His voice brushed my ears.
Soft.
Final.
“Pick it up.”
My hands trembled, fingers flexing against the marble. But I obeyed.
Obedience was breath now. Survival. Love. I picked up the phone—hands shaking, heart hammering, breath catching on the leash taut against my pulse. The screen glowed against my skin.
The message:
It doesn’t have to be this way, Cloe.
Bring us the fucking book.
I shuddered.
Wolfe leaned closer. His voice a leash pulling breath straight from my lungs.
“Call him.”
“Set up the meeting.”
I nodded. Tears sliding silent down my cheeks. Worship offered to the marble. Breath offered to the chain. Heart offered to the man who owned every survival left in my body.
I called—hands trembling, voice steady.
Even in this, I chose Wolfe. I chose breath. I chose love. The phone shook in my hands. The leash burned against my throat. Wolfe said nothing. He didn’t need to. His silence pressed heavier against my ribs than chains ever could.
Us.
The word tasted like ash, like a ghost clawing for breath that no longer belonged to it.
Us didn't exist anymore. I didn't exist anymore. Only worship. Only breath. Only Wolfe. I waited. Kneeling. Trembling. Phone glowing in my hand like a curse. Until Wolfe tugged the leash once.
A small, sharp pull. Permission. Command. Law.
I pressed the call button. The leash tightened immediately—not to choke me, but to keep me breathing, to remind me who I survived for now. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Every beat of the ringtone hammering against my ribs like a second leash.
Four.
Five.
Then—
he answered.
The ex.
The boy who once promised freedom if I ran fast enough. The boy who once taught me to lie louder than my breath. The boy who would die at Wolfe’s feet by the time this was over.
“Cloe?”
His voice broke through the line. Soft. Wounded. Desperate.
I didn’t speak. Not at first. The leash stayed tight. Breath locked. Worship coiled. Waiting.
