Tangled- No Strings Attached?

Chapter Twenty-Three: Wine

The hallway feels like it's shrinking, closing in around me with every heavy second that passes. The air is thick, dense with something I can't quite name. My pulse is a steady drum against my ribs, too loud in my ears.

Cleo and I stand frozen, locked in a silent standoff. Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks.

But she looks—guilty.

Not like she's done something wrong, but like she knows how this looks. Like she knows there's no easy way to explain it.

Her eyes flick to Gray.

Instinctively, I follow.

He's leaning against his doorway, arms loose at his sides, taking in the scene with a maddening sort of calm. His expression is blank—too blank—but he doesn't look surprised.

Not like Cleo.

Not like me.

A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down, my mouth suddenly dry.

This doesn't make sense.

Cleo shifts, the movement small but anxious, her fingers twitching at her sides. Then, after a long, unsteady breath, she rakes a hand through her hair.

"I should go."

Her voice is quiet, clipped—like she's already preparing to run.

I don't stop her.

I don't say a word as she brushes past me, her shoulder barely grazing mine. The contact sends a jolt through me, but I stay rooted in place, eyes locked on Gray.

Waiting.

He doesn't stop her either.

He just stands there, silent, watching, until she disappears down the hallway. Until the only sound left is the distant hum of the apartment building.

And then—finally—he looks at me.

The weight of his gaze is crushing, but I don't look away.

His voice breaks the silence, low and even. Too even.

"You gonna come inside, or are we doing this out here?"

The irritation hits me hard and fast, burning away any lingering shock. My jaw tightens, my arms crossing instinctively as I glare at him.

What the fuck was that?

The words leave my mouth sharp and immediate, slicing through the thick silence of the hallway.

Gray exhales, slow and heavy, like I'm the one being unreasonable. "I guess we're doing this out here," he mutters, rolling his eyes as he pushes off the doorframe.

I don't take the bait.

I stand my ground. "Why the fuck was she in there?"

"Leo," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like I'm already exhausting him. "Can we just talk about this inside, or are you gonna keep yelling at me in the hallway?"

I don't move.

I don't blink.

I just stare at him, gripping my keys so tightly they dig into my palm, sharp and unrelenting.

Gray doesn't push. He just watches, waiting—like he already knows I'll step inside like he's giving me the illusion of choice when we both know how this will end.

And maybe that's what makes me move.

Maybe it's the way he's standing there, so infuriatingly calm, like Cleo walking out of his apartment this late at night is nothing to question. Like there's nothing to explain.