Page 87 of Their Arrangement
Wolfe’s eyes didn’t follow him.
They were on me.
Only me.
Like a claim.
Like punishment.
Likepossessionso deep my lungs stuttered trying to remember how to breathe.
I stood.
My knees wobbled.
Wolfe said nothing.
He just held out his hand.
And when I gave him mine, he gripped it like the leash I’d offered.
“Let’s go,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a verdict.
And I walked out beside him like the sentence was holy.
His apartment was silent when the door shut behind us. Not the kind of silence that feels peaceful. The kind that presses in around your lungs like the beginning of a drowning.
I didn't realize how tightly I was clenching my fists until Wolfe reached for Camille’s necklace and unfastened it. His hands brushed the back of my neck—barely a touch—and still I flinched.
Not because he hurt me.
Because he didn’t.
He set the necklace down on the counter like it was a weapon. Like it was evidence. Like it was hers, and I’d worn it too long.
I stood there. Swaying slightly in heels I couldn’t feel anymore. My lips dry. My throat aching.
I was waiting for him to speak.
He didn’t.
He turned. Walked past me into the dark of the hallway. And when he returned, he held out a glass of water and a folded towel.
“Shower. Now.”
It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t cruel.
But I moved.
Because he told me to.
Because something in his voice made obedience feel holy.
Because I wanted to wash every trace of that bar off my skin before he decided I wasn’t worth saving.
