23. Cloe
CLOE
The walk to the café should’ve been a relief.
Ten minutes outside the building. No polished floors.
No mirrored walls reflecting the shape of my guilt.
No glass office windows with Wolfe’s eyes behind them.
No knowing glances from Royal that felt like fingers beneath my skirt.
No silence from Barron that said more than his voice ever could.
Just air.
Just noise.
Just me.
Pretending I hadn’t already betrayed the one man I swore I’d never hurt.
The sky overhead was overcast. Grey and low and close. The kind of sky that made you feel smaller. Lighter. Like you might be lifted off your feet without warning. I wrapped my coat tighter around my body, but it didn’t help. The wind still found its way under the hem.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I didn’t check it. It was either Selene or Wolfe. And I didn’t have the stomach for either of them right now .
The city moved around me in waves. Headlights. Brakes. The scrape of metal chairs on sidewalk concrete. Someone laughing too loud at something that wasn’t funny. Every sound felt too sharp. Every face a threat I couldn’t name. Every breath I took tasted like I was about to be found out.
I stepped around a man in a navy coat and flinched even though he didn’t look at me. I kept walking. Tighter. Smaller.
The note in my hand crumpled slightly in my grip.
Loyal: Black, no sugar.
Royal: Oat flat white, extra hot.
Barron: Double espresso, splash of almond milk.
Wolfe…
Blank.
He never wrote his name on the list. Never told me what to bring. But I always bought him one anyway. Dark roast. One cream. No sugar. Because not doing it felt like forgetting how to breathe. Somehow giving him something—even if he didn’t ask—felt like safety. Felt like survival.
I reached the café door and stepped into the warmth. Too warm. The blast of heat was sudden, almost painful against my skin. My corset pinched tighter beneath my coat. My shoulders drew up.
I stepped into line and kept my head down. Didn’t look around. Didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Because I didn’t want to see him.
Not Wolfe.
Not Barron.
Not Royal or Loyal or any man who might see the way my hands shook as I pulled the coat tighter.
But especially not him.
The one with the scar on his jaw and the voice that could still make my lungs forget how to fill.
I moved up in the line. Handed over the note. The girl at the register smiled too brightly. I smiled back with the corners of my mouth but not my eyes. My phone buzzed again.
I ignored it.
The drinks came slowly. Each one read aloud like a name on a gravestone.
Royal—flat white.
Loyal—black.
Barron—espresso.
And the last?
I forced a smile.
“Just dark roast. Cream. For me.”
The tray landed in front of me like a sentence I hadn’t finished serving yet. I lifted it carefully. Too carefully. Turned away from the counter and moved toward the door. Ten steps. Ten. And I could pretend I was okay.
Just an assistant.
Just bringing coffee.
Not the girl with blood on her conscience and betrayal in her back pocket.
But then?—
The air changed.
That shift again. Like the city had inhaled and forgotten to exhale. I stopped. And looked up. And there he was. Leaning against the wall just outside the café. Hands in his pockets. Smiling.
Like he hadn’t locked me in a bathroom stall and told me to be grateful.
Like he hadn’t choked me with one hand and whispered good girl like it meant something kind.
Like he hadn’t left bruises that took three weeks to fade.
My stomach twisted. And for the first time in months?—
I wanted to run.
He looked almost bored. Like this wasn’t planned. Like he just happened to be standing there. Like he hadn’t once told me he’d never stop finding me. His jacket was different.
But his eyes?
His eyes weren’t.
And that was all it took. My legs turned to water. My mouth went dry. The tray in my hands felt like it had doubled in weight.
He smiled.
Tilted his head. And in that gesture, I remembered everything I didn’t want to. The night he kicked the bathroom door open. The crack of it against tile. The echo of the lock breaking. The way he stood over me, bottle in hand, voice low and steady and terrifying.
You make it so hard to love you, baby.
He used to say that with my hair wrapped around his fist.
He used to whisper it when I tried to leave.
When I bled.
When I begged.
My breathing turned shallow. That kind of shallow you feel in your stomach first. Like air is too expensive. I blinked twice.
Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood there.
Smiling like he knew I couldn’t scream.
Like he wanted me to.
I looked down at the coffee tray. Held it tighter. Stepped to the left. Not fast. Not slow. Just enough to move. To survive. I walked past him. Out the café door. Never looking back.
Because if I did? —
If I saw even a flicker of what used to live in his smile?—
I’d lose what little composure I had left.
His smile widened. Too wide. Teeth too white. That same lazy confidence in the way he leaned against the wall.
I know you.
That’s what his body said.
I remember what you sound like when you cry.
That’s what his mouth almost whispered.
I couldn’t breathe.
The tray wobbled in my hands.
I tightened my grip.
Adjusted the weight.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t fall.
But God, I wanted to run.
He didn’t approach. Didn’t wave. Didn’t say a word. Just scratched his jaw with one hand. And I saw it. That twitch. The one that always came before he said something cruel. Something that hurt.
He’s watching you.
That’s what Selene said.
What her message didn’t type. What the silence in my pocket was still screaming. But now I knew. He wasn’t just back. He was close. And I had just walked past him like I was still the girl who hadn’t learned how to leave.
He had eyes that never needed words to scare me.
And he was using them now. A woman brushed past me on her way out of the café.
I moved too late—stepped aside at the last second.
Nearly dropped the tray. My heart shot into my throat.
My pulse pounded in my ears. But I held it together. Just long enough to get outside.
He was gone .
Not far.
Just not in view.
And somehow, that was worse. Because when you can’t see a monster, you start to imagine where it’s hiding.
I made it back to the building without spilling a drop.
But my hands?
They didn’t stop shaking until long after I’d dropped the coffees on the conference table and locked myself in the bathroom.
The tile was too cold.
My hands were too hot.
The memory of his face still burned behind my eyes like a hand I hadn’t dodged in time. I pressed both palms over my chest like that might hold my ribcage together.
My breath came in shallow bursts.
Tight. Controlled. Useless.
I slid to the floor. Sat there. Back to the stall. Knees up. My phone sat on my thigh. Glowing like a dare. I unlocked it.
The thread opened automatically.
SELENE.
Still at the top. Because I hadn’t messaged anyone else. Because I hadn’t called Wolfe. Because I hadn’t told Barron what I’d seen. If I did? Everything would fall apart.
I typed.
He’s here.
Paused.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
You said I had 60 hours.
It’s only been five.
You sent him early.
Three dots .
Then nothing.
I stared at the screen until my eyes blurred. The bathroom light buzzed overhead. The stall was too quiet. Too sterile. And I was curled in a ball on the floor trying to decide?—
Open the book and hand it over? Or slide it under Barron’s door and fall to my knees? The phone buzzed once.
Tick. Tick.
The message was short.
I stared at it.
Read it again.
Then typed.
If you wanted me dead, you should’ve just let him say hello.
No response. None needed. She’d already made her move. Now it was my turn. I stood slowly. Every joint ached.
Like fear had settled into my bones and refused to leave. I washed my hands. Twice. Not because they were dirty. Because they wouldn’t stop shaking. I stared at myself in the mirror. Mascara perfect. Lipstick still intact.
The girl in the glass looked fine. Polished. Obedient. Disposable. But inside? I was drowning. And worse? I wanted someone else to pull me under.
Wolfe.
Barron.
Anyone .
Just so I didn’t have to pretend I was the one holding the knife. I straightened my blouse. Smoothed down the front. My palms were damp.
There was a small smear of coffee on my wrist I hadn’t noticed until just now. I wiped it away. Watched it disappear. Like none of this had happened. Like I wasn’t standing in a locked bathroom stall wondering if the man I once called safety would be the one to end me now.
I looked at my reflection. Harder this time. No makeup out of place. No visible bruise. No blood. No guilt. Just bone-deep ache.
And a girl who had no more lines to walk. Only cliffs. I touched the corner of the mirror. It was cold. My breath fogged the glass.
“You’re running out of time,” I whispered.