Chapter Twenty-One Sloane
M y phone buzzes again—another text from Chloe. I glance at the notifications piling up: “CALL ME!” followed by a string of exclamation points. I’ve been ignoring her messages for days, caught up in the intricate details of the necklace design. And if I’m being honest, caught up in Cole.
I smile, thinking of how it always starts the same way—him looking over my shoulder at whatever piece I’m working on, his breath warm on my neck.
Four nights of following him to his room instead of mine.
This morning, I’d curled up in his sheets while he took calls in his office, my sketchbook balanced on my knees, feeling strangely at home there.
I pick up my phone and dial Chloe’s number. She answers on the first ring.
“Finally! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been working on the winter collection.” Not entirely a lie. “The necklace design needed adjustments.”
“You never even called me after your date,” Chloe says.
I sink onto the couch in my studio. “Things have... intensified.”
“Intensified how?” There’s a pause. “Sloane. Have you been sleeping with him?”
I bite my lip, glad she can’t see my face. “The past four nights.”
“Holy shit,” Chloe breathes. “I knew you liked him, but I didn’t realize it had gotten this serious. Sloane. We need to talk about him and someone named Julian Voss.” The familiar last name makes my blood freeze.
“ Julian Voss? Who’s that?”
“Well...” Chloe lowers her voice. “This guy Julian, he used to be married to that designer Claire Voss. And he isn’t just some businessman. He’s got connections to some serious underground crime rings.”
“What do you mean underground? Like, mafia and shit?”
“Hailey isn’t sure exactly what, but she’s heard rumors. Bad ones. People who cross him tend to disappear. And I don’t mean they move to Florida.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“That’s not all,” Chloe continues.
I sit up straighter.
“According to Hailey, Claire died in a car accident five years ago, but there were always whispers that it wasn’t really an accident. That Julian might have been involved somehow.”
My mouth goes dry. “Why are you telling me this?”
“That’s the thing, Sloane. Cole and Julian were business partners back then. They ran everything together.”
I think of Cole’s face when Claire’s name came up at dinner the other night. The way his expression had closed off completely.
“Cole isn’t like that.”
Chloe is quiet for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean, really sure?”
I almost laugh, remembering my paranoid thoughts on that first flight to Switzerland.
I’d googled him obsessively, convinced that any man that powerful had to be hiding something.
Serial killer had actually crossed my mind—which seemed ridiculous now, but.
.. oh god. Had I accidentally stumbled on to something?
No. I shut the thought down immediately. I’ve seen Cole with his staff, seen how he treats everyone from his executives to the cleaning crew with the same respect. The gentle way he handles my pieces, like they’re treasures.
“He’s not in the mob, Chloe. And he’s definitely not killing people.” But even as I say it, I think of how carefully he chooses his words when discussing his past. How much he leaves unsaid. And the way he spoke about Claire, like he’d cared about her deeply. Was it grief? Or guilt?
“Maybe not anymore. But Sloane, you need to be careful. These aren’t the kinds of people you want to get tangled up with.
And I know this isn’t as important,” Chloe says quietly, “but Hailey says Julian’s been making moves with Bergdorf’s.
Word is, if this keeps up, Cole Asher might not have his hold with them for your launch much longer.
Rumors of a possible delay so Julian can launch first with his line.
Are you sure Midnight Frost is scheduled as—”
“Wait.” Her words hit me. “Are you asking if there’s still going to be a launch for my collection?”
“Is it on schedule for the first of the year like you think?”
I actually laugh at that.
“Look, I might not be able to swear the man isn’t secretly storing bodies somewhere, but I can absolutely guarantee he’s on schedule. The man runs a tight ship.”
“Okay, okay,” Chloe says, sounding convinced. “But Sloane.” Chloe’s voice gets serious. “What are you going to do?”
I sink deeper into the couch. “I don’t know. Am I being stupid? Should I pack up my studio and run?” I pause, thinking of the winter collection, of the resources at my fingertips, of Cole’s complete faith in my vision. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Chloe.”
“Yeah, if it doesn’t get you killed.”
“You really think I’m in danger?”
“I think...” She sighs. “I think you need to be very, very careful about what you’re walking into. Keep your eyes open. And most importantly, protect your heart.”
My mind is spinning, my heart is sinking... Oh. My. God.
“Or,” she adds after a moment, “you could just ask him.”
I snort. “Right. How exactly do I bring that up? ‘Hey, baby, amazing sex last night. Quick question—do you know anything about your business partner’s wife’s suspicious death?’”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. There’s no casual way to ask the man you’re sleeping with if he’s involved in something like that.”
“Look, all I’m saying is be smart about this. You’re already in deep with the collection, and now you’re sleeping with him...” Chloe trails off. “Just don’t let either blind you to any red flags.”
“I know.” I rub my temples. “I hear you. I do.”
“By the way,” I ask, trying to sound casual, “have you heard anything more from Maya lately? I still haven’t heard a word from her.”
“Actually, that’s another thing I wanted to tell you,” Chloe says, her voice dropping. “She’s still completely MIA. Apparently one of her friends has reached out to her family. They haven’t heard anything either.”
My stomach knots tighter. “That’s... not good.”
“I know. And with everything else going on...”
“You think there’s a connection?” The suggestion sounds paranoid even to my ears, but I can’t shake the uneasy feeling.
“I don’t know,” Chloe admits. “But the timing is weird, right? She vanishes right when you start working with Cole?”
I swallow hard. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“Maybe. But be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“Call me tomorrow? And I mean actually call me this time, not ghost me for days while you’re getting laid.”
“God, you’re terrible.” But I’m smiling. “I promise. Tomorrow.”
