30. Cloe
CLOE
The car ride was silent. Not the kind of silence that held peace. The kind that tightened. Like it was stitched into the seams of the leather. Like it lived in the air between us.
Wolfe didn’t speak. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other on his thigh. Eyes forward. Jaw locked. Not angry at me—at least not yet. But something inside him was still burning. The kind of fire that didn’t need oxygen anymore.
My fingers curled in the fabric of Wolfe’s hoodie—mine now, I guessed. He’d handed it to me before we left. No questions. Just… handed it over.
I wore it over his shirt like armor. It didn’t help. The sleeves hung past my fingers. The hem covered the bruises on my thighs. But it didn’t stop the way I flinched every time a shadow moved outside the window.
When we pulled up to the building, my stomach twisted. It looked the same. Same brick. Same rusted railing. Same cracked sidewalk. But I wasn’t the same girl who’d walked out of it the last time. That girl didn’t know what silence sounded like when it was used as a weapon .
Wolfe parked but didn’t turn the engine off. He didn’t move until I did.
I reached for the handle. Paused. Then looked at him.
“Are you coming up?”
His jaw flexed.
“Do you want me to?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He opened his door. The stairwell creaked beneath our weight.
The air smelled like burnt dust and old heat. When we reached my door, I froze. The frame had been reinforced. Wolfe had done that. New bolts. Steel braces along the edges. The lock looked surgical. Precise. He’d rebuilt the barrier. But nothing would make this place feel safe again.
He unlocked the door with a code I didn’t remember giving him. Then opened it first. Stepped in. Waited. I followed. And froze.
It smelled like him now. Not the attacker. Not blood. But Wolfe. Like cedar and frost and control.
Still, the ghost of what happened lingered beneath it. A half-shadow in every corner. A whisper in the air vents. A warning in the lightbulb that still flickered when I shut the door behind us.
I didn’t speak. Just moved into the bedroom. My chest was tight. Hands too slow.
I pulled a duffel from the closet and unzipped it. Started with the essentials. T-shirts. Underwear. The only jeans that didn’t cut into my hips when I sat down.
I tried to move fast. But every drawer I opened made me feel like I was stealing from my own life. Like I wasn’t coming back. Wolfe stood near the door. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But I felt him there. Every breath I took caught on the silence he gave me. When I reached for my nightstand drawer, I paused. I hadn’t opened it since the break-in. It should’ve been empty. It wasn’t.
A note.
Folded.
Tucked just behind my old journal.
My throat closed before I could even reach for it.
But I did.
Hands trembling.
I unfolded the paper.
One line.
Time’s not up. But it will be.
Signed only:
S.
My knees buckled. I sat down on the edge of the bed like someone had cut the strings holding me upright. The note slipped from my fingers and landed face-up in my lap.
Wolfe stepped forward. His shadow stretched across the floor toward me. He didn’t ask what it said. Didn’t need to. Because he saw my face. And that was enough.
I stared at it like it might catch fire in my hands. I wanted to scream. To cry. To tear the apartment apart and find the cameras I suddenly felt watching me again. But I didn’t. I folded the note. Tucked it into the hoodie’s front pocket. And zipped it.
Wolfe was still in the kitchen when I walked out. He’d packed a small bag—clean, perfect, like a soldier’s field kit. He looked up. Eyes scanned me. Saw the color leave my face. Saw the tension in my shoulders.
“What did you find?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
He didn’t press.
Didn’ t blink.
Just held out the bag.
“Ready?”
I nodded. But I wasn’t. Not even close.
I moved like I was underwater. Hands fumbling. Chest tight. Every breath felt like I was inhaling glass.
The drawers wouldn’t open right. My fingers kept missing the handles. My knees bumped the bedframe like I didn’t know the shape of my own space anymore.
Wolfe didn’t say anything.
He stood near the door, arms crossed. Watching. Not judging. Not rushing. Just… there.
The silence should have helped. It didn’t. It made me feel like I was being timed. Like I was already too late.
I folded a sweatshirt and realized I hadn’t blinked in over a minute. My vision blurred. Tears that didn’t fall—but burned anyway. When I tried to pull a pair of jeans from the drawer, my hand shook so badly the denim slipped through my fingers.
I reached for them again.
Failed.
Again.
And then I stopped trying.
My arms dropped to my sides. I stared down at the mess on the floor—clothes, socks, a bra I didn’t remember liking. It all looked like a stranger’s life. One I didn’t belong to anymore. Wolfe crossed the room without a sound.
Knelt.
Started folding.
One piece at a time.
Efficient.
Precise.
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. He just took over. And I let him. Because I couldn’t do it.
