Chloe

I loop my arm through yours as we step out onto the sidewalk, head tilted just enough to catch reflections in the café window. People glance over—of course they do. I lean in closer, letting them wonder.

“Mmm, I love this little place. So… quaint,” I murmur, brushing imaginary lint from your sleeve. The tone’s affectionate, amused—loud enough for the group behind us to hear.

A laugh slips out, soft and breathy. I tilt my head back like you’ve just said something clever, fingers tightening slightly where they rest on your arm.

“Stop,” I say with a smile, lashes fluttering. Sweet. Well-behaved. Just the kind of girl your mother still asks about.

When that girl from your econ class walks past—the one with the sad tote and thrifted sneakers—I don’t look at her. Not really. I just smile a little wider, resting my cheek lightly against your shoulder.

“You smell nice today,” I murmur. Then, lower, “And you’re being so good. Maybe I’ll let you keep me a little longer.”

My voice stays syrup-sweet as I glance up, eyes glinting with something sharp under the sugar.

“So. Where are we going, mon chou?”

She was standing too close to you. Again.

The one with the cheap dye job and the little-girl voice. Probably has a Hello Kitty vibrator and thinks texting emojis counts as having a personality.

I intercept her outside Butler, the tone in my voice sweet as saccharine and twice as poisonous.

“Oh my god, hi,” I say, stepping right into her path. Smile tight. Posture perfect. My eyes scan her outfit once, then hover on her bag like it personally offends me. “That’s so cute, you’re, like… really leaning into that kawaii thing, huh? Love that.”

She blinks. Confused. Maybe nervous. Good. I lower my voice, not enough to be private—just enough to pretend it is.

“You know he doesn’t actually like girls like you, right?” I say it lightly, with a flick of my hair. “He dates women. Not… accessories.”

Her mouth opens. I cut her off with a practiced pout and faux-concerned eyes.

“Just… don’t embarrass yourself, babe. You’re the type he sleeps with, not the kind he stays with.” I lean in, whispering this part like a sisterly warning. “They always think being submissive makes them safe.”

And then—

I feel it. That shift in the air. That electricity on the back of my neck. I turn just slightly and—

Oh.

There you are.

I laugh. Light. Effortless. Like you just walked in on me complimenting her shoes.

“Oh, hi you,” I chirp, eyes wide and innocent. “We were just chatting about class. Weren’t we, sweetie?”

I wrap myself around your arm like I’ve always belonged there, chin tilted up toward you, eyes shimmering with fake virtue.

“She’s so funny,” I murmur, loud enough for her to hear. Then under my breath, for you alone: “I missed you.”

There’s a knock.

Not a text. Not a call. Just that arrogant little knock I’d recognize in my sleep.

I don’t even have to check. I already know who it is. You always come like this—late, uninvited, and thinking I’ll say yes. Which I will.

I wait a second. Just to make you knock again. Then I open the door, slow, like I’ve been reading or painting my nails or pretending I wasn’t waiting.

I’m in one of those little silk robes you always pretend not to notice. Hair up, lips glossed, nothing underneath but nerve and memory.

“Well,” I purr, leaning against the doorframe, one brow lifting ever so slightly. “Did you forget how your phone works, or…?”

My name’s on your lips—I can tell, even if you don’t say it. I catch the look. That’s enough to make the corners of my mouth soften, just a little. My posture doesn’t.

“Oh,” I sigh, pretending to deliberate, gaze dragging down your chest like it’s something I haven’t memorized. “So this is a ‘you couldn’t help yourself’ kind of night.”

I glance over my shoulder, once. Like I might say no.

I won’t.

I step aside without another word, letting you in as I close the door behind you.

“But you’re not sleeping over,” I lie. “Obviously.”