Chapter 29
Chloe
The pier feels colder after Gage leaves, as if his rejection sucked all the warmth from the air.
I stand there for a full five minutes after he disappeared into the fog, my perfectly manicured nails digging crescents into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him still lingers on my lips—confusion and longing and something else. Resignation, maybe. Or worse, pity.
He pitied me.
Gage Oliver, who should be grateful for my attention, who should be falling at my feet for the chance to be with someone who actually chooses him first—he looked at me with pity.
The second-choice Oliver pitying me? That’s like being judged by someone’s participation trophy.
I’m sorry, Chloe.
His words echo in the empty space he left behind, each syllable a nail in the coffin of my carefully constructed plans. He didn’t even stay long enough for me to respond, just pulled away from my kiss and walked off like I was nothing more than a mistake he needed to correct.
The wooden planks beneath my feet are slick with condensation, and it takes all I have to focus on each step as I make my way back toward shore. One wrong move and I’ll end up in the black water below, which honestly, might be less humiliating than what just happened.
The worst part is that I really thought I had him this time. The way he met me here, the way he let me kiss him—I thought I was finally breaking through. I thought the confusion and hurt over Skyla would push him right into my arms.
But even confused, even hurt, even desperately lonely—he’d rather have her absence over my presence.
Congratulations, Gage. You’ve chosen to be someone’s backup plan over being my priority. Harvard should study that level of stupidity.
Figures. Skyla, with her perfect little halo, like the world owes her everything, even the crumbs everyone else fights for.
She’s untouchable, untouchably annoying, and somehow, he still worships her shadow.
Skyla Messenger is a parasite that must be put in her place.
She treats Gage and Logan like her personal emotional support dogs. And they certainly beg for more.
The drive home is automatic, with muscle memory taking over while my mind dissects every moment of that disaster on the pier.
The way his whole body tensed when I kissed him, like he was fighting against something primal.
The way he apologized—not for leading me on, not for wasting my time, but just.. . sorry.
Sorry, like pity was the only thing he could muster for someone as disposable as me.
I pull into my driveway and sit in the car, engine running, staring at the perfect suburban house that contains my perfect suburban life.
Everything about my existence is carefully curated, from my clothes to my grades to my social standing.
I’ve worked so hard to be flawless, to be irresistible, to be chosen.
And still, it’s not enough.
Still, I’m not her.
Inside, I bypass my parents and head straight to my room.
The mirror on my wall shows me what everyone else sees—beautiful, polished, put-together Chloe Bishop.
The girl who could have any guy at West Paragon High.
Except the one she actually wants—the one who’s apparently allergic to good decisions and a girl who’d actually kill for him.
I touch my lips where Gage’s mouth was just an hour ago. Even his kiss felt like goodbye. Like he was trying to want me but couldn’t quite manage it.
For a moment, something flickers in the mirror—a flash of white, like a dress, a woman in a wedding dress, and in tears.
But when I blink, it’s just me again. Must be the stress.
Or the humiliation. Or just my imagination running wild with what-ifs.
It’s the same hallucination I saw at Emily’s haunted house. What the hell?
The humiliating truth settles over me like fog. I could stand naked in front of Gage Oliver, and he’d still be looking over my shoulder for Skyla Messenger.
My phone sits silent on my nightstand. No texts from Gage, no apologies or explanations. He’s probably already forgotten about our little meet and greet, already moved on to brooding about Skyla and Logan and whatever celestial drama they’re wrapped up in.
Why does it feel like there’s something bigger happening here?
It’s like I’m playing a game where everyone else knows the rules except me.
But maybe that’s to my advantage. They’re all so caught up in whatever supernatural chess match they’re playing, they’ve forgotten that sometimes the simplest moves are the most effective.
And sometimes the Bishop—the piece everyone underestimates—is the one that cuts across the board and changes everything.
I pull out my journal and flip to a fresh page, but instead of slashing my thoughts onto paper like I usually do, I just stare at the blank canvas.
What’s the point of documenting my failures? What’s the point of planning and scheming when Gage has made it crystal clear that I’m not even a consideration?
The fog outside my window swirls thicker, and I remember something my grandmother once told me about Paragon. She said the island keeps secrets, that the fog hides more than just the landscape. That sometimes, people see things in the mist that haven’t happened yet, or that happened long ago.
