Chapter 92 Sleeping Together
The most unsettling thing in the world is spotting another version of yourself in a crowd.
The woman wore identical clothes—the same striped shirt, the same jeans. Her long hair was pulled back in the exact same high ponytail. From across the bustling food street, Quinley stared in disbelief at her doppelganger lingering outside a skewer stand. Pale skin, long lashes, delicate features—at first glance, she was another Quinley entirely.
"Susan—" Quinley called out, her voice barely carrying over the crowd noise.
The woman's head snapped up. Their eyes locked across the sea of people, and without hesitation, she bolted.
The packed food street made running treacherous, but the woman weaved through the masses with surprising agility. Quinley gave chase, her pulse hammering. This stranger had returned to Rosewood City and wreaked havoc while wearing her face. Too many questions burned in her throat, demanding answers.
But after half a block of pursuit, the woman simply vanished like smoke in the night air.
Quinley searched frantically, going store by store. "Excuse me, have you seen someone dressed exactly like me? She looks just like me too." She asked every vendor, every passerby, but no one had noticed anything unusual.
Leaving the food street empty-handed, frustration gnawed at her, but one certainty crystallized—Susan was very much alive.
Lost in thought, Quinley wandered down increasingly quiet side streets until she realized she'd walked into a dead end. As she turned to retrace her steps, a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from behind. The world went black.
Consciousness returned slowly, bringing with it the horrifying realization that she was naked on an unfamiliar hotel bed. Running water echoed from the bathroom, and through frosted glass, a tall male silhouette moved behind the shower door.
Terror shot through her as she bolted upright, snatching a towel to cover herself. Her clothes lay scattered across the carpet like evidence of something she couldn't remember. She dressed with shaking hands, then dropped to her knees, stretching desperately under the bed for her shoes.
When she couldn't reach them, panic overrode pride. Barefoot and clutching hotel slippers, she made a break for the door.
Her fingers had just touched the handle when the bathroom door opened with a soft click. Steam billowed out, followed by Zachary wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Water droplets traced paths down his bronzed skin, and years of disciplined workouts had carved his body into something that belonged on magazine covers.
"Going somewhere?" His voice was roughened by steam and something darker.
Quinley spun around, fear morphing into bewilderment when their eyes met. "What are you doing here?"
"Didn't you ask me to come?" One dark eyebrow arched in question.
"I absolutely did not." The words came out sharper than intended.
Zachary studied her face for a long moment, then reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen showed a WeChat conversation, and there it was—a message from her account.
[I'm waiting in room 3201. Need to talk. Come now.]
Quinley grabbed her own phone with trembling fingers, unlocking it to find the same damning evidence. According to the timestamp, she'd sent that message two hours ago.
"I didn't send that." Her voice cracked with frustration.
"Since we're both here..." Zachary's eyes darkened as he pulled back the covers and slid into bed, clearly unconvinced by her protests. "Might as well make the best of it."
"You can sleep alone." She headed for the door again, but his next words stopped her cold.
"Don't you want to know who's pulling these strings? You escaped their trap today, but what about next time?" His logic was infuriatingly sound. They were exposed, vulnerable, while their enemy remained safely in the shadows. "We wait them out. It's late—get some sleep."
Without another word, he settled against the pillows, one arm folded behind his head, eyes closed in apparent dismissal.
The room offered only one bed. Zachary occupied half, leaving the other side pointedly empty. After staring at that space for several heartbeats, Quinley chose the small couch instead, wrapping herself tightly in a throw blanket.
She was still furious with him, and sleeping inches away felt like surrender.
Through barely cracked eyelids, Zachary watched her curl into a defiant ball on the uncomfortable sofa. Her cheeks were flushed with indignation, and something in his chest tightened. He'd give her exactly one minute to be stubborn before intervening.
Sixty seconds later, strong arms lifted her from the couch despite her startled protests.
"What are you doing?" she yelped, but didn't struggle—some part of her had been hoping for exactly this.
"Putting you somewhere you can actually sleep. Unless you'd prefer I find other ways to tire you out." The playful threat in his voice made her pulse skip.
He deposited her gently on the mattress and pulled the covers up to her chin with surprising tenderness. They lay side by side in charged silence, both pretending their racing hearts weren't audible in the quiet room.
Maybe it was exhaustion from the day's chaos, or maybe it was the treacherous comfort of Zachary's familiar warmth beside her, but Quinley's eyes grew heavy. Sleep claimed her despite everything.
Morning arrived with aggressive pounding on the door.
"Ms. Elikin, are you in there?" Alicia's voice carried a note of barely contained excitement.
Zachary was already awake, propped against the headboard with his phone, handling what looked like urgent work emails. His hair was mussed from sleep, and Quinley had to force herself not to stare.
"How exactly did your fiancée track us down?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.
He finished typing a response before glancing up with that infuriating half-smile. "She's probably hoping to catch us in a compromising position. Evidence for her little breeding program."
The casual way he said it made Quinley's stomach twist. This was all still part of Alicia's twisted game, and she almost felt pity for the woman—her desperation to secure Zachary's affection was driving her to increasingly unhinged behavior.
"Do you think Ms. Davis wants to find us behaving or misbehaving?"
"What do you think?" He deflected smoothly, a master at avoiding questions he didn't want to answer.
The knocking stopped abruptly, replaced by Quinley's phone buzzing insistently. She ignored it, hitting silent mode, but a message appeared anyway.
[Ms. Elikin, didn't you call me last night asking me to meet you here? I'm outside. Please open the door.]
Quinley's blood chilled as she checked her call history. Sure enough, her phone showed an outgoing call to Alicia the previous evening—another action she had no memory of taking.
So Alicia was the puppet master behind last night's orchestrated encounter.
"Your fiancée has me in her crosshairs, Mr. Jennings. What's your brilliant plan?" She crossed her arms, fixing him with an icy stare. "This mess exists because of you."
"We ignore her." His attention remained fixed on his screen, radiating an almost insulting level of calm.
Ignoring the problem was the same as doing nothing at all, and they both knew it.
As Alicia's voice grew more insistent outside, Quinley tossed her phone aside in disgust. But escape wouldn't be that simple—their tormentor was too clever for that.
A new voice joined the commotion in the hallway, professional and polite. "Room service. Is anyone inside?"
Before Quinley could respond, the unmistakable sound of an electronic lock disengaging echoed through the room. The door swung open.