?Chapter 36:


    Marc barely got a word out before Ste breezed right past him, raising her arm to wave over a cab as if he didn’t even exist.


    Once inside the taxi, she rattled off an address to the driver, her voice low and steady. The engine rumbled to life, but Ste barely registered it—her attention was fixed on herp as she rifled through her ne ticket and travel documents, mentally double-checking what she might have forgotten for her uing trip.


    Now that Marc was finally suspicious, there was no way she’d risk heading back to the vi to grab anything she’d left behind. She’d have to make do with what she had.


    The car took a sharp turn. Ste lifted her gaze just in time to catch Marc’s car lurking in the rearview mirror. A tight frown pinched her features. So, he’d decided to tail her after all.


    Without missing a beat, she leaned forward and quietly gave the driver a new destination.


    If Marc wanted to follow her that badly, she’d make sure he kept chasing. The taxi pulled up to a crowded shopping mall. Ste settled the fare and stepped out, melting seamlessly into the press of shoppers.


    After a few paces, she spotted Marc’s unmistakable figure weaving toward her from behind.


    Amusement flickered across her face. She kept her stride rxed, feigning oblivion as she slipped into her usual café.


    Once inside, Ste marched directly toward the restroom, barely ncing at the bustling café around her.


    Marc trailed after her, but by the time he reached the hallway, he caught only a glimpse of her vanishing into the restroom.


    He hesitated outside, the tension in his shoulders giving him away.


    Ste had deliberately picked this café, knowing its restroom opened directly into the mall outside.


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    An escape route waited just beyond the window.


    No ordinary customer would ever risk crawling out, especially with security cameras covering every corner—anyone who tried would be caught in minutes. But…


    Because of this, the management had never bothered to board up the window, leaving Ste a perfect loophole.


    With quick, practiced movements, she hoisted herself onto the ledge, slung her bag over her shoulder, and slipped through the opening. Shended lightly on the pavement outside, barely making a sound.


    Just as she straightened up, she found herself nearly nose-to-nose with a cleaningdy hauling a trash bag toward the dumpster.


    The cleaningdy blinked at her in confusion, clearly startled to see someone emerge from a restroom window.


    Ste shed a polite smile—and in that instant, a bold n sparked in her mind.


    shing a quick, earnest smile, she beckoned the cleaningdy over. “Ma’am, if you help me out, I’ll give you five hundred dors. When you head back in, just dump the water from your bucket onto the man waiting outside the restroom.”


    Baffled, the cleaningdy eyed the bills Ste held out, uncertainty etched across her face.


    Leaning in, Ste dropped her voice in a hushed tone. “He’s been following me since I left home. I’m desperate. Please. If you can pull this off, the money’s yours—minus the price of a coffee, if you want one.”


    Thedy’s eyes flickered with hesitation, but the weight of her own troubles—an ailing daughter and bills piling up—lingered behind her silence. Finally, she epted the cash with a quiet nod.


    “Please, don’t let him know I’m gone. And thank you—really,” Ste said, warmth and relief mingling in her tone as she turned away, not sparing another nce for Marc or whatever chaos would follow.


    Back inside the café, the cleaningdy gripped the heavy bucket, sloshing with cloudy water from her morning rounds.


    Carrying out Ste’s instructions, the cleaningdy made her way to the utility sink, acting as if she hadn’t noticed Marc crouched sullenly by the tiled wall. Without hesitation, she flipped the entire bucket over his head, sending a foul wave of murky water sshing down.


    “Serves you right, you creep,” she thought, her eyes shing with indignation. “You might look respectable, but you’re just a two-bit stalker.”


    “What the hell are you doing?!” Marc bellowed, scrambling to his feet, filthy water dripping from his soaked hair and sttered suit.


    His expression darkened to a murderous red.


    Feigning shock, the cleaningdy pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh my goodness, sir, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you standing there. I thought you were just… part of the plumbing. Please forgive me! Should Ipensate you somehow?”


    To her, a stalker was lower than the scum she scrubbed from the restroom drains.


    She yanked out an old rag—the one she reserved for the dirtiest jobs—and, with forced enthusiasm, started dabbing at Marc’s sleeve.


    The rag reeked of bleach and toilet grime. With exaggerated clumsiness, she smeared it across his cheeks, then, as if by ident, pped the filthy cloth right across his mouth, muffling his protests and smearing him with even more filth.


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