It was a little after noon when we pulled up to a boutique in Canal Plaza. Elara led the way.
“This is a friend of mine’s shop. I asked her to close it for me.”
Chloe paused mid-step. She turned slowly. “You did that for me?”
“Yes. For you. Staff sent home. Appointments rescheduled.” Elara glanced over her shoulder, her expression soft. “I know you’re not used to people yet.”
Chloe blinked fast, like she was trying to keep something from slipping. Aris had been right about Elara.
Elara took charge immediately. “Don’t take offense, pretty girl, but let’s shower first. Get the smell of hotel soap and this bitter New Orleans earth off you.” She handed her a toiletry bag. “This is Molton Brown. I swear it will change your skin.”
She paused, eyeing Chloe’s silhouette. “What’s your bra size?”
Chloe dropped her head. “I don’t know.”
Elara pulled a silk robe off the rack, then walked a few steps away and came back with a bra. “I don’t know if Killian told you, but I run a lingerie company. I’m good at guessing sizes, and you look like a 40DD.” She handed her another bag. “One of these sets will work for you.”
Chloe stared at the silk in her hands, her fingers trembling as they brushed the delicate lace. For fourteen years, she’d worn whatever was thrown her way. She looked at me, her eyes wide and searching. Before I could say anything, Elara gently nudged her toward the back of the boutique.
Elara turned to me. “It’s okay. She’s just fifty feet away. Stop looking like you think she’s going to disappear,” she teased.
I felt the muscle in my jaw tick. The protective instinct I’d been living with for a little over a week refused to stand down just because the surroundings were luxury instead of an attic.
“I’m not worried about her disappearing,” I said, though the lie tasted like the bitter coffee we’d had earlier. “I’m worried about her breaking. She’s had more transitions in the last forty-eight hours than most people have in a decade. You didn’t see her in that attic. Something’s going to give, and when it does—”
Elara nodded, already moving. She walked over to a small bar in the corner and poured two fingers of something expensive into a crystal glass.
“I don’t know, Killian,” she said, handing it to me. “She doesn’t look like a breaker. If she survived what you told me, she’ll adapt.”
My eyes drifted toward the back of the boutique. I thought about the girl in the attic—sharp, watchful, always calculating. Then I thought about the way she’d just stood in front of Elara. Quiet. Still. Taking everything in instead of fighting it. Not shrinking. Learning. Adjusting.
Elara followed my gaze, a small, knowing smile pulling at her mouth. “People like her,” she continued, “they shed their old skin and grow something thicker.”
I took the glass, but my grip tightened around it. She probably would adapt. That was the part that unsettled me.
“Now sit,” Elara added lightly. “Drink. And let her model for you.”
I didn’t sit. I stayed where I was, eyes fixed on the back of the boutique. I could hear the faint hiss of the shower. I was happy for her, but a dark, selfish part of me wondered what came after. She was gorgeous. Strong. Ten years younger than me. And right now, I was the only world she knew.
I knew what hero worship looked like. I’d seen it in the field—the way people clung to the first person who offered them a way out. That scared me. Because in a week, she had me feeling like I belonged to her. And once the lawyers were finished—once she had her money, her name, her freedom—would she still want me? Or would I just be a reminder of where she came from?
“Stop brooding, Killian,” Elara said, amusement threading through her voice. “The water stopped. She’s coming out.”
She picked up an armful of clothes and disappeared toward the back. I gripped the glass, my heart beating heavier than I liked. I stayed in the main showroom, the silence of the empty boutique pressing in.
Chloe stepped out.
My breath caught. Her hair was slightly damp and wavy, framing her face. The emerald green wrap dress clung to her like it had been made for her. It dipped low at the neckline, showing the hollow of her throat—and more than enough of her breast to make my mouth go dry.
Elara stepped in behind her and gave a low whistle. “Killian?”
I didn’t answer. I was already moving. Chloe watched me come, her hands fidgeting at her sides.
“You’re staring,” she whispered.
“I know.”
My hand found her ass. It was soft and I could feel the heat under my palm. Her breath hitched. My hand movedhigher, letting my fingers dance up the curve of her ribs. She shivered.
