Chapter 6
My phone vibrated.
You’re up late. Your smartwatch says your heart rate is elevated. What’s wrong?
I stared at the message.
Of course he was tracking my heart rate too.
I swallowed and typed with shaking fingers.
Just nervous about the exam. It’s only a month away.
The three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Instead of another text, an incoming call filled my screen.
Cyrus Quinn.
I stared at it ringing.
I couldn’t answer.
The second I spoke, everything would collapse.
I let it ring out and quickly typed:
I’m in the library. I can’t talk.
His reply came instantly.
At 11:45 p.m. in a blizzard? Your location says you’re in the living room.
Damn it.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I had forgotten about the GPS.
Answer the phone, Clare.
I froze.
The blood drained from my face.
Clare.
Not Stella.
Not babe.
Clare.
The phone rang again.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, I pressed accept and lifted it to my ear.
“Hello,” I whispered.
“You lie terribly,” a deep voice said from the other end.
The sound of it sent a shiver all the way down my spine.
It was smooth, commanding, and edged with dark amusement.
“But your calculus scores are excellent,” he continued. “So I’ll forgive the lapse in judgment.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Y-you knew?”
“I knew the moment Lewis handed me your ID at that café,” Cyrus said calmly. “Stella’s last name is Vance. Yours is Davis. Did you really think I would spend a hundred thousand dollars and relocate a girl to Boston without running a background check?”
I gripped the phone harder.
“Then why didn’t you say anything? Why keep paying for everything? Why the tutors?”
A low chuckle came through the line.
“Stella was a parasite. I humored her because I was bored, and her father owns a minor stake in one of my subsidiaries. She wanted cash for handbags. But you…” He paused. “You asked for an education. You asked for Harvard. You took the cage I built, and instead of complaining about the bars, you asked me to sharpen your claws.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“I like ambition, Clare,” he said softly. “I like investments that give me a worthwhile return.”
Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt.
He had known.
He had always known.
“So… you’re not going to dump me?” I asked quietly. “You’re not going to go find Stella?”
“Find Stella?” Cyrus sounded genuinely disgusted. “I’d rather set my money on fire.”
I laughed weakly through my tears.
“Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m returning to Boston on Friday. I expect you to meet me at the airport. Wear the navy blue trench coat Lewis bought you last week, and bring your essay drafts. We’re going to finalize your personal statement.”
“Yes, sir,” I breathed.
“Good girl.”
The line went dead.
At once, the floating text flickered violently in front of me, glowing bright red.
Plot deviation.
What is happening?
Why does he know? Why doesn’t he care?
This wasn’t in the script.
He’s supposed to hate liars.
Stella is the female lead. This has to be a bug.
I smiled in the dark and switched off my bedside lamp.
Let the invisible readers cry all they wanted.
I was writing my own story now.