Page 191 of Their Arrangement
I didn’t stop.
Didn’t see the truck until too late—metal scraped along the side of the Audi.
A scream of steel.
A mirror rippedoff.
Didn’t stop. Didn’t fucking stop. Because in my head, she was still on that floor. Still bleeding. Still whispering my name like it might save her.
I hit the next corner too fast.The tires lost grip. The car spun once, clipped a barricade, jolted hard enough to make the airbag alert scream.
I didn’t let it deploy. Didn’t let anything stop me. I needed blood. I needed a name. I needed a body at my feet and the world to know:
You don’t touch what’s mine and breathe afterward.
I skidded to a stop outside Mason’s facility. The Audi door flung open. My boots hit pavement.
Fast.
Hard.
Every muscle in my body screaming?—
Not with pain. But with purpose.
28
CLOE
I woke to silence.
Not the kind I was used to. Not the kind that made the world feel far away. This silence was built. It felt like protection. Like someone had put it there for me. Like someone had fought to keep it.
The sheets beneath me were too smooth. Too crisp. They didn’t smell like detergent. They smelled like him. That sharp, clean mix of cedar and cold. A scent I’d only caught in passing before—brushed against in the hallway, lingering in his office.
Now it was wrapped around me like a second skin. The bed was too big. The mattress barely dipped beneath my weight. Like no one had ever slept on this side before.
I turned my head. Looked at the other half. Untouched. The pillows still fluffed. Perfect. Like he hadn’t even dared to lie down.
I swallowed. Hard. The bruise on my cheek pulsed. Not sharp. Just constant. A dull throb that tugged at the corner of my mouth when I tried to move it.
I licked my lips. Tasted blood I didn’t remember. Wolfe’sshirt clung to me. Soft. Too soft. The sleeves hung past my wrists. The hem brushed mid-thigh. It smelled like him too. I didn’t know if it made me feel safe or sick.
I sat up slowly. Everything ached. My ribs. My shoulders. My thighs. The space between my legs where Wolfe had once touched me like a secret. And now? Now that same body curled in on itself like it didn’t know how to move anymore.
The hallway was dim. Muted light filtered through the blinds. Warm. Unfamiliar.
Something smelled like coffee. I padded barefoot to the doorway. The floors were cold. Too clean. Like no one actually lived here. Like the apartment was curated—not used.
He was in the kitchen. Barefoot. Dark shirt. Tablet in one hand. Coffee in the other. I froze in the archway. He didn’t look up right away. Then?—
“Morning, bruise girl.”
I flinched. Not because it hurt. Because I hadn’t expected his voice. I hadn’t expected him. He looked at me then. Fully. Eyes sharp. But not unkind.
“Jesus,” he muttered, setting the tablet down.
“Relax. I’m not going to bite.”