He moved like he’d done it before. Like there was a version of him who had packed someone else’s life in silence once. Or maybe just pieces of his own.
He held up a toothbrush. Raised an eyebrow. I nodded. He added it to the bag.
By the time he zipped the second duffel, my legs were shaking. I sat on the edge of the bed. Held my hands in my lap. Looked at the window like it might offer something better than what waited behind the door. It didn’t.
But Wolfe did. He pulled the hoodie zipper up without touching me. Fixed the collar gently. Then handed me the bag.
“You good?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Tried again.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Okay. Then let’s go.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my feet. Wolfe stood. Stilled.
“You’re okay.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t reassurance. It was a reminder. I nodded. Even though I wasn’t.
He walked over. Held the bag in one hand. Then paused.
“What did the note say?”
I swallowed.
Hard.
“Nothing. Just a warning.”
“From who?”
I didn’t answer. His jaw ticked once. Then he nodded. Just once.
“Fine.”
“Fine? ”
“I’ll find out on my own.”
That made me look up.
Eyes wide.
“Wolfe—what did you do?”
He tilted his head. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
“I handled it.”
The room was too small suddenly. Or I was too much. Or he was too much.
“Did you…?”
“No.”
His answer was sharp. Final.
“He’s gone. But not because of me.”
Not directly, was what he didn’t say.
And I didn’t press. Because I didn’t want to know what Wolfe was capable of. I already had an idea. And it terrified me almost as much as it comforted me.
He held out his hand. I stared at it. Then reached for it with fingers that didn’t feel like mine. When he pulled me to my feet, I didn’t stumble. But I came close.
Walking into the Lawlor building felt like stepping into judgment. The lobby lights were too bright. The glass walls too transparent. The click of my heels sounded like alarms. I wore Wolfe’s coat. It swallowed me. Covered the bruises. Covered the fear. But nothing could cover the weight.
People looked. They always did. But today? They stared. Not at the bruises. Not at the coat. At Wolfe. And the fact that I was walking beside him.
Close.
Too close.
The elevator ride was silent. I watched the numbers climb. Pretended I didn’t see Wolfe watching my reflection in the doors like he was memorizing the girl beside him.
When we stepped onto the floor, it was like a needle scratched across the room.
Phones still rang. Keyboards still clicked. But heads turned. One. Then another. Then all at once.
I kept walking. Because stopping would’ve meant admitting something was wrong. And I couldn’t handle that today.
Royal looked up from the glass-walled conference room. His smirk faded the second he saw my face. His expression dropped into something sharp and serious. He stood. Started toward us. Loyal leaned back from the corner near the espresso machine. Crossed his arms. Didn’t blink. Just watched.
Barron stepped out of his office. His eyes went to Wolfe. Then to me. Then to the chain Wolfe had tugged from beneath my blouse two nights ago.
I saw the moment he noticed the bruise. The eye. The swollen lip. His jaw locked. His hands didn’t move. Not clenched. Not fisted. Just still. And that scared me more than anything else.
“Inside.”
His voice didn’t rise.
But the entire floor heard it.
Wolfe moved first. I followed. Barron’s office door closed with a soft snick. The blinds stayed open. Which meant this wasn’t private. This was a performance.
He stepped behind his desk. Didn’t sit. Didn’t tell me to. He stared. For a full ten seconds. Then said?—
“You let someone into your apartment while wearing my name around your throat.”
My stomach clenched. Not because of the way Barron’s voice cracked like thunder?—
But because Wolfe had seen the bruises.
This wasn’t about the day in his office. Not the cramps. Not the heat. This was about the man who’d followed me home. Wolfe tensed beside me. I spoke before either of them could escalate it.
“I didn’t let anyone?—”
“You think this is a fucking game?”
The whisper of rage in Barron’s voice was worse than if he’d shouted.
“You think you can lie your way through this?”
“She’s not lying,” Wolfe said.
“No?” Barron turned his eyes on him. “Then why didn’t she come to us?”
“She came to me.”
That landed like a slap. Even though no one moved. Barron exhaled once. A slow breath.
“And you think that makes it better?”
Royal entered without knocking.
“Hey. Maybe we cool it.”
“No,” Barron snapped. “We don’t.”
He turned to me.
“I gave you one rule, Cloe. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”
I looked at Wolfe.
Then at Royal.
Then back at Barron.
“I didn’t choose this. I didn’t invite it. And I sure as hell didn’t deserve it.”
That silenced the room.
Even Barron.
“She didn’t ask for what happened,” Wolfe said.
His voice was low.
But final.
“And if anyone wants to make her explain it again—they’ll answer to me.”
No one spoke after that .
Not for a long moment.
Barron turned. Faced the window. Didn’t say another word. But I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.