Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 57: Unwanted Attention

The city’s nocturnal pulse is like a second heartbeat, a comforting undercurrent as I make my way

toward the subway.

Tonight was something else. A blend of euphoria, sprinkled with an indescribable tension—thanks to

Karl’s abrupt departure.

I’m not sure why he left, or really even when he left. All I know is that one moment he was there, and

the next he was gone. And he didn’t come back. NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

Did someone say something? Did something happen? Was it the picture fiasco?

My mind wanders back to Chloe and the palpable tension between the two of them. I know that Chloe

dislikes him, and for good reason, but I think he’s been trying to change. I just wish that she could see

that.

“God, what am I thinking?” I whisper to myself, shaking my head. Standing up for Karl? For the man

who divorced me, who forced me to dress modestly, who convinced me to dye my hair for his own

pleasure? I should be siding with Chloe, not him.

And yet, I still can’t help but feel a slight twinge of regret as I think about the empty space where he

once stood tonight, calmly sipping his drink.

I board the train, reveling in the almost-empty car. After the whirlwind of the night, I really needed some

quiet time like this. For some reason, the quiet subway at night always feels soothing to me, when it

would make most people uncomfortable.

I sit by the window, staring into the dark tunnel as the train lurches forward.

That’s when he sits next to me. A man in a crisp business suit, reeking of arrogance, and, as I soon

realize, alcohol.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he begins, his voice oozing an unsettling mixture of charm and condescension.

Ignoring him, I focus on the passing darkness outside the window. It’s late, and the last thing I want is

an unwanted interaction. Maybe, if I just pretend that he’s not here, he’ll get the hint and move on. It’s

worked before. Usually.

“So, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone at this hour?” he continues, undeterred by my lack of

response.

I sigh. I should move. Gathering my things, I make my way to a seat on the opposite side of the train

car. But he follows, plopping down beside me, closer this time. His scent—a cocktail of aftershave and

booze—assaults my senses.

“Why’d you move, sweetheart? I’m just trying to make friendly conversation.”

“Listen, I’m not interested,” I say, voice firm, hoping to shut down any further discussion. “Find

someone else to bother.”

“Oh, come on. You haven’t even gotten to know me yet. I’m an Alpha, you see. And I’ve got lots of

money. I could show you a night you’ll never forget.”

My skin crawls at his insinuation. The word ‘Alpha’ seems to ooze from his lips as if it were a crown

rather than a glaring red flag.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass,” I reply politely, desperate for this ride to end.

“You sure about that, sweetie?” His eyes narrow, and he lays a hand on my thigh, as if he owns it. “You

don’t know what you're missing.”

My stomach lurches at his touch. I shove his hand away, my patience shattering. “I said I’m not

interested.”

His face contorts, the veneer of faux charm vanishing, replaced by raw, seething anger. “You think

you’re too good for me or something, little bitch?”

“Just back off,” I growl.

The man smirks. “So you do think you’re too good for an Alpha like me. I should teach you some

manners.”

Before I can stop him, the man leans closer to me, attempting to press his lips against my neck. With a

yelp, I push him away and look around. No one is even trying to help me, either too engrossed in their

phones or not wanting to get involved. I feel trapped and alone.

I assess my options. The train is coming up on a stop, which isn’t even close to my stop, but it’s better

than staying here. And if he tries to follow me, I could at least try to fake him out and jump back on the

train just before it takes off.

As the stop comes up, I stand abruptly, shoving the man away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“Getting out of here,” I say, gathering my belongings as the train screeches to a halt at the next station.

The doors slide open, and I make my exit, not looking back, even when he yells something

unintelligible after me.

My breath catches as I wait for the moment of departure, half-expecting him to make a last-minute exit

to follow me. But he doesn’t. The train vanishes into the tunnel, taking with it the immediate threat but

leaving me alone in a sea of vulnerability.

I glance around the dimly lit station and curse under my breath. The platform is deserted, its shadowy

corners making it an ideal place for unsavory encounters. A quick look at the time on my phone

confirms what I already suspected: that was the last train.

“Great. Just great, Abby,” I mutter to myself, frustration mingling with the residual adrenaline in my

veins.

Deciding that staying in this underground station isn’t an option, I make my way up to the street level.

The stairs seem steeper than usual, as if begrudging my exit.

When I finally emerge, the world I step into is devoid of life, the night sky a blanket of impenetrable

black. Buildings stand like silent sentinels, their windows darkened eyes that watch but offer no help.

With a shaky hand, I pull out my phone, thumbing open the Uber app. The screen takes a moment to

populate, and when it does, my heart sinks further.

No cars nearby. The nearest one is a 30-minute wait. I bite my lip, weighing the risks of standing alone

on a desolate street corner for half an hour. They tip the scale in favor of ‘absolutely not’.

But what are my options? The streets are empty, no taxis in sight, and every storefront I can see is

shrouded in darkness, closed for the night. A bus? Unlikely, given the hour and the lack of any visible

stops.

I pull up G****e Maps, the blue dot of my location blinking like a beacon in a sea of unfamiliar street

names. Spotting a main road a few blocks away, I make my decision.

“Okay. I’ll walk to the main road,” I murmur, pocketing my phone and taking a cautious step forward.

“There have to be cabs there. Or people. Anything is better than this.”

As I navigate the labyrinthine streets, each turn seems to echo the last, a twisted maze designed to

disorient. The click-clack of my heels on the pavement is the only sound, a metronome that ticks away

the minutes and the distance. But as I walk, my senses heighten, fine-tuned to any anomaly in the

surrounding stillness.

That’s when I hear it. A low whistle, followed by hushed voices that carry a tone no woman wants to

hear when she's alone. My eyes dart toward the source, finding a group of men leaning against a

building. As I pass, their catcalls fill the air, laced with an underlying threat that makes my skin crawl.

“Hey, baby,” one man coos, clicking his tongue. “Where are you headed? Wanna come to my place?”

Another man chimes in. “You lost, sweetheart? Need a ride?”

Their laughter sends a chill down my spine. I quicken my pace, but they detach from their leaning posts

and start following me, their footsteps a haunting echo of my own.

“Come on, don’t be shy!”

I could ignore them, keep walking and pray they lose interest. But hope and prayer are currency that

hold no value on a street like this. My fingers tremble as they slide my phone from my pocket. I unlock

it, my thumb hovering over the dial pad.

There's a list of people I could call. Friends, family, 911.

But my thumb defies logic and navigates toward a name I didn't think I would ever consider as a refuge

tonight.