I hang up before he can finish the rest.
The silence afterward is heavy. The kind that sinks into your bones. I drop the phone onto the couch and drag both hands through my hair. It’s the same conversation, every damn time, the same wall of polite refusal, the same tone of bureaucratic indifference.
I should have known this would happen. I should have expected the rejections. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier to breathe.
My chest feels tight.
This was supposed to be my reset. A small apartment, a quiet school, a chance to just exist without the chaos of my father’s name following me. But now I’m back where I started. I’m broke, cornered, and running out of people to call.
I sink onto the couch, elbows on my knees. The window hums softly with traffic noise from the street below. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails.
And then there’s a knock on my door.
Three short taps.
My pulse jumps.
For a second, I just sit there, frozen. Nobody ever comes here. Not without texting first. My first thought is Miles.
Seeing that man outside Marano’s office really messed with me.
Another knock.
I swallow hard and cross the room. My fingers tremble when I reach for the handle, but when I pull the door open, it’s not either of them.
It’s Jamie.
Relief rushes through me so fast I almost lose balance. “Oh my God,” I whisper.
Before I can stop myself, I step forward and throw my arms around him. He’s solid and warm, smelling faintly of smoke and leather. For a second, I just stay there, pressed against him,my body shaking with all the adrenaline that’s been coiled tight inside me for hours.
“Hey,” he says softly, his arms coming around me. “What’s wrong?”
I step back, brushing a hand under my nose. “It’s… it’s a long story.”
He studies me and there’s something different in his eyes.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’ve been better,” I say, trying to force a smile. “Do you happen to know a good lawyer?”
He doesn’t answer. His gaze flickers over my face, down to my hair. When his fingers brush through it, I wince without meaning to. It’s instinctive—the same spot my father had grabbed, pulling hard enough to make my scalp sting. I pull back fast, embarrassed.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
He frowns. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a headache,” I lie. Then, to change the subject: “You didn’t answer my question. Know a lawyer?”
But he’s not listening. His jaw tightens, his blue eyes restless.
“Jamie?”
He looks at me then, like he’s made some decision he hates. “Chloe, I need you to trust me.”
I blink. “Okay…”
He takes a deep breath. “You need to pack a bag and leave the country. Tonight.”
