Chapter 20: The Oxygen of Panic
The screen of my phone was a black void where the photos had been just seconds ago. My room, which usually felt like a sanctuary, was suddenly closing in. The walls seemed to pulse with the rhythm of my own frantic heartbeat.
I tapped the notification, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The screen opened to a messaging app I didn't recognize—one with a dark interface and a timer icon. At the top of the chat, where a name or a phone number should be, there was only one, sharp, silver letter:
V
My breath hitched. I didn't know a "V." I didn't have a "V" in my contacts. But seeing that letter sent a strange, cold shiver down my spine, like a memory I had tried to bury was trying to claw its way back to the surface.
V knows. V was there. But who is this? V, what does he want from me?
I could feel a panic attack clawing at my throat, that familiar tightening that makes you feel like you're breathing through a straw. I forced myself to sit on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress until my knuckles turned white.
Breathe, Jane. In for four. Out for four.
I focused on the air moving in and out of my lungs. I couldn't sit here. If I stayed in this room, the fear would swallow me whole.
I needed to move. I needed to be somewhere—anywhere—that wasn't under the roof where Stephen was currently pacing like a caged tiger.
I grabbed my phone and hit the video call icon for Zack. I didn't think. I just acted.
He picked up on the second ring.
The screen filled with the sight of him, clearly just waking up. His hair was a mess of dark silk, falling over his eyes, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. I could only see him from the chest up, his shoulders broad and tanned against his white sheets, but the raw, unfiltered sight of him usually would have sent my pulse racing for a different reason.
Right now, I didn't care. I didn't care that he was probably just in his underwear or that his voice was a deep, morning rasp.
"Jane?" he muttered, his eyes blinking into focus. "Is everything okay? Why are you—"
"Zack, I need you to give me a ride," I interrupted, my voice trembling but firm.
"Now. Don't ask questions. Just pick me up at the corner of the park in ten minutes. Please."
He straightened up instantly, the sleep clearing from his eyes as he saw the look on my face. He didn't push. He didn't argue. He saw the desperation in my eyes and nodded once.
"Ten minutes. I'm moving," he said.
The call ended. I threw my phone onto the bed and sprinted toward my closet. I ripped off the lavender dress—the silk felt like a betrayal now—and pulled on a pair of dark leggings and a thick, oversized black hoodie.
I needed to disappear. I needed a layer of armor between me and whatever V had planned next.
I checked the hallway. Silence. Stephen was likely in the kitchen, and Alex was probably still asleep. I slipped out the back door, the cool morning air hitting my face like a slap, and ran toward the park.
I reached the corner of the park just as the black sedan roared up to the curb. The tires screeched slightly as he braked. I didn't wait for him to come around; I pulled the door open and slumped into the passenger seat, the scent of his cologne instantly acting like a sedative for my nerves.
Zack was dressed now—a simple grey tee and jeans—but his eyes were scanning the perimeter like a soldier. He looked at me, his hand hovering near my shoulder but not touching, as if he was afraid I'd shatter.
"Jane," he said softly. "You're shaking."
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. "Just drive, Zack. Get me away from the house. Please."
The hum of the sedan's engine was the only thing filling the silence as we navigated the morning traffic toward the school. I sat stiffly, my hands tucked into the pockets of my hoodie, my eyes darting around the interior of the car. Every sensor, every small plastic casing on the ceiling, looked like a lens to me now.
"Mr. Robin?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "Yes, Miss Jane?"
"Is there a camera in this car? Like a dashcam or... anything recording the back seat?"
Mr. Robin shook his head firmly. "No, ma'am. Mr. Zack values his privacy. The only electronics in this cabin are for the music and the climate control. No recording devices at all."
Zack, who had been watching me with a growing sense of unease, shifted in his seat.
He reached out, his hand hovering near mine. "Jane? Why are you asking about cameras? Did something happen?"
I looked away, staring at the blurred reflection of the passing trees in the tinted glass.
I couldn't tell him—not yet. I couldn't explain that someone had captured a moment he didn't even know existed.
"I... I'll explain later, Zack," I murmured, my heart performing a slow, painful thud against my ribs. "Just not right now. Please."
Zack's jaw tightened, but he didn't push. He gave a sharp, subtle nod to Mr. Robin, signaling him to pull up to the side entrance of the school.
The Safe Hallways
We stepped out of the car and into the cool morning air. I braced myself, expecting the weight of a thousand stares, the hushed whispers of students huddled over their phones, and the mocking laughter I had come to fear.
But as we pushed through the heavy double doors into the main hallway, the world felt... normal.
The lockers were slamming with their usual metallic rhythm. Groups of friends were arguing about homework and weekend plans. No one stopped to point. No one was passing a phone around with a smirk.
The "Varsity Blast" was just regular school gossip, and the secret of the car stayed exactly where it was: between me and V.
