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Trapped By The Phantom: His Little Lamb Novel Cover

Trapped By The Phantom: His Little Lamb

After waking up as Chloe Carrillo, a doomed scholarship student in a YA novel, I try to avoid my scripted death. However, I soon attract the obsessive gaze of the lead’s brother, Dean Gibbs, while a terrifying cyberstalker tracks my every move. Trapped between a controlling heir and a predator who watches me through hidden cameras, I seek help from the mysterious hacker Ashton Bridges. Little do I know, I have just walked into the lion's den.
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Chapter 9

Hannah's thumb hovered over the send button. The blue glow of the screen illuminated her face in the dark room. I watched her finger descend.

"Wait!" I shouted, lunging forward and grabbing the phone out of her hand.

Hannah jumped, startled. "Chloe, what are you doing?"

I stared at the unsent message. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. I couldn't do it. I couldn't invite Dean Gibbs into this. The moment he found out, he would take over. He would own this problem, and by extension, he would own me. He would use it as an excuse to insert himself into every aspect of my life.

I couldn't breathe just thinking about it.

"Delete it," I said, my voice trembling.

"Are you crazy?" Hannah cried. "You just agreed!"

"I know, but..." I trailed off, my mind racing. There had to be another way. I couldn't use Dean, but I couldn't fight this alone either. I needed a hacker. A real one. Someone who didn't have an agenda. Someone who was just a... tool.

A memory stirred in the back of my mind. A fragment from the novel I had read. A subplot that happened much later in the story. Hannah's family company had been hacked, and they had brought in an outside consultant. A kid from the university.

A genius. A ghost. Someone who lived in the shadows of the computer science department.

"Wait," I blurted out. "The book... I think it mentioned someone. I don't remember the name, but he was some kind of weirdo from the computer science department. They called him the 'ghost' or the 'phantom' or something. A prodigy who was practically invisible."

Hannah blinked. "A ghost?"

"Yeah," I repeated, a new sense of determination replacing my fear. "He was a recluse, a tech wizard who operated outside the normal social circles. He wasn't part of the main drama. He's safe. If he's as good as the book made him sound, he can trace this stalker. And he won't ask questions or try to control my life. Maybe we can ask around in the CS department?"

Hannah frowned. "The 'phantom' of the CS department? I think I've heard that rumor. But if no one knows him, how are we supposed to find him?"

"We ask," I said firmly. "Someone has to know something."

Hannah looked skeptical, but she didn't argue. She knew how much I dreaded Dean's involvement. "Fine. But if this guy is a dead end, we're calling my brother. Deal?"

"Deal."

The next day, we marched over to the computer science building. It was a modern, glass-and-steel structure that felt cold and impersonal. We started asking questions, but it was like chasing a myth. The first student we stopped just laughed. "The Phantom? Yeah, right. He's a campus legend, not a real person." The second, a girl rushing to class, shrugged. "I've heard the name Ashton Bridges, but I've never seen him. People say he doesn't even go to lectures."

We were about to give up when we saw a teaching assistant grading papers in an empty classroom. We decided to try one last time.

"Excuse me," I said, poking my head in. "We're looking for a student named Ashton Bridges."

The TA looked up, annoyed. "Why?"

"We... need his help with a computer problem," I said vaguely.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I don't know where he is. Nobody does. But if you're desperate, try the engineering building. Sub-basement three. He has a private lab down there, B-7. He practically lives in it. Don't tell him I sent you."

I didn't wait for him to finish. I grabbed Hannah's hand and pulled her out the door. The engineering building was across campus, an older, brutalist concrete structure. We found the stairs to the sub-basement and descended.

The air grew colder with each step. The walls were damp, and the fluorescent lights flickered overhead. It felt like we were walking into a tomb.

We reached a heavy metal door with "B-7" stenciled on the glass. It was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the crack. I took a deep, steadying breath and raised my hand, knocking twice on the cold metal.

There was no answer. The only sound was the low hum of electronics from within.

"Hello?" I called out, pushing the door open a little wider. "Is anyone there? We're looking for Ashton Bridges."

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