16. Shiloh

Chapter sixteen

Shiloh

‘Operation Get Shiloh an Apartment’ is a go.

I'm scrolling through listings on my phone like a woman possessed, Jackie hovering over my shoulder. We're crammed into a corner booth at the coffee shop down the street, drowning in the clatter of cups and the buzz of caffeine-fueled conversations.

I've got to find a new place, and fast.

"Here!" Jackie's finger jabs at the screen, her voice slicing through the din. "This one looks promising."

She's right. It's a studio loft with sleek lines and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view that screams high-rise elegance. A far cry from the dingy one-bedroom I'd resigned myself to when I was desperately trying to escape Chris on a budget. My pulse ratchets up a notch.

This could be it. The fresh start I so desperately need.

"Okay, let's do this," I mutter, already dialing the number before the listing disappears from the screen or my nerve fades.

"Hi, yes, I'm calling about the studio loft? Is it still available?" My words rush out, tripping over themselves in their haste to get out and seal the deal before anyone else can swoop in.

The voice on the other end is calm and businesslike as they discuss the details, but I barely register the particulars. All I can focus on is getting to 'yes'.

"Absolutely, I can have the paperwork sent over in—Great, thank you." I manage to squeeze out a semblance of polite enthusiasm even though my heart's doing somersaults.

"Shiloh?" Jackie's eyes are wide, expectant.

"Approved," I breathe out, and it feels like the first full breath I've taken all day. "I got it."

We exchange a look, a mix of relief and excitement. This is more than just a new apartment; it's a declaration of independence, a leap into the unknown.

And I'm ready for it. More than ready.

I don't let the high fade as I drive back to Chris's apartment. The reality of my new beginning fills the car like an anthem, blaring through the speakers of my mind. My hands grip the wheel with purpose, and the city blurs past in a mosaic of opportunity.

"New beginnings," I whisper to myself, a smile tugging at my lips.

When I pull into the familiar driveway, my heart is thrumming a victory beat. The movers are going to be here any minute, and the loft downtown is waiting for me—empty, open, mine.

But the moment I step into the apartment, the air shifts.

Chris is there, sitting at the kitchen table like a brooding storm cloud, with an envelope laid out in front of him. His frown is deep, etched with something that looks suspiciously close to betrayal.

"Shiloh." His voice cuts through the room, and it's all I can do not to shiver under the weight of it.

"Chris." I keep my tone neutral, but inside, my excitement is curdling into something more akin to dread.

What does he know?

"Busy day?" he asks, his words loaded with an edge I can’t quite decipher.

"Productive," I reply, sliding my keys onto the counter with a clatter that seems too loud in the tense silence between us.

My gaze flits to the envelope, then back to Chris. Our history is complicated—a tangled mess of pain and betrayal—but this feels different. We've always been a push-and-pull of emotion, but now there's a chasm of secrets stretching out, threatening to swallow us whole.

He leans back, his eyes boring into me, searching for something.

"Shiloh, just when were you planning on telling me you're working for Liam?"

My heart stutters in my chest, panic clawing up my throat. How does he know? I can feel the walls closing in, trapping me. I don’t want to be having this conversation… I just want out.

"I—" The word is barely a breath, the beginning of an explanation that withers under his gaze. "I didn't know it was Liam's firm, not until after I started."

"Really?" Chris's voice is a scalpel, sharp and precise. "That's your story?"

"Yes," I insist. It’s the truth, regardless of how ridiculous it is.

"Why, Shiloh? Why can't you just leave me alone and get out of my life?"

Anger flares up inside me, hot and quick as a struck match.

"Why do you care so much, Chris?" I shoot back, hands balling into fists at my sides. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, the way my voice doesn't waver. "Liam isn't even in your life—so why do you give a shit?"

He's silent for a beat, his jaw clenching, the muscle ticking like a warning.

"Are you on a first-name basis now?" he finally asks, voice laced with a disdain that sets my teeth on edge.

"Of course, I am," I say, my voice steady even though everything inside me feels like it's splintering apart. "Liam is my boss, and a better man than you'll ever be."

The words hang heavy in the air between us, a gauntlet thrown down that I can't take back. And just like that, the room feels charged with a new kind of tension—one that has nothing to do with the past, and everything to do with what I've just said.

Chris rises from the kitchen table, his movements slow and deliberate like the coiling of a spring. The look on his face isn't one I've seen before—it's darker, more dangerous, and it sends an instinctive warning through me.

"Chris," I start, my voice sharper than I intend, ready to stand my ground. He’s never gotten physical with me… but now…

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound is startling in its normality, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside this room. Chris stops mid-rise, his body going taut as if pulled back by an invisible leash.

"That's them," I say, my voice filled with a prideful edge that surprises even me. "The movers."

He turns slowly to face me, eyes narrowing as he processes what I've said. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready for whatever comes next.

"You’re moving out?" His voice is low, almost disbelieving, as if he can't quite grasp that I'm leaving his orbit for good.

"Today," I confirm, holding his gaze. It feels like a victory, a reclaiming of the control I'd thought I'd lost. The knock sounds again, insistent this time, and I know I have to open the door—to the movers, to my new life, away from Chris.

Before I can move toward the door, Chris’s voice cuts through the charged air between us.

"Is there something going on between you and Liam?" His question is like a match struck in the dark, sudden and flaring.

I meet his stare with a coolness I don't feel. My heart hammers against my ribcage, betraying the calm exterior I'm trying to project. The question isn't unexpected; it's the one that's been hanging over us, unspoken until now.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" I toss back at him, my voice light, almost teasing, but it's a facade.

Inside, I'm all tangled in nerves and racing thoughts because I don’t even know if there’s something going on between me and Liam.

Without waiting for his response, I pivot on my heel and stride to the door. My hand is steady as I reach for the knob, even as adrenaline courses through me. I pull the door open to reveal two movers standing in the hallway, their expressions curious beneath the brims of their caps.

"Shiloh Sanders?" the taller one asks, a clipboard in his hand.

"That's me," I confirm with a nod. "Everything's packed and ready to go."

As they step into the apartment, brushing past me with practiced efficiency, I cast a glance back at Chris. He's watching me, his eyes unreadable now, and whatever he's thinking, he keeps to himself.

"Let's get this done," I tell the movers, my voice steady despite the stormy goodbye that looms behind me.

The door remains ajar, a line of demarcation between Chris's world and mine.

I step over the threshold without looking back, closing the chapter on what was and stepping forward into what will be.