"No need. Go take care of whatever you need to."
"Your time is valuable. You shouldn't waste it on me."
Alfred stared at me in silence for a long time, his brow furrowing again.
"Maria Sullivan, what's gotten into you?"
He probably thought I was being too agreeable. Unreasonably so.
Maybe it even unsettled him.
That was fair.
Because for the past eight years, everyone around us knew the same thing: Maria Sullivan was the shadow Alfred Henson couldn't shake, following him with tireless, unwavering devotion.
It started when I was nineteen. I'd been working a part-time job when a group of drunks nearly dragged me into a dead-end alley. Alfred appeared out of nowhere, like some kind of hero dropping from the sky, and saved me.
After that, every time I looked at him, my eyes lit up like stars.
When he started his internship at a company, I pretended to pick up a part-time gig nearby and trailed him at a careful distance. When he met clients at five-star hotels, I stood outside handing out flyers, craning my neck every few seconds to catch a glimpse of him through the doors. When he got into a fight, I was the first one to throw myself in front of him.