CHAPTER THIRTEEN
POV: Kate → Prestige → Mystery Third Party
Kate
Her silhouette filled the doorway, solid as a wall, daring me to cross.
The hallway light carved her face into sharp planes, throwing shadows across her cheekbone. Her eyes glinted like shutters drawn tight, closed against me.
The cold air in the corridor slipped between us, pricking goosebumps up my arms. My perfume smells like that of gardenia cut with smoke pushed into the faint, sour trace of wine hugging her. Two scents clashed in the narrow space, announcing what said words hadn't yet.
Her gaze dipped to my trembling hands. I curled them into fists too late.
"You have ten seconds to explain," she said, her voice flat and like a thunderstorm ⛈️ that could crush bone.
I swallowed, my throat tight. "Or what?" The words stumbled out quieter than I wanted, like my courage had been trapped behind my teeth.
She folded in her lips, not into a smile, but into something sharper, like a blade disguised as a grin. "Or I shut this door and pretend you were never here."
Her fingers hovered near the edge of the door, steady, certain. She meant it.
I forced myself to hold her gaze. To keep my chin level, though every instinct screamed to back down.
So I said the only word that could break through the barrier between us:
"It's about the yacht."
Her fingers gently stilled. The door stayed open.
Prestige
I never wanted her inside.
But curiosity slid past pride like a knife through silk.
Her heels clicked across my floor, each sharp step claiming ground that wasn't hers. She didn't look around with her head, her eyes made the move, cataloguing the space like a thief memorizing exits.
I hated her for that. I hated that I admired it too.
"I don't take guests at this hour," I said, folding my arms across my chest like armor.
Her gaze flashed to the wine bottle on the coffee table. "Looks like you were doing better keeping yourself company."
I didn't blink. "I was. Before you."
She didn't flinch. Her voice came smooth, deliberate. "Dan's not the same as me. He's soft, also Apologetic. Like he's carrying something heavy he doesn't know how to set down."
I dug my nails into my arm. "With me, he lied effortlessly and comfortably. He told me I was the only one he ever took to the yacht."
Her eyes twinkled, a vibration behind the mask. For one heartbeat, I saw it 👀 doubt, hurt, recognition.
And I knew I'd landed a hit.
The Confession Duel
We circled each other without moving. Words became weapons and thorns, each revealing a measured strike.
She mentioned a bracelet,just similar to the one he'd given me after "his first business trip away."
It was a hot moment
I mentioned the dinner reservation he swore was "last minute," only to learn later it had been booked weeks in advance… for her.
She denied, felt cheated, scammed with love when I told her he used my nickname for him with her.
I smirked when she admitted he once left her waiting in the rain for four hours, returning with salt water still clinging to his coat.
Every confession was a chess move, deliberate, tilting the board further.
Finally, I reached for my phone. Pressed play.
The distorted voice filled the air, low and mechanical:
"Ask Dan who he first kissed on the yacht…"
The words slithered into the room, chilling even the silence after.
Kate's eyes narrowed, but not at the message. A wrinkle carved itself between her brows.
"You hear that?" she whispered.
I frowned, replaying it.
She leaned closer, her ear tilting toward the speaker. "There. Underneath. A ship horn. And laughter."
I strained. And then I caught it, faint, buried in static. A man's laugh.
Not Dan's.
Deeper. Older. Rougher.
A cold pulse slid down my spine.
Another player.
The Uneasy Pact
The room grew smaller with every breath.
"We watch him," Kate said finally. Her voice steadier than her hands. "Separately. We compare notes in a week."
I folded my arms tighter. "Fine. But if I catch you playing me"
Her chin lifted. "If I catch you playing me"
We didn't finish. We didn't need to.
Her eyes held mine like the reflection in a blade: cold, sharp, a promise of blood.
Inside, my thoughts whispered: I'll keep her close. Close enough to cut if I have to.
And I was certain she thought the same.
The silence between us wasn't agreement. It was a contract written in mistrust.
Kate
When I finally rose to leave, she walked me to the door but didn't open it.
Her stare drilled into me, weighing every step, as if memorizing my back for the day it would become her target.
I almost laughed. Because I was memorizing hers too.
The hallway swallowed me as I stepped out. The door shut behind me with the soft click of a trigger pulled but not fired.
My heels echoed in the empty corridor, each step a reminder: Prestige wasn't an ally. She was the enemy I needed to keep alive for now.
Mystery Third Party
Across the street, a man leaned against a lamppost, collar turned up, a cigarette glowing faintly in his hand.
The smoke curled upward, dissolving into the London fog.
Through the glass, he had seen everything. The door opening. Kate entering. The shadows pacing inside. Then Kate leaving, shoulders stiff, head held too high for someone who had just survived a knife-fight without knives.
He smiled, not with warmth, but with recognition.
They were right where he wanted them.
He flicked ash onto the wet pavement and murmured to no one:
"Good girls. Dance a little longer. You'll both hang yourselves before the week is out."