Page 166 of Their Arrangement
Emptied.
I sat at my desk and opened my laptop, but nothing made sense. Every number blurred. Every word meant less than the last. Because all I could hear was his voice?—
You have until the end of the week.
That wasn’t a deadline. It was a line in the sand. And no matter which side I chose, someone was going to bleed. Maybe it would be me. Maybe that’s what I wanted.
Because at least if I bled, I wouldn’t have to choose.
23
CLOE
The walkto 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 forgethow to fill.
