To his room.
Killian’s door was unlocked. I slipped inside and shut the door behind me. The room felt different without him in it. Bigger. Colder. His jacket hung over the back of a chair. His boots sat near the door. His bed was still unmade, the sheets twisted like he hadn’t slept.
Probably because of me. I’d given him enough to think about when he was alone.
I walked toward the bed slowly, my fingers brushing the fabric. My chest tightened, something unfamiliar pressing against my ribs. I ignored it. I wasn’t here for that. But I couldn’t help myself.
I moved to his jacket next. Lifted it. Pressed my face into the collar. Leather. Smoke. His skin. I inhaled deeper than I should have. I had planned on using him. That hadn’t changed. But I hadn’t planned on liking him.
That was the problem.
Killian Hart was supposed to be a means to an end—a dangerous man I could point in the direction of my enemies and let him do what men like him did best. But he wasn’t violent with me. He wasn’t mean to me. He was exactly what I had read: controlled and calculating. Just not when it came to me. And that made me sad because I probably wouldn’t get to keep him.
I set the jacket down before I wasted too much time. Focus.
The case was exactly where I expected it to be: under his bed. I crouched and flipped it open. Inside were three guns. My fingers hovered for a second; I didn’t know their names. I didn’tneed to. I took out the one that looked closest to the one Killian always carried. I checked it the way I’d seen him do.
It was loaded.
I pointed it and aimed like he’d taught me. He wouldn’t miss it right away. Olivia would probably keep him away from the room for hours, showing him off. Her and her daddy had that in common; they were both braggadocious.
I closed the case exactly how I found it. Then I slipped the gun into the waistband of my shorts at the small of my back and pulled my shirt down over it. I moved back toward the window.
The tree waited. I climbed out of the window and up it like I had a hundred times before—back to the attic. I slipped inside and hid the gun beneath the loose floorboard.
The next part was hours away. I needed a nap.
Mary came back at dinner and woke me up. “They’re setting the table,” she said quietly. “Caspian’s already here.”
I nodded once. My heartbeat picked up. Mary leaned against the door, wringing her hands; she was scared for me. I started removing my clothes until I was standing there in nothing but a bra and panties.
Mary spoke. “Chloe… this is dangerous.”
“I know,” I said.
She didn’t argue. She left.
I moved to the window again and climbed down the tree. The kitchen entrance was unlocked—servants moving in and out, too busy to notice one more body slipping through the door, even half-naked. I hurried toward the dining room. I heard the gasp from the staff before I got there, but I was so close. I could hear the voices clearly. Laughter. Glasses clinking.
The dining room came into view slowly. A long table sat in the middle. Caspian was at the far end, leaning back in his chair. Olivia was glowing under attention that didn’t belong toher. Ava was watching everything with sharp, calculating eyes. Arthur was talking too loud, too confident.
And Killian was nowhere to be seen. But I knew he was there. I just needed to make enough noise for him to come running.
I stepped fully into the doorway. Nobody noticed me at first. Then someone did. Then another person did. Conversation stuttered. Forks stopped mid-air. Glasses hovered just before lips.
One by one, their heads turned toward me. Toward the girl they kept locked in the attic, standing in the doorway in nothing but lace and silence.
For a second—just one—I almost smiled.
Chapter 17: Chloe
Everything and everybody was just frozen for one minute. Then everything broke.
A chair scraped back. “What the hell—” someone muttered.
Olivia’s head snapped toward me. The color drained from her face so fast it was almost satisfying. “Chloe—” she gasped.
Arthur didn’t even say my name. His chair hit the floor behind him as he crossed the distance in three long strides. He moved faster than I expected. His hand wrapped around my arm, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.