CHLOE’s POV

I knew the handwriting on the note.

I didn’t know who wrote it, but I knew the tone, sharp, precise, intimate in the wrong way. Someone who had been close enough to watch. To listen. To know.

By morning, I couldn’t breathe.

My steps were shaky as I left the mansion grounds, hood pulled low, heart hammering in a rhythm that felt too loud for my ribs. I told Gold I needed air. She didn’t question; she just squeezed my hand and whispered:

“Come back safe ...