Page 38 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

I don’t know how she does it. I don’t know why she still pulls me in after everything. I hate New York. But she’s here, so I’m here.

Tonight, she’s hosting a dinner party. A Friendsgiving, even though these people aren’t really her friends but neighbors. That’s Charlotte for you. Good at being fake.

She’s wearing a simple cocktail dress—nothing extraordinary, but to me, it’s perfect. The way her fingers delicately trace the rim of her wine glass, the way her lips press together, like she’s holding something back. She doesn’t seem to notice how much attention she draws. But I do. I always do.

I focus in on the guest standing opposite her, a man I’ve never seen before. His posture is slightly off—too relaxed, too eager. He’s leaning in a little too much, trying to engage her with a smile that’s more confident than sincere. But she’s humoring him, tilting her head just so, listening to him, eyes wide and unblinking. There’s a soft tension in the air between them, something unspoken but undeniably there.

She offers him a polite smile as he shakes her hand, and it’slike watching a performance. She’salwaysperforming, always in control, but with him—it’s different. I see it in the way she angles her body toward him, the way she tilts her head as if she’s curious. Not in the usual, calculated way she does with others—no, this is genuine. This isnew.

And I know right then he’s not going to be like the others. Not like the men who’ve come in and out of her life. I can tell from the set of his jaw that he’s aware of her power, of the quiet magnetism she exudes. And I can see she’s aware of it too. She always knows.

They’re laughing about something—probably trivial—but there’s a palpable chemistry between them that unsettles me. His laugh is too loud, his gestures too broad, trying too hard. She’s amused, though, genuinely so.

It’s the way she looks at him It’s subtle—imperceptible to anyone else—but I see it. She’s intrigued. Interested. The way her gaze lingers on him is something I rarely see.She’sinvested.

It hasn’t even been five minutes. Women.

I zoom in closer, my eyes tracing the way her fingers curl around her glass, the faint shift in her posture as she leans slightly toward him. She doesn’t touch him. Not yet. But she might. She might.

She most definitely will.

My finger hovers over the screen, and I pause the video feed for a moment, letting the silence settle in my chest like a knot. I can’t stop watching. Something in me twists uncomfortably. It’s not jealousy, no. It’s something else. A dark curiosity. The need to see this play out. To know how far she’s willing to go.

When I press play, they’re talking again, the words lost to me. His laugh rings out, and she smiles, her eyes bright, unguarded. It’s an expression I haven’t seen on her in years—genuine enjoyment.For him.Not for me.

She takes a step back, glancing down at her phone briefly, then back at him. I wonder if she’s lost herself inhim yet. If she can even remember what it feels like to be wanted by someone without playing the game. She knows how to make men crave her. How to make them feel like they’re the only ones who matter.

But there’s something different about this one. He’s not like the others. He’s too sure of himself. Too self-contained, in a way that makes him dangerous. He doesn’t need her to make a move. But she will. She always does.

I see it in the way she adjusts her posture again to match his, the subtle shift of her hips, how she touches her hair just a little too casually. She’s playing the game. She’s inviting him to play with her. She’s still working out the rules.

He steps closer. The space between them narrows. There’s a flash of something in his eyes—something possessive.

But Charlotte, with all her curated charm, doesn’t pull away. She leans in, just enough to test the waters, to see how far she can push, to see how far he’ll go. And when she smiles—when shereallysmiles—there’s something unsettling in it. Something almosttoowelcoming. Too inviting. She doesn’t see the danger, or maybe she does and she just doesn’t care.

I can feel my pulse quicken, my breath hitch. It’s not just her smile that has me fixated—it’s the way she makes him feel like he’s the only one who matters. And that motherfucker believes it.

They stand there for a few moments, her apartment full of people, but it’s as though they’ve forgotten about everyone else. It’s just the two of them now, suspended in this quiet, intense bubble. He reaches out, brushing his fingertips against her wrist in a gesture that’s too bold for someone who isn’t already certain of his place in her world.

She doesn’t recoil.

Instead, she lets the touch linger. And then, almost imperceptibly, her body shifts forward again, aligning with his in that familiar dance I’ve watched her perform countless timesbefore. The magnetism between them is undeniable. It’s so raw, so charged, that it practically jumps through the fucking screen. I might kill her. I will definitely kill him.

Most likely, I’m not going to kill anyone.

She can’t be this stupid. Can she?

My grip tightens on my phone. I’m just about to chuck it at the wall. But I can’t. Not yet. I have to know.

What’s she going to do next?

Her lips part as if she’s about to speak. My heart stutters in my chest. There’s something darkly intoxicating about this moment, watching her—waitingto see what she’ll do. What she’ll let happen. How far she’s going to take this.

It’s almost too much.

But I can’t stop watching.

And just before she opens her mouth, just before she makes the choice, her daughter wanders into the kitchen.

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