Chapter 18 Chloe
Chloe
Sleep doesn’t come easy.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. The cut of his jaw in the dim light, the way his breath had ghosted against my throat. I tell myself it’s just leftover adrenaline, just confusion, but that’s a lie even I can’t swallow.
I hate myself for wanting him. For remembering the warmth of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the way his voice dropped when he said my name.
It’s wrong. He’s wrong. And I’m worse for letting him under my skin.
So I make a decision.
I’ll ignore him. I’ll bury it. I’ll throw myself into classes, practice, and sorority life until there’s nothing left of this… whatever this is.
By the time morning light filters through my blinds, I’ve repeated that promise so many times it almost feels real.
The Delta Pi common room smells like coffee and toasted bagels and expensive perfume. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, hitting every glittering surface just right—framed photos, trophies, the chandelier that never stops swaying.
It should feel warm, familiar. It doesn’t.
Conversations hush the second I walk in.
It’s subtle at first—eyes sliding toward me, whispers under breath, the clatter of forks slowing against plates. Then someone giggles, and the sound slices straight through the air.
I freeze by the doorway, tray in hand.
Brielle and Maggie are perched at the corner table, hair perfect, smiles painted on like armor. Across from them, Bella laughs at something one of the girls says.
I take a step forward, pretending not to notice, but every instinct screams that I’m being watched.
“Morning,” I mumble, forcing a smile as I grab a coffee mug.
No one answers.
Leslie—sweet, quiet Leslie—sits near the end of the table. She gives me a look that’s half pity, half warning. Since I started sleeping with Jamie, I have kind of come to like her.
I mean, she’s pretty and I get why Miles would want to hook up with her.
The memory of me doing the same very thing sours in my stomach.
I set my tray down, but before I can sit, Brielle says, “Oh—sorry, that seat’s taken.”
It’s not. It’s empty except for her phone and a napkin, but the challenge in her eyes dares me to argue.
I back away, my smile cracking at the edges. “Right. My bad.”
I move to another table, sit alone, and scroll through my phone like I don’t care.
The whispers start again.
“…can’t believe she—”
“—Bella’s still with him though, right?”
“—guess she couldn’t keep her legs closed—”
Laughter ripples through the room.
My stomach twists.
Leslie stands up and walks over, her expression soft but her eyes darting around nervously. “Hey,” she whispers, sliding into the seat across from me.
“What’s going on?” I ask under my breath, looking over at them. All of their eyes are on me. “Why are they acting like this?”
She hesitates, glancing toward Bella’s table. “You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Leslie leans closer, voice low. “Everyone’s saying you… hooked up with Miles.”
The words hit like ice water.
I blink, trying to form a denial, but my throat locks up. “What? That’s—who told them that?”
She shrugs helplessly. “Doesn’t matter. Word’s out. And since Bella and Miles have a… thing, I guess they think you stole her guy.”
I look at her, expecting the same vitriol on her features, but there’s nothing. As soon as Bella and Miles started seeing each other, Leslie has stayed away from him.
I should have done the same.
I stare down at my untouched toast, nausea climbing my throat.
Bella. Of course, it’s Bella.
She’s the kind of girl people orbit—loud, confident, effortlessly magnetic.
Everyone knows the rumors about her, that she sleeps around, that she doesn’t care.
I used to think she was untouchable because of it.
But now I see the truth is that she can get away with it because people like her decide who counts as a slut and who doesn’t.
And today, that’s me.
Leslie fidgets, biting her lip. “They’re saying you’ve been throwing yourself at the guys on the team too. That you slept with Jamie and now you’re just working your way around.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“That’s not—” I stop, realizing how useless denial is here. Once a rumor catches, it burns like gasoline.
“Thanks for telling me,” I manage.
Leslie gives a sympathetic nod before retreating to her side of the table.
I sit there, staring into my coffee, heart pounding.
Bella stands up then, her voice carrying over the chatter. “Ladies, meeting in ten!”
She doesn’t even look at me. But the smirk on her face says everything.
I linger by the gym door, hoping maybe I can slip in and out without anyone noticing, but no such luck.
Maggie and Brielle are already there, stretching in their matching leggings, hair slicked back into perfect ponytails.
When they spot me, Maggie grins. “Well, look who decided to show up.”
I keep my head high. “You said cheer meeting.”
