Page 82 of Their Arrangement
Not the assistants.
Not the staff.
Them.
And if they wanted a doll?
I’d make sure I was the one they couldn’t put down.
11
CLOE
The bar didn’t glow.It bled.
Low amber lights smeared across polished bottles like the ghosts of every bad decision that had ever been made under them. The floor was wet from something that hadn’t been cleaned properly—beer or bleach or the memory of both. Every time my heel touched down, it stuck just enough to make me wince. Just enough to remind me I shouldn’t be here.
But I stayed.
Because leaving meant going home. And going home meant facing silence. Not peaceful silence. Not solitude. No. The kind of silence that lives under your skin. The kind that sits beside you in the dark and whispersyou did this to yourself.
My thighs were damp. Not from want—sweat and dread. I sat too long in this booth. I couldn’t remember when I ordered my last drink. I only knew the glass in front of me was empty and my fingertips were shaking as I reached for it again anyway.
The bartender looked at me once. Then stopped.
The man three seats down licked his lips when he thought I wasn’t looking.
He looked a little like Wolfe. And a little like he wanted to be him.
My phone sat face-down on the sticky table, its cracked screen glowing faint blue beneath the condensation of my drink.
One buzz.
Then silence.
Not a message. A battery warning.
10% left.
That felt appropriate.
I picked it up. Opened the thread I hadn’t touched since the last time he looked at me like I was something he was trying not to ruin.
Wolfe Lawlor.
No nickname. No emoji. Just the name. Just the weight.
My thumb hovered.
Typed:
I told Camille everything about you.
I think that’s why she kept you away from me. Especially after what happened all those years ago between us.
The memory oftheir houseall those years ago rose inside me, dragging with it the same desperate hunger. I was just a kid and he waseverything,I didn’t send the message.
I stared at it.
