Page 43 of Their Arrangement
Her hand lifted. Knuckles brushed the edge of one door. She didn’t knock. She was breathing too hard.
So was I.
I stepped out from behind the column. Her name rose to my lips, but I didn’t say it.
Not yet.
Let her feel me first.
Let her skin tingle before she knew why.
“Cloe.”
She jumped.
Turned.
I was only a few steps away now.
Her eyes widened. She clutched the folder tighter to her chest like it could shield her from the storm building in my chest.
“Wolfe.” Her voice cracked a little. “I didn’t see you.”
No one ever does.
She glanced down at the paper in her hands, then back up like maybe she could pretend she had a reason to be here. That she wasn’t standing in the belly of the empire she once ghosted, wearing its legacy like a second skin.
“Did you need?—?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She stilled.
Her mouth opened. No sound.
“This isn’t your world,” I said. “You don’t belong in it.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You’re not helping.”
Her spine straightened a little. A flicker of the girl Camille used to bring to family dinners—dressed in borrowed silk and barely hiding the hunger in her eyes.
“I didn’t come here to make things worse,” she said softly. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Then you should’ve kept walking.”
Her lip trembled. She bit it. Hard.
“Camille wouldn’t have wanted?—”
“Don’t,” I snapped.
She blinked.
“Don’t you fucking dare speak her name like you still have the right to.”
Her shoulders jerked back like I’d hit her.
