Page 6 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

“Absolutely,” I agree, feeling a warmth spread through me at the invitation. “Maybe next week? I’ll text you.”

As I make my way back to the elevator, there’s a newfound spring in my step. The insecurity that plagued me earlier has been replaced by a sense of purpose and belonging.

“Chloe!” I hear call from behind me.

Sigh . . . Tyler . . .

I turn reluctantly, plastering on a polite smile as Tyler, the Marketing VP, hurries toward me. His perfectly coiffed hair doesn’t move an inch as he jogs up, flashing me a toothy grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Glad I caught you,” he says, slightly out of breath. “I wanted to chat about your last Instagram post. The engagement was good, but I think we could push it even further.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Tyler, with his business degree and penchant for corporate jargon, always seems to think he knows better than me when it comes to social media strategy.

“Oh?” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “What did you have in mind?”

He launches into a convoluted explanation about hashtag strategies and optimal posting times, peppering his speech with phrases like “synergistic approach” and “vertical integration.” I nod along, mentally counting down the seconds until I can escape.

“...and if we leverage your personal brand more aggressively, we could see a significant uptick in conversions,” he finishes, looking at me expectantly.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that Tyler, despite his annoying demeanor, is technically my superior. “Those are some interesting ideas, Tyler. I’ll definitely take them into consideration for my next post.”

He beams, clearly pleased with himself. “Great! I knew you’d see it my way. Oh, and one more thing, on a personal note—”

But before he can continue, the elevator doors open with a soft ding. I’ve never been so grateful for an interruption in my life.

“Sorry, Tyler, I’ve got to run. I have a shoot scheduled this afternoon,” I say, backing into the elevator. “I’ll email you my content plan for next week, okay?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I’m already jabbing the Close Door button. As the doors slide shut, cutting off his disappointed expression, I let out a sigh of relief.

The elevator descends, and I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment. The contrast between my interactions with Sloane and Tyler couldn’t be starker.

I hail a cab to head to my next appointment—a photoshoot in for a small, up-and-coming jewelry designer. As we crawl through the midday traffic, I find myself comparing the two brands in my mind.

Moth to the Flame, with its sleek offices and corporate structure, offers stability and prestige. But there’s something exciting about working with smaller, independent designers for my other... side project. I have another account that is very much... well... me. It’s a delicate balance, maintaining relationships for both accounts while staying true to my own style and values.

The cab drops me off in front of a converted warehouse in Bushwick. The brick exterior is covered in vibrant murals, a complete opposite to the polished marble of Moth to the Flame’s headquarters. I take a deep breath, centering myself before I step inside.

The interior is a creative chaos of workbenches, tools, and half-finished pieces. The air is thick with the scent of metal and resin. I spot Hailey, the sole designer, hunched over a workbench, her dark curls wild and untamed.

“Chloe!” she exclaims when she sees me, her face lighting up. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve finished the final pieces for the collection.”

As I approach, I marvel at the intricate designs spread out before her. Where Moth to the Flame’s jewelry is rich and decadent, Hailey’s work is darker and edgier. Each piece tells a story, from the rough-hewn silver cuffs embedded with uncut gemstones to the delicate wire sculptures that look like they might take flight at any moment.

“These are incredible, Hail,” I breathe, running my fingers over a necklace that looks like it was woven from moonbeams and stardust. “Your work keeps getting better and better.”

I hate to admit it, because I truly do love Sloane and her designs, but Hailey’s jewelry is much more my style. It’s gothic in nature. Collars, chokers, metal and raw. It’s a blend of BDSM club and Victorian elegance that speaks to my soul in a way Moth to the Flame’s more mainstream pieces never quite manage. Her jewelry feeds the alter ego inside of me. It fuels the “Chlo” as I like to call her.

“Thanks. I really poured my heart into this collection. It’s inspired by ancient myths and legends—you know, the dark, twisted ones that nobody talks about anymore.”

I nod, understanding completely. Hailey has always been drawn to the shadows, finding beauty in the things most people overlook or shy away from. It’s one of the reasons we clicked when we first met at an underground art show two years ago.

“So, are you ready to channel your inner dark goddess for the shoot?” Hailey asks, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously. “Dark, gothic Christmas?”

I grin, feeling a surge of excitement. “You know I am. Let’s bring out Chlo.”

Hailey claps her hands together. “Yes! I’ve got the perfect backdrop set up in the back room. It’s all black velvet and twinkling lights—like a starry night sky.”

As we move to the makeshift studio, I start to shed my professional persona. I change into my favorite little black dress, fishnets, and sexy black pumps. Gone is the polished influencer in her secondhand blazer and knock-off heels. In her place emerges Chlo—edgy, daring, and unapologetically herself.

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