Chapter 28
Gage
The Paragon Pier stretches into the fog like a skeletal finger pointing toward nothing, its weathered planks slick with moisture that makes each step just one move away from a broken neck.
The sound of my footsteps echoes hollow over the dark water below, where waves slap against the pylons with a rhythm that feels like a countdown to something I’m going to regret.
Chloe stands at the far end, against the gray nothingness that passes for a horizon on nights like this.
Even from a distance, I can see the calculated way she’s positioned herself—one hip cocked, hair falling just so over her shoulder, the perfect picture of effortless seduction.
Nothing about Chloe Bishop is ever effortless, but she’s mastered the art of making it look that way.
“You came,” she says as I step her way, her voice carrying that sultry undertone that probably works on every other guy at West. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“You said you had ideas,” I reply, stopping just out of reach. The fog swirls between us like a living thing, and I can smell her perfume mixing with the salt air—something expensive and cloying that makes my nose itch.
Chloe’s smile is predatory as she steps closer, closing the distance I deliberately created. “I do. Lots of them.”
Her hand reaches for my chest, and I resist the urge to step back. This is what I came here for, isn’t it? The distraction. The chance to prove that I can move on from Skyla, that I don’t need her validation or her love or the way she looks at me like I matter.
“Gage,” Chloe breathes, her fingers tracing patterns on my jacket. I’ll need to be careful around Chloe. She’s a Celestra. Once we touch, she can read me like a book. Hell, she could probably read me like a book anyway.
Instead, I put up that lead vault around my mind like I’ve been known to around Skyla and Logan.
“You’ve been so sad lately,” she continues. “So… lost. I can fix that.”
“Can you?” The words come out more bitter than I intended.
“Of course.” Her other hand slides up to cup my face, her thumb stroking my cheek as if she’s practiced it in her sleep. “You just need someone who appreciates you. Someone who sees how amazing you are.”
The thing is, Chloe isn’t wrong. I am lost. I am sad. And the idea of someone—anyone—thinking I’m amazing instead of second-best sounds like exactly what I need right now.
She leans in to kiss me, and as soon as her lips brush against mine with far too much passion, all I can think about is how wrong it feels.
How her hands don’t fit the way Skyla’s do—ironically, even though one of them actually once belonged to Skyla.
How her kiss tastes like deception and ambition instead of honesty and home.
I pull back, and Chloe’s eyes flash with something that might be surprise or might be irritation.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, though her tone suggests she’s not actually interested in the answer.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just... I think maybe we should take it slow.” How’s that for ripping something out of Skyla’s playbook.
Chloe’s laugh is sharp enough to cut through stone. “Slow? Gage, we’re not in middle school. I’m offering you everything Skyla Messenger never will.”
The mention of Skyla’s name hits like a blow, and I see the satisfaction in Chloe’s eyes when she notices my reaction.
“She chose Logan,” Chloe continues, shoving the facts in my face to her advantage. “She’s always going to choose Logan. You’re just the backup plan, the consolation prize she keeps around to make herself feel better about being indecisive.”
Each word is carefully chosen, designed to hit exactly where it hurts most. And the worst part is, some of it feels true. Heck, all of it does.
“But I see you,” she says, her voice dropping to that breathy whisper that’s supposed to be irresistible. “I see how incredible you are. How loyal, how passionate, how absolutely devastating when you smile.”
Her hands frame my face again, and this time when she kisses me, I don’t pull away. I let her think she’s winning, let her believe that her words have found their mark. Because maybe they have.
Maybe this is exactly what I deserve—someone who sees me as a prize to be won rather than a person to be loved.
The kiss deepens, and Chloe presses against me with the kind of aggressive confidence that leaves no room for doubt about her intentions. Her hands tangle in my hair, and she makes those little sounds that are probably supposed to drive me wild.
Instead, all I feel is empty.
Empty and angry and so tired of pretending that any of this matters when the only person I want is currently wrapped up in someone else’s arms, not even thinking about me at all.
When we finally break apart, Chloe offers up a triumphant smile.
“See?” she whispers against my lips. “This is how it’s supposed to feel. This is what you’ve been missing.”
I stare down at her, at this beautiful, sharp-edged girl who wants to collect me like a trophy, and I realize with crystal clarity that I’d rather be alone than settle for someone who sees me as a conquest instead of a person. Scratch that. Even if Chloe’s affection was genuine, I wouldn’t want it.
“Chloe, I think,” I start, but she cuts me off with another kiss, more aggressive this time, like she can sense the fact that I’m about to bolt and is determined to prevent it.
“Don’t think,” she breathes. “Just feel. Let me show you what real passion looks like.”
But that’s the problem. I know what real passion looks like. I’ve felt it, tasted it, lived it with someone who saw straight through to my soul and loved what she found there.
This isn’t passion. This is performance. At least on my part.
And I’m done being an audience for someone else’s show.
“I’m sorry, Chloe.”