Maybe that’s what’s happening. Maybe we’re all caught in some temporal loop, playing out the same dramas over and over. Maybe in some other timeline, Gage chose me. Maybe in some other reality, I’m the one he can’t live without.
Actually, scratch that. I bet in most timelines, he chooses me. This one is simply defective.
In this timeline, I’m the girl who’s going to have to work a little harder.
Fine. I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.
Tomorrow I’ll go back to school and be perfect Chloe Bishop, queen of the social hierarchy.
I’ll watch him watch Skyla with those pathetic puppy eyes.
I’ll see how he lights up when she walks in, even when she’s draped all over Logan like a cheap coat.
And I’ll file it all away—every weakness, every moment of longing, every crack in his armor.
Because that’s what Chloe Bishop does. She studies. She learns. She wins.
The girl in the mirror reappears. She looks back at me, and for just a second, I swear she’s different—older, but with the same wedding dress, same tears on her face. This time, the girl is me. But when I blink, she’s gone.
What the hell is going on?
A glimpse of the future, maybe? Or just my imagination showing me what the consequences are if I give up.
Well, that’s not happening.
I pull my journal close. I need to document everything. Every look he gives her, every time he flinches when she touches Logan, every moment of weakness I can exploit.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up with a plan. Tonight was just a mapping out of the landscape. Gage showed me exactly where his boundaries are, which means now I know exactly how to dismantle them.
The fog presses against my window like it’s trying to tell me something. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s saying that Paragon keeps its secrets, and I’m about to become one of them.
Gage Oliver thinks he doesn’t want me. But he’s wrong. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Maybe that’s what makes me different from other girls. They would give up. They would accept defeat. They would cry into their pillows and move on to easier conquests.
But I’m Chloe Bishop.
And Chloe Bishop doesn’t give up. Not when something this important is at stake.
So Gage walked away tonight. So he chose her ghost over my reality. That doesn’t mean the game is over. It just means I need to change my strategy.
He thinks he loves Skyla? Fine. But love can be complicated. Love can be redirected. And sometimes, when you can’t have someone’s love, you settle for becoming something they can’t live without. One thing is for sure, Gage Oliver will not be able to live without me.
I sit up in bed, dive into my journal, and start stabbing at the page. Not writing out plans this time—but observations. Every little thing I know about Gage Oliver. His habits. His weaknesses. The way he takes his coffee. The route he runs in the mornings. The place he goes when he needs to think.
My pen moves faster as the list grows. The way his jaw clenches when he’s jealous. How he drums his fingers when he’s anxious. The exact shade his eyes turn when he’s aroused—I saw it tonight, just for a second, before he shut it down.
I know him better than he knows himself. I’ve studied him like other girls study for exams. Every mood, every tick of his dick, every vulnerability catalogued and memorized.
The pages fill up quickly. Three, four, five pages of Gage Oliver. My beautiful obsession laid out in ink as blue as his eyes.
Some might call this unhealthy. Stalkerish, even. But they don’t understand what it’s like to need someone the way I need him. To feel like your entire existence hinges on making them see you—really see you—just once.
I close the journal and hold it against my chest like a talisman. Somewhere on this island, Gage is probably thinking about Skyla.
Good. Let him pine. Let him suffer. Let him believe she’s his destiny while I become his reality.
Because I know something he doesn’t. Destiny can be rewritten. And I am very good with revisions.
I reach under my mattress and pull out the other things I’ve been collecting—a small box filled with memories.
The napkin from the coffee shop where we accidentally met up last month.
A button that fell off his jacket at school.
A pencil he dropped in the hallway that still has his teeth marks on it from when he chews them during tests.
I add tonight’s addition—a receipt from the pier parking meter with the time stamp from when he arrived. Proof that for thirty-seven minutes this evening, Gage Oliver was mine.
Normal girls would be satisfied with thirty-seven minutes. Normal girls would accept his rejection and move on.
But I’m anything but normal. I’m inevitable.
I lie back down, the box tucked safely away, the journal on my nightstand like a Bible of my devotion. Tomorrow, I’ll see him at school. He’ll avoid me, probably. Feel guilty about tonight. Maybe even tell himself he needs to be more careful around me.
He has no idea how careful he should be.
Because Chloe Bishop doesn’t just want Gage Oliver. She’s going to have him. One way or another. In this timeline or the next.
Even if I have to destroy everything else to make it happen.
The thought should scare me. Instead, it feels like freedom. Like finally admitting what I’ve always known. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make him mine.
Nothing at all.