26. Cloe
CLOE
The city never feels quiet.
But tonight?
It was dead. No horns. No music.
Not even the usual shuffle of feet near my building’s entrance. Just the sound of my own boots against concrete. The whisper of my coat collar rustling against my neck.
And the high-pitched whine of panic still ringing somewhere behind my ribs. The air was colder than I expected. It wrapped around my legs and slid under the hem of my coat like it had teeth.
The streets felt too wide.
The shadows too long.
I kept my phone in my hand the entire walk. Didn’t check it. Didn’t look at the screen. Just held it like maybe it would shield me if something went wrong.
I hadn’t heard from Selene. Not at midnight. Not the morning after. Not all day. And somehow, that was worse. The absence wasn’t mercy. It was threat. The kind of silence you get right before something bad happens. The kind of stillness animals feel before the snare snaps shut.
I walked faster. Not running. But close. Head down. Eyes sharp. I passed two people near the crosswalk. Didn’t look at them. They didn’t look at me. But my skin still crawled. Like maybe one of them knew something I didn’t. Like maybe everyone did.
I reached the building. Didn’t take the elevator. Couldn’t. Couldn’t stand the idea of doors closing behind me. Of being trapped. Of not being able to run. I climbed the stairs. One floor. Then another.
By the third, my legs started to burn. By the fifth, my breath was catching. By the seventh? My hand shook on the railing. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. I just climbed.
And when I reached the top? I knew. Something was off. The hallway was too dim. One of the lights near my door had burned out. Or been smashed. It crunched under my boot when I stepped on the shards.
I stopped walking. Just for a second. Just long enough to listen. But there was nothing. No footsteps. No voices. No creak of wood or groan of metal. Just the hum of panic clawing up my spine.
I reached for my keys. Dropped them. Swore under my breath and bent to retrieve them with shaking fingers. The lock turned harder than usual. Like something inside didn’t want to let me in.
I stepped inside. Flicked on the light. Everything looked the same. The coat on the hook. The soft yellow glow above the kitchen sink. The pillow I always left slightly askew on the couch. Normal. But nothing felt normal.
I stood just inside the door too long. Breathing like someone had punched the wind out of me. Tried to move. To lock the door. To set the chain .
But then I felt it.
Not a touch.
Not a sound.
Just… a breath.
Behind me.
Close.
Too close.
Before I could turn?—
An arm wrapped around my throat. Hard. Yanked me backward.
I slammed into a chest that didn’t belong to anyone I trusted. Fingers dug into the side of my neck. A hand clamped over my mouth. My phone dropped. Clattered to the floor.
“Time’s up.”
The voice was low. Filtered. Distorted. But the intent behind it? Crystal clear. Selene. Her silence. Her money. Her warning. He dragged me into the hallway. Slammed me into the wall.
My shoulder cracked against the plaster hard enough to jar my teeth. I tried to scream. Tried to fight. But his grip only tightened. His mask was black. Smooth. Just two holes for his eyes. No mouth. No name. Just threat.
“The book,” he hissed.
“You know where it is.”
I shook my head. Tried to twist away. His hand flattened harder against my mouth.
“This was your warning.”
He leaned closer. Breath hot against my ear.
“Next time, I don’t leave you breathing.”
I kicked back. Hard. Felt something shift. He grunted. His grip slipped.
It wasn’t enough to break free, but it was enough to bite. And I did. Hard. Felt fabric tear. Felt skin give. Tasted metallic. Blood.
He threw me forward like garbage. I hit the floor. Face-first. My lip split open. The rug scraped my cheek raw. My shoulder lit with pain—white hot and immediate.
I curled. Instinct. Fetal. Frozen. Too late to stop the ache. Too early to process the fear.
He stood above me for one more second. Watching. Measuring. Then he turned. Walked out. No rush. No fear. Just satisfaction. Like a message had been delivered. Like a job half-finished. The door was still open. Swaying slightly. The night air creeping in.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even try to breathe right. Because if I did? I’d scream.
And I didn’t know how to stop it once it started. My mouth filled with copper. Blood. My lip was split. My face stung. My shoulder pulsed like it had its own heartbeat.
But that wasn’t what made me sick. It was the way he moved. Like he knew the layout. Like he knew I’d be alone. I had been. I’d let myself believe it was over. That Selene had changed her mind. That Wolfe had scared her into silence. But this? This was her answer.
I pushed onto my side. Every inch of me throbbed. My knees. My ribs. My throat.
He’d squeezed hard. So hard. Like he’d been trained. Like he knew the exact threshold between fear and collapse.
But the worst part? How quiet he’d been. How efficient. How calm. No yelling. No chaos. Just a whisper and a threat. I rolled onto my knees. Crawled toward the door.
I needed air. I needed space. I needed?—
Something cracked behind me. Sharp. Loud. I screamed. Whipped around. Nothing.
But the vase on the side table? Shattered. My elbow must’ve caught it. I didn’t remember. Didn’t care. I tried to stand. My vision spun. A handprint was still pressed into my arm. Purple. Too clear.
I didn’t remember when he grabbed me there. Didn’t remember anything after the slam. I reached the front door. Closed it with both hands. Locked the bolt. Then the chain. Then backed away like it might come alive and open again.
I turned to face the room. Everything looked normal. But it wasn’t. The air was heavier. The space tighter. Like he’d taken something with him I couldn’t name.
