Part 31
Adrian didn't sleep.
He kept the lights on, phone in hand, waiting for the sunrise to make everything look smaller, less threatening.
It didn't.
He'd planned to leave at dawn—pack one bag, call a car, vanish into the kind of anonymity most idols could only dream about.
But when he opened his building's directory, every taxi company number had been replaced with the same automated message:
Service unavailable for this address.
His chest tightened. He tried a rideshare app instead.
The app crashed before it finished loading.
Then the concierge called up to say his "assistant" had already collected his travel papers.
"She said you weren't feeling well, Mr. Adrian. She's handling your trip arrangements personally."
Adrian hung up before his voice could shake.
By noon he was pacing.
Every exit from his life seemed to loop back to her.
Even his fan club email—his private fan club email—had been wiped clean overnight, replaced by one message:
Stop running. You'll only get tired.
He slammed the laptop shut and felt the first edge of panic.
Not because she was near, but because she didn't have to be.
Alex had turned distance into control.
When evening came, the sky outside his window burned gold, then violet.
He stood there, watching the city lights flicker to life.
For the first time, he wondered if fame itself was a cage—something she'd simply learned how to lock.
Somewhere beyond the glass, he thought he saw movement on the street below:
a figure standing still, looking up.
He couldn't tell if it was her.
But he didn't need to.
He already felt her watching.