Page 161 of Their Arrangement
From what I hadn’t said when he unbuttoned my blouse, when he pressed my own hand to my chest, when he pushed me over the desk and filled me like he’d been holding back a decade of possession.
Barron.
He hadn’t kissed me. Hadn’t whispered anything sweet. But his touch still lived on my skin like something sacred. Or shameful.
I sat up slowly, careful not to shift too much. The corsetstill hugged my ribs, loose from earlier. My panties clung to my skin, damp with aftermath. My thighs pressed together.
Reflex.
And I hated how it still made me feel good.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it with a shaky hand. No messages from Wolfe. Nothing from Barron. Just silence. Until a new notification appeared.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
He’s asking about you again.
I stared.
My stomach dropped.
Another ping.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
He says you owe him something. I told him you were clean. Don’t make me a liar.
I froze.
My fingers went numb.
Selene.
She didn’t sign it.
She didn’t need to.
Another message followed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Get the black book. Or I can’t stop him next time.
I couldn’t breathe. Not because I didn’t know what she meant. Because I did. I knew exactly what black book. And I knew exactly who“he”was.
And if Selene was afraid? Then I should be terrified. I sat up slowly. The ache flared again. Between my legs. In my stomach. In my throat. But it wasn’t just physical. This was something deeper. Something like grief.
Camille’s voice filtered in from a part of me I hadn’t touched in months.You’d never let them turn you into one of us, right?
I’d laughed when she said it. Sworn I was different. Stronger. More self-aware. And now?
Now I was lying naked in a bed that still smelled like Wolfe’s cologne and Barron’s grip. I reached down. Traced the outline of the bruise on my hip. A small mark. Purple-blue. Tender. Proof. That I let them claim me. That I wanted it. And that if I wasn’t careful?—
I was going to break something much bigger than myself.
I got dressed slowly. Not for seduction. For silence. For survival. The hallway outside Barron’s office felt colder than it should’ve. Everything was polished. Ordered. But it felt like walking through a graveyard.
I moved slow. My heels didn’t click this time. I wasn’t trying to be seen. I just needed to see it. To know if the code worked. To know if Camille’s birthday still lived inside something that should’ve been sealed shut.
