Page 57 of He Knows When You're Awake

After hanging up, I sit there for a long moment, letting everything sink in. Julian Voss. Underground crime rings. Murder. It sounds absurd. Like something out of a movie.

And now Maya, vanished after taking a mysterious new job. The timing makes me feel ill. Is it connected? Or am I letting paranoia take over?

Finally, I push myself up and return to my workstation, immediately aware of the cameras mounted in each corner of my studio.

I pick up my tools, trying to focus on the necklace in front of me, but my hands aren’t steady. The cameras had taken some getting used to. I’d justified them—after all, I’m handling pieces worth more than most people’s homes. Security makes sense. But now my imagination is running wild. What if this whole setup—the penthouse, the studio, the cameras—is something more sinister?

Jesus Christ, Sloane. Stop watching true crime documentaries.

I force the ridiculous thoughts away, but I can’t quite shake the unease as the red recording light blinks steadily. Cole’s watching. He always is. Is he in his office right now, splitting his attention between some multimillion-dollar deal and my live feed? The thought used to make me smile. Now it makes my stomach twist.

I set down my tools. The precious stones scatter across my workspace, catching the light. Just like everything else in my life right now—beautiful, valuable, and sharp enough to draw blood.

I glance around my studio, then at my room down the hall. The room that had been waiting for me when I returned from Switzerland, filled with every single thing from my apartment—clothes organized in custom closets, books arranged on built-in shelves, even my ratty old college sweatshirt folded neatly in a drawer. He’d moved it all while I was gone, an entire life relocated in a singlenight. No discussion, no warning. I’d been too overwhelmed by everything else to question it at the time.

I hit Redial before I can talk myself out of it.

“Seriously?” Chloe answers, laughing. “It’s been like thirty seconds.”

“I’m spiraling. I need to talk more... Quick hypothetical,” I say, keeping my voice barely above a whisper, one hand cupped over my mouth. I have no idea if the cameras pick up audio, or if Cole or his security team can read lips. Better safe than sorry. “What if I needed to leave?”

“Leave as in...?”

“Leaveleave. All of it.”

“Oh shit.” Her voice drops. “The designs?”

I look at the necklace pieces spread across my workspace. The winter collection—mywinter collection. Except it’s not really mine, is it? None of it is. The materials, the studio, even the tools I’m using—it all belongs to Cole. I signed something about that, didn’t I? Pages of legal documents I’d carefully read, too excited about the opportunity to worry about the fine print.

I try to imagine packing up, sneaking out in the middle of the night like some stupid movie scene. The thought makes me laugh out loud—partly because it’s ridiculous, partly because I know I couldn’t do it. Not just because of the legal mess it would create, but because... I don’t want to.

“He’s never given me any reason not to trust him,” I say.

“Except the maybe-murder thing?”

“That’s not him. That’s Julian. And we don’t even know if that’s true.”

“You know,” Chloe says dryly, “most people wait at least an hour before calling back with their murder-related anxiety.”

I think about Cole bringing me coffee in the mornings, asking questions about my design process, genuinely interested inunderstanding how I work. The way he geeks out over engineering specs with the manufacturing team. How he notices when I’m stuck on a design and gives me space to work through it.

Those aren’t the actions of someone playing an elaborate game. Are they?

“You know... like I said,” Chloe says after a moment, “you could just ask him.”

“I told you, you can’t just blurt out something like this,” I hiss into the phone. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Cole, quick question—are you involved with the mob? Also, why are there cameras everywhere? Oh, and by the way, moving all my stuff without asking was kind of weird.’ He’s going to think I’m insane. Or worse, he’ll be offended that I even considered...”

“Not exactly what I meant.” I can hear her rolling her eyes. “But yeah, actually. Talk to him. About everything. That’s kind of how relationships work.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him,” I say. “I need to anyway—I’m drowning with this deadline. I could really use an assistant to help with the collection. Maybe he’ll let me bring someone on.”

“Oh!” Chloe’s voice brightens. “You need Hailey. She’s an incredible designer and I’ve worked with her before—she does these amazing gothic-inspired pieces. I’ve worn some of her stuff in my shoots. She’s between projects right now.”

I hesitate, and Chloe adds quickly, “Trust me, she’s perfect for what you’re doing. Her aesthetic is exactly what your collection needs.”

I think about some of the dramatic pieces Chloe has worn in her photos—beautiful but with a dangerous elegance to them. Perfect for what the Midnight Frost collection is becoming. “Wait a minute. Wouldn’t Hailey be crazy to work here after everything she found out?”

“Are you kidding?” Chloe snorts. “When I mentioned youmight need help, she literally said ‘Potential mob ties and a chance to design luxury jewelry? That’s literally my jam.’”