Harley
"Maria, go wake Harley. Tell her breakfast starts at seven."
My mother's voice carries all the way to the second floor. If I can hear it from here, it means only one thing—she's either pissed or happy. But let's be real—it's never the latter.
I groan internally, attempting to sit up. It's never easy when you're wrapped in your sheets like a human burrito on the floor. I must have rolled off the bed in my sleep again. Still, I have to get up. My mother doesn't care that I stayed up until four a.m. thinking about Rebecca's theory, or that I feel like an idiot for even entertaining it.
Did Clad trick me?
That thought hasn't left my mind. All the games, the bets—were they just training? Conditioning me to behave a certain way? That's a bit much, even for a genius like him. But what if—what if he also made me fall for him as part of his plan?
You're giving him too much credit, Harley. He was just a high schooler.
Still, I can't shake it off.
