Page 72 of Their Arrangement

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But no one could hear me in here.

And I wasn’t sure who I was begging.

Both hands this time.

My elbow knocked the stall wall. My fingers snagged the lace ribbon but couldn’t pull it loose.

“Come on,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Come on, come on?—”

It didn’t budge.

I slammed my fist softly against the tile. The echo came back harder than expected. I bit my lip and pressed my head into my knees.

“It was just a job. I just needed afuckingjob.”

The tears came hot and silent.

I reached up and tried again.

Still nothing.

I dropped my arms. Wrapped them around myself like I could hold my pieces in.

Camille’s voice echoed across the back of my skull like memory:Don’t ever let them see you bleed, babe. They’ll call it performance art.

She would’ve laughed.

She would’ve torn the corset off in the lobby and told everyone to get a good look.

But Camille was gone.

And I was on the floor of the private bathroom stall, unable to even take off my own clothes.

The door creaked open.

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Not heels.

Boots.

They stopped just outside.

A pause.

Then a knock. Soft.

“Cloe?”

I didn’t move.

Then—

“It’s Loyal.”

His voice was closer now. Right outside.

“I can’t come in if you don’t say yes.”

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