Zack walked close to me, his shoulder brushing mine, acting as a silent, powerful anchor. He still believed our night was a private masterpiece. He didn't know that the "Shadow" was already stepping into the light.
We reached my locker, and Zack lingered for a second, his hand resting on the metal door. "I'll see you at lunch," he said, his voice dropping to that warm, protective tone. "Don't let the 'Shadows' get to you today, Jane."
As he walked away, my phone gave a single, sharp vibration in my pocket. I pulled it out, my fingers trembling.
The classroom was humming with the low drone of the heater and the scratch of pens on paper, but I was miles away. I sank into my seat at the back, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt a little tighter. Since my schedule was different today, I didn't have Zack's presence to act as a shield. I was alone with my thoughts.
My mind became a chalkboard, frantically scribbling through the events of the week, trying to connect the dots. Who was V?
The Suspect List
I stared out the window at the grey sky, mentally sorting through everyone who had a motive to tear me down:
• Ashley: She had made it clear she wasn't done with me. She'd promised to "come back," and she had the social standing to want to crush a "Princess" transformation.
• Heather: My best friend. She knew everything... almost. Could she be jealous? No, I couldn't even let my mind go there. But she was the only one I told about the "head on the chest" moment.
• Robby & Stephen: They were both so busy, so obsessed with their own "bodyguard" roles. But Robby's comment in the hall felt... off. Like he knew more than he was saying.
Then there were the outsiders:
1. Luke: He'd been lingering in the background of my life lately.
2. The Driver (Mr. Robin): He was the only one inside the car, but he said there were no cameras. Was he lying?
3. Victor: The name felt heavy. Dark. Was "V" short for Victor?
I was so deep in the rabbit hole, tracing the reflection of the clouds on the glass, that I didn't hear the silence fall over the room.
"Jane?"
I blinked, my focus snapping back to the front of the room. My history teacher, Mr. Harrison, was standing by the chalkboard, his arms crossed. The rest of the class had turned in their seats to stare at me.
"Jane, please focus on me, not on the window," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "The French Revolution happened in the streets of Paris, not in the school parking lot. Unless there's something more interesting out there?"
A few students snickered. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, my "Shadow Girl" instincts screaming at me to disappear into the floorboards.
"Sorry, Mr. Harrison," I muttered, looking down at my blank notebook.
I picked up my pen, but my hand was still trembling. I wasn't thinking about the Bastille. I was thinking about the fact that if V was one of the people on my list, they were probably sitting in this very building right now, watching me.
The Break
The bell finally rang, signaling the end of the period. As I packed my bag, a folded slip of paper fell out of my textbook. It wasn't there when I arrived.
The tension in my chest was a coiled spring, and the second the bell rang, I didn't head for my next class. I ran toward the gym.
I found Zack sitting on the bleachers, his jersey soaked with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead.
He was breathing hard, catching his breath from whatever drill they'd just finished. He looked up as I approached, his eyes widening in surprise at the sheer panic written all over my face.
"Jane?" he panted, wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "What is it? Why are you so worried?"
I didn't give him a second to rest. I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the quiet corner of the bleachers, sitting down so close our shoulders were pressed together.
"Make it quick, Jane," he said, his voice a low, raspy hum. "Coach is going to call us back for the next set in two minutes. What's going on?"
"Zack... I received photos," I whispered, my fingers digging into the fabric of my hoodie.
"Someone sent me photos of us from last night."
Zack froze. He stopped reaching for his water bottle and turned his head to look at me fully. "What photos? What are you talking about?"
"Photos of me and you," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "In the park under the willows. At the theater during the movie.
Even at the dinner table at the Grand Regency. Someone was following us, Zack. They were there."
I stopped. I didn't mention the fourth photo. I didn't mention the car, or the kiss, or the way he looked while he was sleeping. I kept that secret locked behind my teeth.
For a heartbeat, Zack just stared at me. Then, his shoulders dropped, and a low, rumbling sound started in his chest. He started to laugh.
"Zack! This isn't funny!" I hissed, looking around to make sure no one was watching.
"Someone was stalking us!"
"Jane, relax," he said, the grin spreading across his face as he leaned back against the bleacher. He reached out and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, his palm warm and calloused. "I hired a photographer to take those, Jane."
I blinked, the world tilting on its axis. "You... what?"
"I wanted to give you something to remember the night by," he admitted, looking a little bashful for the first time. "I hired a professional to stay at a distance and capture the 'highlights.' I was going to surprise you with a digital album today after school. I didn't realize he'd send them to you directly this morning."
The Lingering Shadow
The relief was so powerful I almost felt lightheaded. Zack wasn't being hunted. I wasn't being watched by a monster. It was just a romantic gesture gone wrong.
But then, a cold thought pierced through the relief.
If the photographer was a professional hired by Zack, he would have followed Zack's orders. He would have stopped when the date was "over."
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