Page 13 of He Knows When You're Awake

“Ms. Whitmore.” A man in an impeccable suit appears at my elbow, making me jump. “Welcome to the Alpina. If you’ll follow me, your suite has been prepared.”

Suite is an understatement. The space he leads me to is bigger than my entire apartment, with a sitting room dominated by awall of windows showcasing the Alps. The bedroom features a bed that could sleep six, draped in linens that probably cost more than anything I own.

“This can’t be right,” I stammer. “This is like... this is presidential suite level.”

“Indeed,” the man says smoothly. “The presidential suite. Will this be satisfactory?”

I make a sound that might be a laugh or a wheeze. “Satisfactory. Right. Totally normal. Just another Tuesday in the presidential suite.”

But it’s the bathroom that nearly breaks me—a freestanding copper tub positioned to watch the sunset over the mountains while soaking. I stare at it, wondering if it’s possible to live in a bathtub.

Just move in permanently. Send for my things.

On the bed, an outfit has been laid out—a winter white ensemble that looks both elegant and intimidating. The note beside it reads simply:For dinner. ~C.A.

I run my fingers over the fabric, its softness betraying its astronomical cost. “No pressure,” I tell myself. “Just a mysterious meeting in Switzerland with someone who knows your tea preferences and clothing size. This isn’t a setup to a horror movie at all.”

My phone finally catches signal, immediately buzzing with Chloe’s backlog of panic:SLOANE WHITMORE IF YOU DIE IN SWITZERLAND, I WILL KILL YOU.

I laugh despite my nerves, moving to the windows to watch night settle over the Alps as I send a reassuring text that all is well. I snap a quick photo of the breathtaking view and send it to Chloe with the caption:If I’m about to be murdered, at least the last thing I’ll see is this.

The mountains are disappearing into darkness, but lights are appearing—chalets and hotels dotting the slopes. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

And possibly the most dangerous. But I could stand here and stare for hours if I had the time.

A discreet knock announces dinner in an hour. I eye the white outfit, then my portfolio filled with designs that somehow this mysterious firm already knows intimately. Everything about this situation is pure insanity. The coincidences too bizarre. The rational part of my brain is screaming to run back to Manhattan and my safe, predictable life.

But as I pick up the dress, another thought hits me: My safe, predictable life was slowly killing my creativity. And here I am, in a suite bigger than my apartment, about to meet someone who seems to actually understand my vision. Someone who went to ridiculous lengths to get me here.

I slip into the dress, trying to steady my nerves. The fabric feels like smooth butter against my skin, the cut perfect in a way that’s starting to feel unsettling rather than flattering. My fingers move to the delicate silver necklace at my throat—one of my own pieces, a small reminder of who I am and why I’m here.

Through the windows, the lights of Gstaad twinkle like fallen stars caught in the valleys between mountains. Everything about this place feels like a fairy tale. But I’ve read enough of the original Brothers Grimm to know that fairy tales aren’t always sweet. Sometimes they’re sour.

Nightmarish.

I gather my portfolio and head for the door. Time to find out what kind of story I’ve walked into. Dream or nightmare?

Chapter SixCole

Snow falls in thick curtains outside the Alpina’s private dining room, turning the Alps into a ghostly landscape. The timing couldn’t be better. By morning the storm will clear, leaving everything fresh and new for our swift return to Manhattan.

“Jesus Christ.” Knox shakes his head, watching me adjust the table settings for the third time. “I haven’t seen you this invested since Paris.”

Paris. We both remember that gallery, the artist whose work had awakened something in me. I’d been too slow then, too caught up in the numbers. By the time I’d made an offer, my old business partner Julian had already swept in and buried her career. Another lesson in the price of hesitation.

“The penthouse preparations are complete,” Knox continues, perhaps sensing my darkening mood. He consults his iPad, scrolling through updates. “Everything arranged exactly as you specified, though the contractors think you’ve lost your mind with some of the requirements.”

I almost smile at that. Let them think what they want. They don’t understand that some things require perfect conditions. The right pressure. The right moment.

“What about Claire’s biometric case?” Knox asks, lowering his voice. “You still plan to move it to the New York studio?”

“Yes. It’s the most secure option we have,” I reply, straightening a fork that’s barely out of alignment. “And it needs to be where I can monitor it.”

Knox frowns. “Julian knows you have it. He’s been trying to get his hands on it for years.”

“And he’s failed every time,” I remind him.

Knox looks at me for a long moment, then pulls up a new screen on his iPad, clearly dropping the subject.