Page 51 of He Knows When You're Awake

His face goes still, eyes cold. “Black ice. A tragic accident.”

My hands stay flat on the desk. Perfectly still. But something cold settles in my chest.

He stares at me for a long moment. “When I’m done, everyone will remember Claire’s genius as mine to share with the world. You’ll be a footnote. A petty business rival who tried to keep her light hidden.”

I stay seated, keeping my voice level. “You can try.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than try.” He heads for the door, then pauses. “You know there are a lot of young designers out there that come close to Claire’s designs. Of course, they aren’t Claire, but they can try. And well... if they fail, there’s always another one. Disposable. Everyone is disposable.”

The door closes behind him. I open the right drawer, running my fingers over the cold metal beneath the files before reaching for my phone.

Knox answers on the first ring. “My office. Now.”

He appears within minutes, closing the door behind him. Knox hasn’t changed since he left Special Forces—same crew cut, same watchful eyes, same ability to blend into the background until needed.

“The man’s unhinged.” I keep my voice low. “He knows about the line and the launch but hasn’t connected all the dots yet.”

Knox nods once. “Does he know about Sloane?”

“No. He thinks I’m going to steal Claire’s designs for this launch. Do what he wants to do.” I slide the drawer shut. “He still plans to launch the fake Claire line. He mentioned he had designers trying to mimic her work. But he still has the February date. So as long as we beat him to the date... But—”

“You’re worried about Sloane?”

“Double her security detail. But quietly. She doesn’t need to know about any of this. He also mentioned ‘disposable designers.’ I’m not sure what that’s all about, but can you look into it?”

Knox leaves without another word. He understands what’s at stake. He was there when Julian started pushing boundaries, when accidents started happening to our competitors. When those accidents turned into something darker.

After Knox leaves, I stand at the window overlooking the city. The streets below are starting to fill with morning traffic. Somewhere out there, Julian’s already putting his next move into play. He’s too close to what I care about most. First Claire’s designs, and now Sloane herself.

I grab my phone, pulling up the security feed of Sloane’s studio. She’s working, completely absorbed in her designs, unaware of the danger circling closer. The knife twist of guilt in my gut is unexpected. I brought her into this war with Julian without telling her the full truth. I told myself it was to protect her, but was it? Or was it to protect my chance at finally destroying him?

Five years I’ve waited, building toward this moment. Sloane’s collection replacing Julian’s forged Claire pieces, hitting him where it hurts. But watching her work, I realize with sudden clarity: If it comes down to revenge or her safety, there’s no choice at all.

If he touches what’s mine, I’ll remind him exactly who he taught me to be.

Chapter TwentyCole

The sound of metal hitting the floor echoes through the studio as I enter. Sloane stands at her workbench, shoulders tight with frustration. The necklace she’d mentioned this morning lies in pieces before her.

“Damn it.” She pushes away from the bench. “Nothing’s working.”

She blows a strand of hair from her face, nose scrunched in concentration. Even when she’s frustrated, it’s impossible to take my eyes off her.

I check my watch. Eight o’clock. “You’ve been at this for twelve hours. Time for a break.”

She doesn’t look up. “I should keep working—”

“You need a break. And after the day we’ve both had, we need a change of scenery.” I take her arm, guiding her away from the bench. “And that’s not a suggestion.”

“If I keep having days like this, the collection won’t be ready.” She lets me help her into her coat anyway, still talking as I find her boots under the workbench. “The metal’s fighting me on every piece. Nothing’s flowing right.”

I kneel down, sliding the boots onto her feet while she steadies herself with a hand on my shoulder. For someone so resistant to being taken care of, she doesn’t pull away.

“The collection will be ready.” I stand, straightening her collar. “You’ve never missed a deadline. And I’ve never backed the wrong horse.” A ghost of a smile touches my lips. “Though you might be the most expensive bet I’ve made.”

The roof access requires my fingerprint and a code. I watch her face as the doors open, catching the exact moment her eyes widen. The entire space has been transformed. State-of-the-art heating lamps line the perimeter, casting golden light across the dark Brazilian wood decking. White fur blankets drape over modern loungers and deep-cushioned sofas, arranged around sleek fire tables. Strings of lights curve overhead, weaving between heated glass pergolas that shelter intimate seating areas while maintaining the view.

But it’s the center of the roof that draws her attention. A professional photography setup gleams under the lights—cameras with lenses that cost more than most cars, soft boxes creating perfect illumination, reflective screens positioned at precise angles. Behind it all stands a backdrop of white silk draped to look like snow drifts, with crystal icicles hanging from an ornate frame above.