6
I must have been dreaming, because in my haze, I saw Mr. Davies walking toward me, pulling Harris along
with him.
“Mr. Croft, over here! Please, I’m begging you, you have to help. I swear I’m not trying to throw a woman at you this time, this is a genuine emergency. My manager, Stella, she has some kind of childhood trauma. Whenever she gets drunk, her self-defense mechanism kicks in. She’ll try to kill anyone who gets close. I’m out of options. If you don’t help, she’ll be sleeping on the street tonight. And look at the sky, the forecast said a huge storm is coming.” Mr. Davies wrung his hands. “Wait, Mr. Croft, don’t you go near her! Let your body- guards handle it. Send a few of them, she’s an incredible fighter.”
But before he could finish, Harris was already striding toward me, his steps urgent and swift.
His assistant jogged to keep up. “Sir, be rational. Mr. Davies could be lying. He probably found out about Miss Taylor’s PTSD and is having this Stella woman fake it to get your attention. It’s a classic trick, don’t fall for it. Here, let me go first. I don’t believe she’s that good. How could a woman that small take me down?”
The assistant darted in front of Harris and approached me.
There was a sharp yelp. The moment he was within reach, I grabbed his arm and flipped him over my shoul-
der.
His scream was worse than a pig being slaughtered. “Agh! My back!”
He lay sprawled on the pavement, unable to get up. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, their phones out.
Someone recognized Harris. “Isn’t that Harris Croft, the heir to the Croft Corporation?”
“Hey, look, he’s trending online! Someone just posted that he left like eight comments on some random social media account tonight, basically begging. He wrote, ‘From now on, can we not be brother and sister?’ and ‘Taylor, don’t hide from me.’ And ‘Stay in the bar, don’t move, I’m coming for you.’ ‘Taylor, I’m here, where are you?’ ‘Are you punishing me? Weren’t five years of hiding enough?’ ‘Taylor, come out. Come home with me, please?’ And then… ‘Don’t hide from me anymore. I’m begging you. I love you.””
A girl in the crowd squealed. “Whoa, are we witnessing the real-life drama right now?”
I thought the person with the phone must be insane. Harris would never post comments like that for me. I must have been hallucinating from the alcohol. A wave of anxiety washed over me, a primal instinct to neut- ralize anyone who got too close. I scanned the crowd warily.
But when Harris walked toward me, I felt no fear. No urge to attack.
My only instinct was to run.
I took two steps before he caught me. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes red-rimmed and blazing as they scann.
ed my face, over and over.
His voice was a raw mix of fury and relief.
“Is it you, Taylor? Did you really get plastic surgery… just to hide from me?”
