Trapped By The Phantom: His Little Lamb

The noise hit me first. A wall of sound made up of rolling suitcases, overlapping voices, and the sharp screech of a megaphone. My eyes snapped open. The sun was too bright, beating down on my face through the windshield of a car I didn't remember getting into.

My head pounded. I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to force the fog out of my brain. People rushed past the car window, carrying laundry baskets and oversized pillows. A giant banner hung between two brick pillars: "Welcome to Blackwood University, Class of 2024!"

My stomach dropped straight through the floor. The noise faded into a high-pitched ringing. I wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't my life.

Memories that didn't belong to me flooded my mind like a dam breaking. A book. A thick, dusty paperback called Roses Under Thorns. I had read it cover to cover in my tiny apartment just last night. It was a typical YA novel, full of drama, rich kids, and tragic love. And there was a character in it named Chloe Carrillo. She was a nobody. A background filler. A poor scholarship student whose only purpose in the story was to die in a car accident so the main characters could have a emotional moment.

I looked down at my hands. They were younger, the calluses from my warehouse job gone. I was wearing a cheap blue t-shirt I had never bought.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."

I pinched the soft skin on the back of my hand. Hard. The sharp, stinging pain flared instantly, bringing tears to my eyes. This wasn't a dream. The physical reality of it slammed into me, stealing the air from my lungs.

I was Chloe Carrillo. I was trapped inside a novel. And if the plot followed the book, I was going to die.

Panic, raw and blinding, seized my chest. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. I had to get out. I had to avoid the plot. If I stayed away from the main characters-away from the drama, the romance, the tragedy-I could survive. I could hide in the background until the story ended.

A loud revving engine cut through the chaos outside. A bright red convertible swerved into the drop-off lane, music blasting from the speakers. The car doors swung open, and a girl stepped out.

Blonde hair, perfectly tanned skin, a designer outfit that cost more than my rent. She moved like the sun, pulling every eye in the courtyard toward her. Guys whistled from the sidewalk. Girls whispered behind their hands.

Hannah Gibbs. The female lead. The center of the entire storm.

I shrank back into the passenger seat, my fingers digging into the fabric of my jeans. I couldn't let her see me. I couldn't be part of her orbit.

I grabbed my single duffel bag, slipped out of the car, and kept my head down. I walked as fast as I could toward the administration building, blending into the crowd of freshmen. My only goal was the dorm key. Get the key, find the room, lock the door.

The line at the check-in desk moved slowly. I kept my eyes glued to the scuffed linoleum floor, counting the tiles to keep myself calm. When it was finally my turn, I shoved my ID across the counter.

The woman typed on her keyboard, her glasses sliding down her nose. "Carrillo, Chloe. Room 302. Here's your key."

I snatched the key, muttering a thank you, and practically ran up the stairs. The third floor was quiet. The carpet muffled my footsteps. I found room 302 at the end of the hall. The door was cracked open. The sound of hangers scraping against a metal rod drifted out.

I took a deep breath. I just wanted to drop my bag and figure out a plan. Maybe I could apply for a single room. Maybe I could transfer.

I pushed the door open.

A girl was standing on a step stool, pinning a string of fairy lights above the bed. She turned around at the sound of the door.

My heart stopped.

It was Hannah Gibbs.

Her face broke into a massive, dazzling smile. She hopped off the stool, her blonde ponytail bouncing. "Oh my gosh! You must be my roommate! I'm Hannah!"

I stood frozen in the doorway, my hand still on the doorknob. This was a nightmare. The universe was playing a cruel, sick joke on me. Of all the rooms on this campus, I had to be stuck with the main character. Then I remembered a throwaway line from the book, about how Hannah, to appear more down-to-earth, had specifically refused a single suite and requested a randomly assigned scholarship student as a roommate. So that was me. The unlucky prop, placed closer to the main cast just so my death could have more impact.

"Hi," I managed, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm Chloe."

"Chloe! That's such a pretty name!" Hannah bounded over, grabbing my duffel bag right out of my hand. "Here, let me help you with that. You look exhausted!"