“I mean it, Sloane.”
“I know you do. Thank you for looking out for me.”
After hanging up, I sit there for a long moment, letting everything sink in. Julian Voss. Underground crime rings. Murder. It sounds absurd. Like something out of a movie.
And now Maya, vanished after taking a mysterious new job. The timing makes me feel ill. Is it connected? Or am I letting paranoia take over?
Finally, I push myself up and return to my workstation, immediately aware of the cameras mounted in each corner of my studio.
I pick up my tools, trying to focus on the necklace in front of me, but my hands aren’t steady.
The cameras had taken some getting used to.
I’d justified them—after all, I’m handling pieces worth more than most people’s homes.
Security makes sense. But now my imagination is running wild.
What if this whole setup—the penthouse, the studio, the cameras—is something more sinister?
Jesus Christ, Sloane. Stop watching true crime documentaries.
I force the ridiculous thoughts away, but I can’t quite shake the unease as the red recording light blinks steadily.
Cole’s watching. He always is. Is he in his office right now, splitting his attention between some multimillion-dollar deal and my live feed?
The thought used to make me smile. Now it makes my stomach twist.
I set down my tools. The precious stones scatter across my workspace, catching the light. Just like everything else in my life right now—beautiful, valuable, and sharp enough to draw blood.
I glance around my studio, then at my room down the hall.
The room that had been waiting for me when I returned from Switzerland, filled with every single thing from my apartment—clothes organized in custom closets, books arranged on built-in shelves, even my ratty old college sweatshirt folded neatly in a drawer.
He’d moved it all while I was gone, an entire life relocated in a single night.
No discussion, no warning. I’d been too overwhelmed by everything else to question it at the time.
I hit Redial before I can talk myself out of it.
“Seriously?” Chloe answers, laughing. “It’s been like thirty seconds.”
“I’m spiraling. I need to talk more... Quick hypothetical,” I say, keeping my voice barely above a whisper, one hand cupped over my mouth. I have no idea if the cameras pick up audio, or if Cole or his security team can read lips. Better safe than sorry. “What if I needed to leave?”
“Leave as in...?”
“ Leave leave. All of it.”
“Oh shit.” Her voice drops. “The designs?”
I look at the necklace pieces spread across my workspace.
The winter collection— my winter collection.
Except it’s not really mine, is it? None of it is.
The materials, the studio, even the tools I’m using—it all belongs to Cole.
I signed something about that, didn’t I?
Pages of legal documents I’d carefully read, too excited about the opportunity to worry about the fine print.
I try to imagine packing up, sneaking out in the middle of the night like some stupid movie scene. The thought makes me laugh out loud—partly because it’s ridiculous, partly because I know I couldn’t do it. Not just because of the legal mess it would create, but because... I don’t want to.
“He’s never given me any reason not to trust him,” I say.
“Except the maybe-murder thing?”
“That’s not him. That’s Julian. And we don’t even know if that’s true.”
“You know,” Chloe says dryly, “most people wait at least an hour before calling back with their murder-related anxiety.”
I think about Cole bringing me coffee in the mornings, asking questions about my design process, genuinely interested in understanding how I work.
The way he geeks out over engineering specs with the manufacturing team.
How he notices when I’m stuck on a design and gives me space to work through it.
Those aren’t the actions of someone playing an elaborate game. Are they?
“You know... like I said,” Chloe says after a moment, “you could just ask him.”
“I told you, you can’t just blurt out something like this,” I hiss into the phone.
“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Cole, quick question—are you involved with the mob? Also, why are there cameras everywhere? Oh, and by the way, moving all my stuff without asking was kind of weird.’ He’s going to think I’m insane.
Or worse, he’ll be offended that I even considered. ..”
“Not exactly what I meant.” I can hear her rolling her eyes. “But yeah, actually. Talk to him. About everything. That’s kind of how relationships work.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him,” I say. “I need to anyway—I’m drowning with this deadline. I could really use an assistant to help with the collection. Maybe he’ll let me bring someone on.”
“Oh!” Chloe’s voice brightens. “You need Hailey. She’s an incredible designer and I’ve worked with her before—she does these amazing gothic-inspired pieces. I’ve worn some of her stuff in my shoots. She’s between projects right now.”
I hesitate, and Chloe adds quickly, “Trust me, she’s perfect for what you’re doing. Her aesthetic is exactly what your collection needs.”
I think about some of the dramatic pieces Chloe has worn in her photos—beautiful but with a dangerous elegance to them. Perfect for what the Midnight Frost collection is becoming. “Wait a minute. Wouldn’t Hailey be crazy to work here after everything she found out?”
“Are you kidding?” Chloe snorts. “When I mentioned you might need help, she literally said ‘Potential mob ties and a chance to design luxury jewelry? That’s literally my jam.’”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. She also said something about how the fashion industry is basically organized crime anyway, so at least this would be being honest about it.”
“Oh my god.” I’m trying not to laugh. “She’s insane.”
“She’s perfect is what she is. Plus, she figures if things go south, she can always use it as inspiration for her next collection. ‘Confessions of a Mob Jeweler’ or something.”
I shake my head. “Can you ask her? Maybe you both could come by later if Cole’s security team approves it?”
“Of course. See? This is what happens when you actually call me back instead of ghosting me for days.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I smile despite everything. “I’ll talk to Cole about all of it—Hailey, Julian, everything.”
“Good. That’s what normal people do, you know. They talk about things.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Love you too. And Sloane? It’ll be okay.”
I end the call and stare at the cameras again. Talk to him. Simple advice. Impossible execution. How exactly does one start a conversation about potential murder connections over morning coffee?