All Chapters of In His Sheets: Chapter 11 - Chapter 16

The next few days were a blur of panic and damage control. I managed to dodge Elsie’s lunch plans by claiming Clara had me buried under review files, which wasn't entirely a lie. But I couldn't avoid Elsie forever. When her text came through on Thursday night, it wasn't a request anymore. It was an address. “The Vance Estate, 9 PM. Private cocktail lounge. You are coming, Liz, no excuses! Amber is still being a pain, and I need backup.” I stared at the text, then at my mother, who was finally sleeping peacefully thanks to the medicine my new paycheck had bought. I couldn't back out. If I ignored Elsie, she’d come looking for me at the office. My only option was to go, play the part of Elizabeth Monroe for one more night, and pray word didn't get out, so Clara never finds out. Joan helped me dress again, lending me a deep emerald-green gown that clung to my curves like a second skin. It looked expensive, really expensive, and entirely out of my league. "Joan, where did yo

I didn’t stay long after that. The music was still playing, people were still laughing, glasses still clinking as if nothing had happened, but something in me had already checked out. I found Elise eventually. “Hey,” she said, immediately noticing my face. “Are you okay?” “I’m just tired,” I replied, forcing a small smile. “I think I’m going to head home.” Her brows pulled together slightly. “Already? You just got here. Did something happen?” “Long day,” I said lightly. “Work.” She studied me for a second longer, like she wasn’t entirely convinced, but then she nodded. “Okay… text me when you get home, alright?” “I will.” She hugged me again, soft, warm, genuine. The ride back to my side of the city was a quiet, suffocating blur. I sat near the grime-smeared window of the night bus, my fingers tightly gripping the torn strap of the emerald gown. The fabric felt like a shroud now, a heavy reminder of how quickly a mask can be ripped away. The cold weight of Adrian

He let out a short, mocking breath, a sneer curling his upper lip. The disgust rolling off him was palpable, thick enough to choke the air out of the room. "Clara Monroe has spent twenty years building a flawless, ironclad reputation for discretion and morality in this city," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a dangerously low whisper that vibrated with absolute contempt. "And her own blood is sneaking into private lounges, letting a drunk, pathetic pig like Leonard Voss paw at her dress in the dark?" A hot, stinging flush crept up my neck. The judgment in his voice burned, but I had to lean into it. I had to let him believe the worst of Elizabeth, so he wouldn't look for Mara. "It wasn't... it wasn't what it looked like," I whispered, forcing my eyes to well up with frantic, desperate tears. I stepped back, clutching my hands together at my chest. "Mr. Voss was... he was being aggressive. I didn't want—" "You were giving him 'those looks' all night, from what I gather,