Chapter 27

**A L E X**

She’s so close, yet I can’t pin her down. It’s maddening, the way she slips through my grasp, like sand running through my fingers.

Grace Miller thinks she can outrun me, but she has no idea what kind of game she’s playing—or maybe she does. She’s smart enough to know that staying hidden isn’t just about distance; it’s about knowing where not to be seen. Always choosing the paths less travelled, the corners no one looks twice at. It’s a skill, one I’ve noticed since all those years ago when Sophie asked me to protect her precious friend.

I’ve been watching Grace Miller for years—silent, invisible. Ever since Sophie first made that request, I’ve never stopped. She thinks she’s been alone, facing the world on her own terms, but she’s never truly been alone. I’ve lived her life alongside her, felt every moment of her struggles, her frustrations, her victories. She thinks she’s good at hiding just because she’s been doing it forever. Hiding at school behind pillars, in classes in the last benches, during parties in the washrooms, hiding behind glasses she didn't need, behind hoodies and baggy shirts, in the waves of the morning sea. But she doesn’t know I’ve always sought her out.

I’ve studied every habit, every choice she makes when she thinks no one’s paying attention. How she navigates the world like it’s a minefield, careful not to let anyone get too close or see too much. She’s not afraid of the world; she’s afraid of being seen by it, truly seen. And that’s why I know her better than anyone else ever could. I’ve been closer to her than she’s ever been to anyone—even if she doesn’t know it. I’ve seen the cracks she tries to hide, the way she carefully builds walls around herself to keep everyone out.

Sophie thinks Grace Miller’s innocent. Sweet, naive, harmless. But innocence is just a façade, and I’ve seen enough in my life to know when someone’s hiding behind it. Grace Miller avoids attention, not because she craves solitude, but because she’s terrified that the world might uncover whatever she’s been burying inside herself. She never lets anyone, anything touch her, as if the slightest contact would create ripples that would uncover everything that she’s been hiding right under the surface.

I think back to the first time I touched her—really touched her. Back in the studio when I fastened the buttons on her dress, right after she compelled me to. I shouldn’t have done it, should’ve left it to one of the assistants, I should’ve walked out of the room the moment she stepped out in that dress, in that colour, and that cut, I should’ve never been there alone with her in the first place, I should’ve pretended at least to not cared. but I didn’t. I stepped in, crossed that line, and for what? That moment was heavier than I could’ve anticipated, charged with something that I haven’t been able to shake off since. I could feel it then—the tension in her, the way her body stiffened like she was bracing herself for impact, as if my touch, the tiniest flicker of my finger tip, was more than just physical contact.

It was the briefest of moments, but it was enough to make me realize just how dangerous it was, how tightly wound Grace Miller is, how every little thing could set off ripples across the surface she tries so hard to keep calm. How fragile she is, not like glass that breaks but a bomb, ready to detonate with the tiniest touch. There’s a part of me that wishes I’d never touched her, never crossed that invisible line, because maybe then she’d still be here instead of running from me. But there’s another part—a darker, more possessive part—that doesn’t regret it one bit.

That touch—it wasn’t just a mistake; it was a revelation. She’s hiding something beneath all that careful control, something she doesn’t want anyone to see, least of all me. And now, the more she runs, the more determined I am to tear down every wall she’s built around herself, to see what lies underneath.

Grace Miller thinks she’s clever, staying just out of reach, but she doesn’t realize that I know her better than she knows herself. I’ve studied her, understood her patterns, her fears. I know that this isn’t about escaping for good—it’s about buying herself time, hoping I’ll give up the chase or take long enough to let her feel like she’s won, even if just for a little while.

But I won’t let her have that. She’s not getting away from me. Not now, not ever. I’ll find her, and when I do, she’ll wish she never even thought about running. Because this isn’t just about getting her back; it’s about showing her that no matter how far she tries to run, I’ll always be one step ahead.

She thinks she can keep her distance, but she doesn’t realize that I’m already inside her head, just like she’s inside mine. This isn’t just a chase—it’s a battle of wills. And I never lose.

My phone pings just then and I look down at it faster than I ever have before. A message from my bank. She tried my card at a 'Dolci di Nonna'. 'Grandma's Sweets'? I smirk at my phone screen. Sweet little kitten got hungry after all the running.

"I found her," I call out to the soldiers standing nearby, I then turn to look at Sophie who suddenly looks like she's just been granted imortality. "Your best friend just wanted to grab a treat, it seems," I add with the smirk still on my face.