She fumbled for her phone on the bed, fingers trembling as she dialed his number. It rang once, twice, then voicemail. 'Gordon, please,' she whispered into the silence after the tone, her voice breaking.
'It wasn't what it looked like. Call me back. We need to talk.' She ended the call, staring at the screen, willing it to light up. Nothing.
A text followed, frantic words spilling out: “I wasn’t spying. I swear. Come back. Let me explain.”
She Sent. Delivered. No response.
Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence, her breaths shallow and uneven.
She couldn't wait. If words on a screen or over the phone wouldn't reach him, she'd make him see her—really see her—in person.
Grabbing her keys, Chloe dashed down the stairs, the cool night air hitting her flushed skin as she slid into her car
