By the time I make it back to the penthouse, I’ve run through my conversation with Shantelle about a hundred times in my head. Every word. Every glance. Every little moment where she tried to pry me open like I was some kind of puzzle waiting to be solved.
And maybe I am.
But I’m not in the mood for self-reflection right now.
Not when my mind is a warzone of plans and counterplans, strategies and threats. Not when I’m still trying to shake off the image of Caleb’s smug grin as he zoomed in on Claire through the CCTV.
I don’t like feeling cornered.
I push the door open and step inside, expecting Claire to still be sprawled out in sleep, maybe tangled in the sheets with one leg kicked out in that usual way of hers. But instead, she’s sitting upright against the headboard, still under th