Before I could protest, she had hoisted my bag onto the empty bed by the window. She was so close. She smelled like vanilla and expensive shampoo. I took a step back, my spine rigid.

"Thank you," I said stiffly. "You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did! We're going to be living together!" Hannah rummaged through her mini-fridge and pulled out two glass bottles of Coke, the condensation dripping down the sides. She held one out to me. "Here! To our new life at Blackwood!"

I stared at the bottle. If I took it, I was accepting the connection. I was stepping into her world. But the look in her eyes was so genuinely warm, so painfully open, that the word 'no' died in my throat. I reached out and took the cold glass.

"To our new life," I echoed flatly.

Hannah clinked her bottle against mine and took a long sip. She sat down on her bed, crossing her legs. "I have so many plans for us! There's this amazing coffee shop off campus, and the frat parties don't start until next weekend, but we can go to the library together until then. We're going to be best friends, I can already tell!"

Best friends. The words sent a chill down my spine. In the book, Chloe was just Hannah's quiet shadow. Being her best friend meant being in the line of fire.

"I'm pretty busy with my classes," I said, looking away. "I probably won't have much free time."

Hannah waved her hand. "Shh! You have to make time to have fun! Otherwise, college life will be too... boring."

I needed air. I needed to get away from her overwhelming energy and think. "I need to use the restroom," I blurted out, backing toward the door. "I'll be right back."

I fled down the hall and locked myself in a stall. I leaned my forehead against the cool metal door, sucking in deep breaths. This was a disaster. I couldn't escape her. She was everywhere.

I walked to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. The face staring back at me in the mirror was young, scared, and completely out of place. I had to put up a wall. I had to be cold and distant. If I didn't give her anything, she would eventually stop trying.

When I walked back into the room, I stopped short. Hannah had unpacked my duffel bag. My few clothes were neatly folded in the dresser, and my bed was made with the thin sheets I had brought from home.

"I saw you looked a little overwhelmed," Hannah said, sitting on her own bed with a magazine. She looked up, her eyes hopeful. "I thought I'd save you the trouble."

A knot tightened in my chest. She was trying so hard. And I was treating her like the enemy. But she wasn't the enemy. She was just a girl who wanted a friend. The enemy was the story itself.

"Thank you, Hannah," I said, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "Really."

Her smile widened, and she went back to her magazine. A minute later, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and her entire face lit up.

"Hey, bro!" she answered, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Yeah, I'm all moved in. The dorm is actually really nice. Oh, and my roommate is here! She's super cute, you'd like her."

My blood ran cold. The word 'bro' echoed in my ears. I knew exactly who was on the other end of that phone. Dean Gibbs. The male lead. The most dangerous person in this entire fictional world.

I backed up against my desk, my hands gripping the edge so hard my knuckles turned white. I had survived the female lead, but the male lead was a whole different monster. He was controlling, manipulative, and he always got what he wanted.

And he was coming.

Hannah hung up the phone and practically bounced off the bed. "That was my brother! He's on his way over right now. He brought me some snacks and stuff I forgot at home, and he can't wait to meet you!"

My throat tightened. "I... I actually need to go to the administration building. Some of my enrollment papers got messed up. I should go fix that before they close."

I turned to grab my coat, but Hannah's hand shot out and caught my wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Don't be silly," she said, her tone light but firm. "It'll only take a minute. Just wait here. Besides, if you need to go anywhere after, he can give you a ride. It'll save you the walk."

I was trapped. The administration building was my only excuse, and she had just offered me a ride there. I couldn't refuse without being outright rude, and drawing that kind of negative attention was the last thing I needed.

"Okay," I mumbled, sinking down onto my desk chair. I folded my hands in my lap, my nails digging into my palms. I just had to get through this. I could be polite, distant, and then disappear.

A heavy, deliberate knock landed on the door. Three sharp raps. The sound vibrated through the small room.

Hannah squealed and ran to open it. "Dean!"

The door swung open, and he filled the frame. He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders that strained against the simple black t-shirt he wore. His hair was dark, styled neatly, and his jaw looked like it had been carved from stone. He stepped inside, carrying three heavy shopping bags from high-end stores as if they weighed nothing.