“Right,” Brielle says sweetly. “We just weren’t sure if you’d have time between, you know…” She trails off, pretending to think. “…your busy schedule.”
Laughter again.
I clench my jaw. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
“Oh, relax,” Maggie says, straightening up. “We’re just reminding you that having a reputation is a problem to the team. You might want to stop with the cliches.”
I fold my arms. “Are you done?”
“Not quite.” Brielle steps closer, voice dropping. “If you think you can fuck your captain’s boyfriend and get away with it, think again. And you will not quit the squad, you hear me. Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not?”
Maggie smiles, all teeth. “Because if you do, we’ll make sure everyone on campus knows exactly what you did. Videos, screenshots, group chats—you name it.”
My stomach lurches. “You don’t have anything like that.”
She shrugs. “Are you sure? I can make anything seem believable in the age of A.I. Don’t fucking mess with me.”
The two of them turn to leave, bumping shoulders with me on the way out.
“Welcome to Delta Pi, babe,” Brielle says over her shoulder. “Actions have consequences.”
The door slams behind them.
I stand there shaking, trying to breathe, trying not to cry, but it’s no use. Everything I’ve built here—the fresh start, the safety, the illusion that I could be normal again—it’s all falling apart.
All because of Miles. One man I can’t seem to erase from my veins.
By the time I make it back to the house, my head’s pounding. I just need quiet. A shower. Maybe a few hours to convince myself I can fix this.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand. Unknown number.
I almost ignore it, but something about the area code catches my eye.
I answer. “Hello?”
“Miss Ashford?” The voice is clipped, professional. “This is Mr. Langford, your father’s attorney. I’m calling regarding a transfer notice.”
My heart stutters. “Transfer? I—I don’t understand. What kind of transfer?”
“Your father is being relocated to a federal facility in Green County. The process begins this afternoon. If you’d like to see him before the move, you’ll need to be at the county station within two hours.”
The words hit too fast, too hard.
“What?” I whisper. “Why? They said he’d be here until—”
“I’m sorry,” Langford says, his tone softening. “It’s out of my hands. They’ve accelerated the schedule. If you want to see him, I’d suggest you leave now.”
He hangs up before I can form another question.
I stare at the phone in my hand, the world tilting around me.
Two hours.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, hands trembling.
First Miles. Then the rumors. Then the threats. Now this.
It feels like the universe is conspiring to remind me exactly who I am—and who I can’t ever outrun.
I change clothes without thinking—jeans, hoodie, hair pulled back in a messy knot. My reflection in the mirror looks foreign. Tired eyes. Shaky hands. The ghost of a girl trying to keep from breaking.
As I grab my bag, my phone buzzes again.
A text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Can we talk?
I stare at the message, heart jumping to my throat. The number isn’t saved, but I know exactly who it belongs to.
Miles.
I delete the message without replying, shove the phone deep into my pocket, and walk out the door.
Because right now, the last thing I need is to talk to him.
And yet… the ache that follows feels a lot like wanting him anyway.
And then there’s Jamie…
I fucked up pretty badly.
The prison smells like bleach and metal. Even before I step inside, it clings to the back of my throat—that sterile tang that makes you feel smaller just by breathing it in.
The guard waves me through the metal detector, and I keep my chin up, pretending I’m not shaking. I’ve done this before, but it never stops feeling like walking into someone else’s nightmare.
When I reach the visiting room, I spot him immediately. My father. Same broad shoulders, same pressed posture that used to make waiters stammer and teachers overcompensate. But now his orange jumpsuit hangs loose on him, and his knuckles look raw.
“Hi, Dad.” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does.
He looks up from the table, eyes bloodshot, and for a second, I think maybe he’s going to smile. He doesn’t.
“Chloe,” he says, nodding once. His voice is rougher than I remember. “You’re late.”
“I— they took a while to clear me through security.”
“Excuses,” he mutters. “Sit down.”
I do. The metal chair screeches across the floor, drawing attention I don’t want.
He studies me for a long moment. “You’ve put on weight.”
The words hit harder than they should. I swallow, blink twice. “Cheer practice is still mandatory. I’m not—I’m not fat.”
He snorts. “You were never great with self-control. Still in that—what is it? Media major?”
“Communications.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Right. Useless, but I suppose business school was too much work.”
“Dad—”
He leans forward, the chain on his cuff clinking softly. “Your mother’s filing for divorce.”
The sentence lands like a slap. “What?”