I pushed myself up slowly, my back hitting the headboard. Chloe was sitting in the chair across from the bed, one leg tucked beneath her, my shirt hanging off her shoulder like it belonged there. My shirt. The sleeves swallowed her hands. The collar dipped low enough to show the curve of her collarbone. She was watching the raindrops through the window. A laptop, which I assumed Cartier had gotten for her, sat open. An open phone box lay beside it.
“How did you know you could use me like you did? That I’d participate?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my face. No preamble. No “good morning.” I needed to know.
Chloe stilled, then turned her chair to face me, crossing her long legs. “I didn’t know. I gambled. I heard them say they had a guest coming; they kept talking about you, made you seem like a superhero. They were going to use you, too—to help silence me. When I found out your name, I spent weeks reading about you. I knew you were supposed to marry me, but they were planning to marry you off to Olivia instead. I guess you liked alost cause better than a vapid socialite. I just had to grab your attention.”
She stood up and walked toward me, hips swaying, her face relaxed for the first time since I’d met her. Freedom looked good on her.
“I watched you from that window the day you arrived,” she continued. “I saw how you looked at Arthur—the disgust you couldn’t quite hide. You’re a man of honor, Killian. And men of honor are the easiest to manipulate because they can’t stand to see a game rigged against someone like me.”
She wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part.
“When did you know I was using you?” she asked.
“When you called me by my last name,” I said finally. “I said Killian; you called me Mr. Hart from the tree.”
Her lips parted slightly. “Oh.”
“And you didn’t ask me anything,” I added. “Not where I lived. Not why I was there. Not what I did.” I leaned in, my voice dropping. “You already knew.”
Her chest rose slowly.
“What part was real?” I asked, my voice lower now. “Any of it?”
She held my gaze and crawled onto the bed, close enough that I could feel her heat. “Does it matter?” she asked softly.
“It does to me.”
“Then yes,” she said. “Some of it was real.”
“Which parts?”
She reached out, her fingers brushing my jaw. “The way you looked at me at the lake,” she said. “That was real. The way you wanted me—that was real.”
My jaw tightened. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know that.”
“I know.” Her hand slid down, resting briefly over my shirtless chest. It stopped right where my heart was; it sped up.“And the way I felt when you touched me,” she added quietly. “That was real. That surprised me. How much I wanted you.”
“I planned everything else,” she continued. “But this—” She splayed her fingers against my chest. “What’s between us… I didn’t plan. You were so careful with me in that house, Killian,” she whispered, her voice a low vibration against my lips. “Like I might fall apart if you touched me too hard.”
She said it like an admission she didn’t fully trust. Her lips brushed mine again. “I liked that about you. It made my body feel… returned to me. If I said stop, you stopped. You treated me like I was precious. For a second, I wasn’t something being handled,” she said. “Or managed. Or… used up. You let me belong to myself.”
She gave me one of those same grins she’d used when she thought she was manipulating me back in that attic. I caught her wrist before she could pull away.
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“I still think you’re trying to play me with this confession.” I couldn’t help the bit of insecurity.
She leaned in, her breath warm against my lips, smelling of the coffee she’d been drinking. The playfulness in her eyes dissipated.
“I’m not playing, Killian. If I were playing like I was back at the house, I’d be telling you I’m terrified. I’d be asking you what happens next.” She tilted her head, her dark waves spilling over my arm. “I don’t have to play innocent or needy because you’ve done your part. You got me past the gates. I don’t need your help anymore.”
My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice grating like gravel. “Mission accomplished, then you move on?”
I had known what she was doing; I had just never thought she’d be so callous about it as to tell me outright. So, this was the real Chloe. She didn’t flinch at the edge in my tone. Instead, she let her fingers curl around my shirt, the tips of her nails grazing my skin.
“It’s a good thing, Killian,” she whispered, her lips almost brushing mine. “Wouldn’t you rather be wanted than needed? Someone needing you so much their life depends on it feels like a weight. It’s what I had to do to survive.”