His eyes swept the room, landing on me. They were a piercing, icy blue. The air in the room instantly thickened, making it hard to breathe. He didn't just look at me; he assessed me. He took in my cheap jeans, my worn sneakers, the way I was shrinking back in my chair.

"Chloe, this is my brother, Dean," Hannah chirped, oblivious to the suffocating tension. "Dean, this is my roommate, Chloe Carrillo."

Dean set the bags down on Hannah's desk with a soft thud. He turned to me and gave a slight nod. "Dean Gibbs."

His voice was low, a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate in my chest. It wasn't warm. It was a statement of fact, a declaration of his presence.

"Hi," I said, my voice cracking. I quickly cleared my throat. "Nice to meet you."

He didn't smile. He just kept looking at me, his expression unreadable. I forced myself to look away, staring at a spot on the floor near his expensive leather boots. Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to run.

"Did you bring the sour gummies?" Hannah asked, rummaging through the bags.

"I brought everything on the list," Dean replied, his gaze still fixed on me. "And a few extras."

Hannah pulled out a box of expensive chocolates and cheered. She started showing Dean her side of the room, pointing out the photos she had pinned to the corkboard. Dean listened, nodding occasionally, but his attention never wavered from me. I could feel his eyes on my face, my hands, the way I was trying to make myself as small as possible.

"You're on scholarship?" he asked suddenly, cutting off Hannah's chatter about the dorm showers.

I blinked, startled by the directness. "Yes," I said carefully. "Academic."

"Full ride?"

"Yes."

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's impressive. Blackwood doesn't hand those out easily."

I didn't respond. I didn't know if it was a compliment or an interrogation. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Hannah looked between us, her brow slightly furrowed, but she quickly recovered.

"You two are so serious!" she laughed, nudging her brother. "Lighten up, Dean. We're in college now!"

Dean's expression softened slightly when he looked at his sister. "Someone has to be careful," he said. His gaze slid back to me. "I'm relying on you to look out for her, Chloe. Hannah can be... trusting."

It wasn't a request. It was an order, wrapped in a polite sentence. A heavy responsibility dumped onto my shoulders without my consent.

"We're roommates," I said stiffly. "We'll look out for each other."

Hannah gasped, clapping her hands together. "Oh! We should exchange numbers! That way, if my phone dies or I can't reach mom and dad, Chloe can contact you!"

My heart hammered against my ribs. "That's really not necessary-"

"Great idea," Dean said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He held it out to me, the screen displaying a new contact page.

I stared at the phone like it was a live grenade. I didn't want his number. I didn't want him to have mine. But Hannah was already grabbing my phone off my desk, thrusting it into my hands.

"Put yours in his, and I'll put his in yours!" she commanded, her eyes shining with excitement.

I had no choice. With trembling fingers, I typed my number into Dean's phone. He did the same on mine. When he handed it back, the contact "Dean Gibbs" sat there, glowing on the screen. It felt like a brand.

Dean pushed off the doorframe, his presence seeming to shrink the room again. "I should go. Call me if you need anything, Hannah. Anything at all."

"Will do!" she promised, walking him to the door.

He paused in the hallway, turning back to look at me one last time. "That goes for you too, Chloe. If you run into any trouble, especially concerning my sister, you call me. Immediately."

His tone left no room for argument. It was a command. I nodded once, my jaw too tight to speak.

He left. The door clicked shut, and the oppressive weight in the room finally lifted. I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders dropping.

"He's great, right?" Hannah said, flopping onto her bed. "A little intense, but he's the best brother ever. He just worries about me."

"Yeah," I muttered, staring at my phone. "Intense."

I deleted the contact. My finger hovered over the 'confirm' button, but I stopped. If I deleted it, and he ever tried to contact me for any reason, he would know instantly. With his controlling personality, that would only invite more unwanted attention and questions I couldn't answer. Keeping it, but never, ever using it, was the safest play. I locked the screen and shoved the phone into my pocket.

