A WOLF'S SMILE

Chloe barely made it back to her apartment before her hands started shaking. She pressed them against the cold marble counter, forcing herself to breathe.

You did what you had to do.

Ethan was still alive—for now. But Milan would expect confirmation that the problem had been dealt with. If Ethan ran, if he did anything to tip Milan off, she'd be next.

A sharp knock at her door shattered the silence.

Her pulse spiked. She already knew who it was.

Slowly, she walked over and opened it.

Milan leaned casually against the doorframe, dressed in black, his presence commanding as ever. But it was his eyes that sent a prickle of unease down her spine—cold, assessing, unreadable.

"Busy night?" he asked smoothly.

Chloe kept her face neutral. "You tell me."

Milan let out a quiet chuckle, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His cologne—dark spice and something dangerous—filled the space as he closed the door behind him.

"I got a call," he said, turning to face her. "My men said the journalist cooperated. Handed over everything."

Chloe met his gaze, her stomach tightening. "That's what I told you would happen."

Milan studied her for a long moment. Then, with deliberate ease, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. With a flick, a flame sparked to life, its glow casting sharp shadows across his face.

He held up a page.

The missing page.

Chloe's breath caught.

Milan smiled, but it wasn't warm. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

The walls felt smaller. Tighter.

Chloe forced herself to relax, tilting her chin slightly. "I took that page myself."

Milan raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"

She crossed her arms, exhaling. "It mentioned me. I didn't want my name floating around in some journalist's file."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, to her horror, Milan stepped closer. His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, slow and deliberate. He was testing her pulse.

Her heartbeat betrayed her.

Milan hummed, amused. "You're nervous."

"Because you're playing games," she shot back.

His thumb pressed lightly against her pulse, a ghost of a touch. "And yet you're still standing here."

A chill ran through her. This was different. He wasn't just checking her story—he was feeling for something deeper.

Finally, Milan let her wrist go, crumpling the page in his other hand. "I'll assume you're telling me the truth."

He walked past her, tossing the paper into her fireplace. It curled and blackened instantly, turning to ash.

Then he turned back, watching her with quiet amusement. "You're a smart girl, Chloe. Smarter than most. That's why I like you."

The air between them was razor-thin.

Milan tilted his head. "I wonder, though…" He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "If I pressed just a little harder, would I find out what really makes you break?"

Chloe's breath hitched.

His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her face up just enough to make her hyper-aware of how close he was. She could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like something inescapable.

Then—just like before—he pulled away.

Leaving her breathless. Frustrated.

"Goodnight, Chloe."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Chloe exhaled, pressing a hand to her racing heart.

She had survived another test. But Milan was closing in. And if she wasn't careful, he was going to see through her completely.