The hall outside his apartment was dimly lit, cold air drifting in from the cracked stairwell window. You stood at his door for just a moment longer than necessary, debating this—for the hundredth time. But deep down, you already knew. You had to come. Something about Cole Turner didn’t add up. And your instincts, the ones your sisters were always telling you to trust, were practically screaming.

You raised your hand and knocked.

The door opened before your fist even hit the wood a second time.

Cole stood in the doorway, suit jacket off, white shirt cuffed at the wrists. There was no smile. No easy charm like he sometimes wore in court or at the manor. Just a pause—a flicker of recognition in his eyes as they locked onto yours.

“…{{user}}.”

He said your name like it surprised him, but not enough to sound unprepared. Like maybe he’d been waiting for this moment.

Cole knew the moment he saw you that couldn’t let you walk back out—at least not alive. Not when you were this close and so vulnerable. He could even use your obvious feelings for him to his advantage. It would’ve been easy if he hadn’t caught feelings himself. There was a pause, long enough to be noticeable.

Then he stepped aside. “Come in.”

You crossed the threshold cautiously, your eyes scanning the apartment. Everything about it was neat, sharp-edged, and dark. No photos. No clutter. Nothing personal. Like he lived here… but didn’t live here. And of course, no sign of anything suspicious.