Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I shake my head, trying to clear my muddled thoughts. Jack is different. There’s an undercurrent of intensity beneath his polite exterior that I can’t quite put my finger on. But Tyler . . . Tyler’s niceness always feels forced, like he is trying too hard to be the perfect gentleman.
Taking a deep breath, I turn off my computer. I’m done for the night.
As I change into my pajamas, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I double-check the locks on my windows and look outside one last time. My Christmas lights are off. Were they always off?
Sliding into bed, I pull the covers up to my chin, feeling like a child afraid of the monsters in the closet.
Sleep eludes me. I toss and turn, my thoughts a jumbled mess of Tyler, Jack, and WinterWatcher. Every creak of the house makes me start, my heart leaping into my throat.
Around three a.m., I give up on sleep. I reach for my phone, telling myself I’ll just scroll through social media to distract myself. But my fingers betray me, opening the Dark Secrets app instead.
WinterWatcher has been active. He’s left comments on my older posts now, innocuous things like “Beautiful” and “Stunning.” But there’s one comment that makes my heart stop: “I wonder what other dark secrets you have.”
Something inside of me wants to respond. But I never speak to any subscribers. I never interact. I never comment. I’m not going to start now . . .
My thumb hovers over the reply button, twitching in suspense. I’ve never broken my rule of nonengagement before, but something about this situation feels different. Dangerous. Maybe if I respond, I can get more information, figure out if this really is Tyler or just some random guy.
It can’t be Tyler. Why am I thinking it’s Tyler? In fact, why do I think I know WinterWatcher at all? He could be anyone. He could even be a she. Why am I overreacting?
I turn off my phone and roll over. I toss and turn for another hour, my mind racing with possibilities. Every shadow seems to move, every noise amplified in the stillness of the night. Finally, as the first hints of dawn start to creep through my curtains, I drift into a fitful sleep.
My dreams are a confusing jumble of images: Tyler’s too-wide smile, Jack’s intense gaze, and a shadowy figure standing outside my window, watching. Always watching.
I wake with a start, my alarm blaring. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the events of last night feeling like a distant nightmare. But as I reach for my phone to silence the alarm, reality comes crashing back. It’s time to be Chloe. Cute, bubbly, admired by many Chloe Hallman, jewelry influencer.
BlackAsChlo needs to go back into the shadows where she belongs.
Chapter Eleven
Chloe
How many days is normal to wait for a text after a date? Not that Jack and I had an actual date. It was just a coincidental meet up. But he said he’d text so I stare at my phone for what feels like the hundredth time today, willing it to light up with a notification.
It wasn’t a real date, I keep reminding myself. Just a chance encounter. But the way his eyes had crinkled when he smiled, how attentively he’d listened to every word I said . . . it had felt like more.
I sigh and toss my phone onto the desk, determined to stop obsessing. But as I turn away, a faint buzz makes my heart leap. I snatch it up, fumbling in my haste.
It’s just an Insta notification. Disappointment crashes over me.
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself.
Deciding to obsess over something else, I decide to look at my views and engagement on my most recent post for Moth to the Flame. I wasn’t feeling it while filming, and I have a pretty good feeling that my video is going to prove to me that my viewers felt the same way.
As I scroll through the analytics, my suspicions are confirmed. The view count is dismal, likes are sparse, and the comments are . . . well, there aren’t many. I groan, slumping back in my chair. This is exactly what I needed—another blow to my already fragile ego. If I want to remain the brand ambassador for Moth to the Flame Designs, I’m going to have to get my shit together. I need this job if I want to remain in this house. This is not even up for debate. I need to pull myself together and focus on creating content that will resonate with my audience.
In desperate need of a pick-me-up, I close out that app and move to the one I actually love being part of. I try really hard not to log into Dark Secrets until the late hours as my reward for staying focused and on task, but right now, I need the dopamine hit from the comments I know are waiting for me from my live last night.