Page 40 of He Knows When You're Awake

Tell me again why I agreed to dinner?” I hold my phone closer to my face, watching Chloe roll her eyes on the screen.

“Because you’re into him. And he’s into you. And honestly? The sexual tension is exhausting just hearing about it.”

“But the cameras—”

“The cameras that you were literally performing for this morning?” She raises an eyebrow. “The ones you admitted make you hot?”

“I’m actually looking forward to them now,” I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “What is wrong with me?”

“You’ve gone full Stockholm syndrome, and I am HERE for it.” Chloe’s grin is wicked, but it fades when she sees my expression. “What’s really bothering you?”

“I’ve worked so hard to get here.” I sink onto the edge of my bed. “Ten years of apprenticeships, studying metallurgy, learning from masters. I don’t want anyone looking at this collection and thinking I got it because I’m sleeping with the investor.”

“Stop.” Chloe leans closer to her camera. “Cole Asher has a reputation for being ruthless with his investments. You really think he’d risk millions on a jewelry line just because he wants to get laid? Please.” She rolls her eyes. “He chose you because you’re brilliant at what you do. The fact that you two can’t keep your hands off each other doesn’t change that.”

I think about the way Cole watches me work, how he asks questions about my process, the vintage pieces he keeps finding that align perfectly with what I’m trying to create.

“Hey, have you heard anything about Maya?” I try to keep my voice casual.

“No, actually. It’s weird. She hasn’t posted anything in like two weeks. A few people from Moth to the Flame are starting to ask questions.” Chloe tilts her head. “Why? Have you heard from her?”

“No, and that’s what’s bothering me. She’s never offline this long. Not even when she went to Bali last year.” I shrug, but my stomach tightens.

The silence is so unlike Maya. She’s the person who posts every day’s breakfast. Something about her silence feels wrong. Like there’s a piece of a puzzle I’m missing, and it might be important. And here I am, letting myself get distracted by hot chocolate and near kisses at Rockefeller Center, designer dresses and vintage jewelry. I’ve read enough thrillers to know how this usually ends for the girl who ignores the warning signs because she’s too caught up in the fantasy.

“Hey.” Chloe’s voice softens. “I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she’s just doing a digital detox.”

I nod. She’s probably right, but I make a mental note to do some digging of my own.

“So stop overthinking and show me what you’re wearing.”

I turn the camera toward my bed, where another perfectly curated outfit waits. The deep blue dress catches the light, but it’s what’s beside it that makes me pause—a vintage diamond and sapphire necklace. The note underneath reads:I want to watch the diamonds rest against your throat while you remember who put them there.

“Holy shit,” Chloe breathes. “That’s—”

“A lot.”

“Put it on,” Chloe insists. “I need to see it.”

I stare at the dress, torn. “I don’t know. He’s so controlling already. If I wear exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants it...” I pick up the note again. “Who does he think he is, telling me what to wear?”

“The same man you were teasing with a camera show this morning,” Chloe points out. “Come on, just try it on. For me.”

“It feels like giving in,” I say, but my fingers are already running over the fabric. The dress is gorgeous. Exactly what I would have chosen for myself. And the necklace...

“Submittingcan be fun sometimes.” Chloe grins. “Besides, didn’t he say something about not asking twice? On second thought, maybedon’twear it. I wanna know what he’ll do...”

I bite my lip, remembering his text. The thought of pushing him further is tempting, but something tells me this isn’t a boundary I want to test. Not tonight.

“Fine. Reverse psychology for the win,” I say, and we both laugh.

I send Chloe a photo once I’m dressed, endure her squealing about how perfect everything is, and promise to tell her everything tomorrow. My hand trembles slightly as I fasten the necklace, the diamonds cool against my skin.

At eight sharp, Cole knocks on my door. His eyes land on the necklace, lingering there long enough that I forget to breathe.

“Turn around,” he says, his voice low with something that’s not quite approval. Something darker. When I do, his fingers brush the nape of my neck, adjusting the clasp. “Perfect,” he murmurs against my ear. “You decided to listen after all.”

I turn to face him, trying to keep my voice steady. “Was there really a choice?”