Over the next few days, I perfected the art of avoidance. I woke up at five-thirty in the morning, before Hannah's alarm, and showered in the communal bathroom down the hall. I left the dorm before she woke up and only returned after she was asleep. I spent my time in the library or the student union, hiding in the corners with a book.

It was exhausting. But it was necessary.

Hannah, however, was not easily deterred. She left sticky notes on my desk. Saw you left early! Have a good day! and Brought you back a cookie from the dining hall! and Movie night soon?

The guilt gnawed at me, but I pushed it down. I couldn't afford to get close to her. The closer I got, the closer I got to Dean, and the closer I got to the plot that would ruin my life.

Friday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, headphones on, pretending to study. Hannah burst through the door, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. She was talking loudly into her phone.

"Okay! See you soon!" She hung up and spun to face me, her eyes sparkling. "That was Dean! He's taking me to that new Italian place downtown tonight for dinner. The one with the truffle pasta? And you're coming!"

I pulled out one earbud. "I can't. I have a lot of reading to do."

"Chloe." Hannah's smile vanished. She walked over and stood in front of my desk, her arms crossed. "You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't," I lied, looking down at my textbook. "I'm just busy."

"You're never in the room. You don't eat with me. You barely talk to me." Her voice trembled slightly. "Did I do something wrong? Because if you hate me, you can just tell me. I'm a big girl."

I looked up. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. Her bottom lip was sticking out in a pout that looked childish but completely genuine. She looked like a kicked puppy.

A sharp pang of guilt hit me square in the chest. I was hurting her. This fictional character, who had done nothing but try to be my friend, was hurting because of my paranoia.

"I don't hate you," I said softly. "I promise."

"Then come to dinner," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please? Just this once. Dean is paying, and I really don't want to sit in a fancy restaurant alone with my brother.That's strange, I need your help.

I was trapped. Again. The tears welling in her eyes were a weapon I had no defense against. I couldn't be cruel to her just to save myself. That wasn't who I was, even in a fictional world.

I sighed, dropping my pen. "Fine. I'll go."

Hannah let out a shriek of joy, pulling me out of my chair and into a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best! Get dressed, he'll be here in twenty minutes!"

I changed into a simple black dress, the nicest thing I owned. It was still cheap compared to what Hannah was wearing, but it would have to do. I kept my makeup minimal, trying to look as invisible as possible.

At exactly seven, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb. Dean stepped out to open the door for us. He was wearing a dark suit this time, looking even more powerful than before. When I climbed into the back seat, I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. He was watching me. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something intense I couldn't decipher before he looked away.

The restaurant was dimly lit, with white tablecloths and candles. It smelled like garlic and expensive wine. A hostess in a black dress greeted us at the door.

"Reservation for three," Dean said. "Under Crane."

My ears perked up. Crane? His last name was Gibbs. Why would he use a different name?

The hostess nodded, her demeanor instantly becoming more respectful. "Right this way, Mr. Crane."

I glanced at Hannah, but she was busy texting on her phone, completely unfazed. This was normal to her. My mind raced. Dean Gibbs was using an alias. That meant he was hiding. Or he was involved in something he didn't want traced back to the Gibbs name.

We sat down at a private booth in the back. Dean handed me a menu, his fingers brushing against mine. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up my arm. I pulled my hand back quickly.

"Order whatever you like," he said, his voice low. "Don't look at the prices."

I scanned the menu, the numbers blurring together. I settled on the cheapest pasta dish I could find. I wasn't here to enjoy the food. I was here to survive the evening.

Hannah did most of the talking, filling the silence with chatter about her classes and the cute guy in her English lit seminar. Dean listened patiently, nodding along, but his focus was clearly elsewhere.

"So, Chloe," he said, cutting into his steak. He didn't look up from his plate. "Hannah tells me you're from out of state. Where exactly is home for you?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and pointed. I took a sip of water, buying myself a second to think. This was the interrogation I had been dreading. He was digging into my background, looking for inconsistencies.

"Here and there," I said vaguely. "We moved around a lot."

"Your parents?" he pressed, finally meeting my eyes. "What do they do?"

My heart pounded in my ears. I had to lie. I had to make myself as boring and uninteresting as possible, so he would lose interest and leave me alone.