Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“You don’t get to make that call!” I’m shouting now, weeks of stress and exhaustion fueling my anger. “You don’t get to decide what risks I take, what battles I fight. That was my choice, and you took it from me.”
“Sloane, please—”
“No.” I shake my head, tears threatening. “I’m done being a pawn in your game.”
“Sloane.” Cole reaches for me, and this time I let him. “They’re safe. Julian won’t—”
“You don’t know that.” I press my face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. “I don’t want them followed. I don’t want any of this. I just want him to go away.”
His arms tighten around me. “I know.”
But I can hear what he doesn’t say: wanting something doesn’t make it happen. And this isn’t going away.
I should protest. Should insist my friends don’t need to be dragged into this world of shadows and threats. But all I can think about is Chloe’s bright laugh, Hailey’s fierce loyalty, my mother’s quiet strength. And I know—if anything happened to them because of me . . .
The thought stops me cold. Because of me, and my choices. Because somewhere between his first arrogant smile and this moment, I’ve fallen in love with Cole Asher. The realization hits me like a physical force. Love. When did that happen? And of course it would dawn on me now, discussing Russian mobsters and surveillance teams.
I pull away from him suddenly, like his touch burns. The cruel irony isn’t lost on me—realizing I love him at the exact moment I can’t trust him anymore.
“I need to go.” My voice is surprisingly steady. “Take me to Chloe’s place.”
“Sloane, it’s late, and after what just happened—”
“Take me to Chloe’s.” I don’t phrase it as a request this time. “Or I’ll call a cab.”
“Be reasonable,” Cole says, frustration edging into his voice. “It’s not safe for you to be alone right now.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Chloe.” I meet his gaze defiantly. “And I’m pretty sure I’m safer away from you at this point.”
I see the hurt flash across his face, but I’m too angry to care. Too scared. Too everything.
“We’ll drive you,” Cole says finally, his voice tight.
“Fine.” I turn toward the window, watching the city lights blur as tears fill my eyes.
The rest of the ride passes in tense silence. I can feel Cole watching me, can sense the words he wants to say building in the air between us. But he doesn’t speak, and neither do I.
What could he possibly say now that would make any of this okay?
I think about the collection waiting in my studio, all those hours of work, the joy I felt creating each piece. Was any of it real? Or was I just playing my part in Cole’s revenge story all along?
Was I just Claire Voss 2.0?
When the car finally stops outside Chloe’s house, I don’t wait for Knox to open my door. I reach for the handle, then pause, still facing forward.
“I need time,” I say quietly. “Don’t call me. Don’t send security. Don’t do anything.”
“Sloane—”
“I mean it, Cole.” I finally turn to look at him, hating the way my heart still lurches at the sight of his face. “It’s my turn to decide what happens next. I’m the one in control. Not you.”
I don’t wait for his response. I slip out of the car and into the cold night air, not looking back even when I hear his door open, even when I hear him call my name. I keep walking until I reach Chloe’s door, until I’m safely inside the house, until I can finally let the tears fall.
Chapter Thirty-Two Sloane
I reach across the bed, half-asleep, my fingers searching for warmth. For Cole. The space beside me is empty, and reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water. I’m not in the penthouse. I’m at Chloe’s house, in her guest room with its pastel blue walls and framed motivational quotes. Last night’s fight with Cole replays in my mind, his face when I demanded to come here instead of home.
I rub my eyes, which feel raw and puffy. My phone shows it’s almost ten. I never sleep this late, but then again, I don’t usually cry myself to sleep either.
The smell of coffee drifts in, along with something sweet. Not Chloe’s usual breakfast smoothie concoction. I drag myself out of bed, pulling on the oversize NYU sweatshirt I borrowed from her last night after showing up at her door with nothing but my purse and a broken heart.
“Morning, sunshine!” Chloe chirps when I shuffle into her kitchen. She’s wearing a red-and-green apron with tiny elves prancing across it, her hair piled on top of her head.
“Morning,” I mumble, eyeing the chaos spread across her normally pristine countertops. Bowls of colored icing. Cookie cutters. Sprinkles in little dishes. “What’s all this?”