I ran to the kitchen.
Fumbled in the drawer.
Pulled a knife.
Dropped it.
It skittered across the floor.
Loud. Wrong.
I picked it up. Pressed my back to the wall. Shaking. My hands. My knees. My voice. Something flickered under the front door.
A shadow.
No .
No no no no no ? —
I ran to the couch.
Curled into the far corner.
Held the knife to my chest like a shield I didn’t know how to use.
My heartbeat was too loud.
Too wild.
The sound of blood in my ears drowned everything else.
Until—
The door shook.
Once.
Twice .
A third time.
Then— shattered .
And I screamed.
The sound echoed.
Splintered wood.
My scream.
Then silence.
No footsteps. No rush of movement. Just cold air bleeding in through the jagged break in the door.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The knife was still clutched in my hand, but my grip had loosened. My fingers ached from how tightly I’d held it. My lungs refused to expand.
I stayed frozen in the corner of the couch, blinking against the tears that blurred everything.
Then—
Memory.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
The ex.
His fingers around my throat. Not a stranger. Not a mask. But worse. His voice calm. His tone flat.
The way he pressed me against the bathroom wall. You like this, don’t you? My vision went grey.
I’d fought then too.
Kicked.
Bit.
But he’d held me down by the throat like it didn’t matter if I said no.
Like my fear was foreplay. Like my tears meant he was winning. I gasped now, dragged in air too fast. It scraped down my throat like glass.
I tried to blink the past away. Tried to ground myself. I looked at my phone. Still on the coffee table. Still lit. Still untouched.
No new messages.
No Wolfe.
No Loyal.
No Barron.
No one coming. The door didn’t open again. But the splinter down the frame said it could have. That it still might.
I stood on shaky legs. Stumbled to the hallway. Locked the bedroom door. Then the closet. Then the window. Everything.
Then I slid down the back of the door, knees pulled to my chest. The knife on the floor beside me. My head pressed to the wood.
Tears finally came.
Quiet.
Helpless.
Hot.
I rocked.
Back and forth.
Because that’s what Camille used to do when I broke down. Because it was the only thing I remembered from before everything got sharp.
I wanted Wolfe. Wanted him like a prayer. Not to hold me. Not to save me. But to see me. To know what I’d survived. To know I was still surviving.
My hands trembled. The garnet ring still pressed into the skin above my heart like a bruise. The chain felt heavier now. Like a leash I didn’t know if I was still allowed to wear. I pressed my forehead to my knees.
Breathed.
Breathed.
Breathed .
And whispered? —
“Don’t come back.”
I didn’t know if I meant the man who broke in.
Or me.
I didn’t fall asleep. Not really. But I must’ve lost time. The kind of time that comes after trauma—when everything blurs around the edges and your body tries to pretend none of it happened. But it had.
The door was still splintered. The lock still useless.
My shoulder still throbbed with every breath. I pulled myself off the floor. Wobbled toward the broken frame. Stared at it like it might apologize. It didn’t.
I turned. Looked at the couch. The knife was gone. Or maybe I dropped it again and didn’t remember.
A noise echoed down the hall. Small. Soft. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. My body reacted first.
I ran .
Slammed the bedroom door. Turned the lock with shaking fingers. I backed away, hit the closet, stumbled. The memory still bloomed in the corners of my mind like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. His voice. His hand. That final whisper:
Next time, I don’t leave you breathing.
I couldn’t breathe now. I dropped to my knees beside the bed. Not to hide. To survive.
My hand found the frame. Gripped it. I tried to scream. Nothing came out. My throat seized. Clogged. Swollen with panic. I tried again. Help. Someone help. Please?—
“Wolfe!”
It tore from me. Raw. Violent. Desperate.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t conscious. It was instinct. The only name I trusted to answer. The only name that felt like safety—even when he wasn’t safe. Even when I didn’t know what he would do. Even if it was already too late.
I clutched the edge of the bed. Whimpered into the fabric.
My shoulders shook. Tears soaked the blanket.
But no one came. No one answered. And I felt the truth settle low in my chest like a second heart.
I’d screamed for a man who didn’t know I needed saving.
Because I didn’t trust anyone else to hear me.
Not Barron.
Not Royal.
Not even Loyal.
Just Wolfe.
I curled tighter. Fingers clenched. Voice gone. But I whispered again anyway.
“Wolfe…”
And if someone had been listening from the hallway? They’d know exactly whose name I bled for.
I didn’t sleep. I sat at the edge of Wolfe’s bed with the black book in my lap like it was a live wire. I hadn’t meant to take it. But when I passed his office, and the hallway was dark, and no one was watching—I did. Camille’s birthday still lived in the code. And now the book lived in me.
My fingers trembled as I opened the cover. Names. Dates. Wire transfers. Blackmail. A history of every sin the Lawlors never wanted written down.
Camille’s name was there once. Faint. Crossed out. I wanted to burn it. I wanted to give it to Selene. I wanted to hide it under the floorboards and pretend it never existed.
But what I did instead?
I wrapped it in the silk blouse Barron sent me. Tied it with the ribbon Wolfe once told me to keep around my throat. And I locked it in Wolfe’s drawer. Not to hide it. To return it.
He’d find it. And he’d know I chose him. Chose all of them. Even if they never forgave me. Even if I never forgave myself. I didn’t save myself. I just stopped running.