. The pieces are clicking into place.
“And these gifts… did you ever notice the handwriting or any patterns in what he said?” I ask, trying to get to the heart of it.
Callie hesitates, her gaze flicking to the screen. “The notes were always short—like he was trying to make them sound casual. But it was the same type of phrasing over and over. Something about being ‘meant to be’ or ‘destiny’s waiting.’”
I scroll through her feed again, eyes scanning for those little clues. I’m looking for something more specific than just the comments. I’m looking for the method he used to interact with her. And then I see it.
“Look at this,” I say, showing her a post from three months ago where Callie had shared a photo of herself at a bookshop. The comment on it reads, “You have intelligent eyes. You must know that I love seeing you have fun and be casual.” The phrasing is odd and stands out to me.
Callie looks closer, her lips trembling as she nods. “Yeah, I sometimes get weird comments like that.
As I scroll through more posts, I start to see it—different usernames, different profile pictures, but the words are always too similar. And then there’s the rhythm. A few hours after Callie posts something personal, a comment appears, always with the same awkward, stilted syntax.
Callie stares at the screen, her hands gripping her knees tightly. “I thought it was just harmless attention at first. But now… now, I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore. I’ve blocked so many accounts, but they just keep making new ones. I don’t even know if it’s the same person anymore. It’s like I’m being hunted, but I don’t know by whom.”
The more I scroll through her posts, the more I start to see a pattern. Different usernames, different profile pictures… but the tone is the same.
You are looking very much beautiful in this dress.
I am happy for you always. You must know this.
You have so much kindness. You should not be alone ever.
One day you will be very greatly happy. I like to see you happy.
The phrasing is stiff. Unnatural. Like someone trying too hard to sound casual but missing the mark. And this pattern repeats over and over again, scattered across months’ worth of posts. Different accounts, same energy.
I run my finger over the screen, feeling the sting of recognition. They all feel the same. Not just the phrasing, but the tone.
And then it hits me.
These comments aren’t just creepy—they’re possessive. The person behind them isn’t just admiring Callie, they feel as if they’reentitledto her.
I open a fresh document and start copying usernames, making note of the timestamps, cross-referencing posts. If this guy is hiding behind multiple accounts, there has to be a connection somewhere.
“I think I have a lead now,” I tell Callie. “If you need to go, I can handle it from here.”
“Can I have my phone back?” she asks, a note of anxiety in her voice.
“Yeah, I’ll just copy the data I need onto this USB,” I say, reaching for it and swapping the data as quickly as I can.
Callie takes off, and I search back over the information, certain that I’m still missing something. Realizing I need help figuring this out, I rack my brain for whom I can call. There are plenty of men in Rory’s organization who could help, but I don’t want this getting back to him right now. I want him to know I can handle this without him.
I scroll through my contacts until a name jumps out at me.
Mark Veridan.
Veridex literally specializes in biotechnology and advanced data tracking. If anyone could find a connection between all these accounts, it’s him.
I tap his name and hitCall.
He picks up on the second ring. “Oh, hello, Clary. Does Rory need something?”
