He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: A Dark and Steamy Holiday Romance of Obsession and Secrets – Where Desire Meets Danger in the Heart of NYC

“Your last post was epic!” Sloane says the minute I answer the phone. She never wastes time with a “hello” or “how are you?” It’s straight to business with Sloane.

“You think?” I ask, fishing for the compliment. I’ve been feeling down lately due to lower views, and her praise really does mean the world. Not just as a friend but as someone who actually works for the company.

Maybe I still have a job at Moth to the Flame . . . at least for a bit longer.

“Seriously, Chloe. The way you explained how to layer necklaces without them getting tangled up. How have I lived this long and not known all you have to do is link them together and then treat them as one big necklace? Pure gold.”

I smile at the praise and greedily want to hear more. “Really?”

“Really. The higher-ups are buzzing about the reach. I wouldn’t be surprised if you get a call from Jasmine herself today.”

Jasmine. The CEO of Moth to the Flame. My palms start to sweat at the mere thought of it.

“Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling,” she says. “I’m heading to Montauk for Christmas. My family is getting together, and I need a wingman. I need someone by my side to help me navigate the chaos. You in?”

I hesitate. Christmas in Montauk sounds amazing, but spending it with Sloane’s family? That’s a whole different story. I’ve heard tales of their wild holiday gatherings—the competitive gift exchanges, the heated political debates, the infamous eggnog incident of 2018.

“I don’t know, Sloane,” I say, biting my lip.

“Oh, come on!” she pleads. “It’ll be fun. Plus, you can use it as material for your next post. ‘How to Survive a Family Christmas Without Losing Your Mind.’ Or ‘What Necklace to Wear to Hang Yourself.’ It’ll be a hit!”

She’s not wrong—it would make for great content.

But I’m not ready to be cheery and in the spirit. Not yet. I wasn’t kidding when I told Jack that I’m a Scrooge. I just can’t . . .

“Sloane, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m up for it this year,” I say, trying to let her down gently. “Christmas isn’t really my thing, you know? Not since—”

“I know. But you can’t grieve them forever.”

A lump forms in my throat. Sloane’s words hit me hard, even though I know she means well.

“I’m not grieving forever,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just . . . need more time.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I can almost see Sloane’s face softening, her usual bravado giving way to concern.

“I didn’t mean to push,” she says gently. “But maybe . . . maybe this is exactly what you need. A change of scenery, some chaos to distract you. My family may be nuts, but they’re also warm and welcoming. You won’t have to be alone with your thoughts.”

I close my eyes, picturing the empty family home that awaits me for the holidays. The thought of spending another Christmas surrounded by memories and ghosts of Christmases past makes my chest tighten. I’m starting to question staying in this house. Taking on a lease that is far too expensive for me. But I can’t say goodbye. It still smells like them. I can still hear their voices. This house is still them.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Sloane’s offer is tempting, a lifeline thrown into the sea of my grief. But can I really face a bustling family Christmas when my own family is so painfully absent?

“Ask me again next year. I promise I’ll stop acting like a lump of coal. But I need this year to figure out my shit. Face my shit,” I finally say, my voice cracking slightly. “I need to face the memories head-on, you know? Maybe it’s time I stop running from them.”

Sloane sighs, but I can hear the understanding in her voice. “I get it. But promise me you won’t spend the whole time moping around in your pajamas, eating old Chinese food and watching terrible crime docs.”

I laugh. “I make no such promises.” My thoughts go to Jack and how I may have a partner in crime with my acts.

“At least mix in some action movies or something. Die Hard is technically a Christmas movie, you know.”

“I’ll consider it,” I say, smiling despite myself.

“Fine. I’ll accept this answer for now. But then you owe me. Let’s get drinks tonight. We haven’t had our traditional ugly sweater cocktail hour yet this year. It’s time,” she suggests.

I glance at my calendar, already knowing it’s empty. “Sure, I’m free. Where should we meet?”

“The usual spot. Tonic at eight. Don’t forget your ugliest sweater!”

I laugh, picturing the gaudy reindeer-covered monstrosity I’d picked up at a thrift store last year. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got just the thing.”

We chat for a few more minutes before hanging up. I don’t have long to get ready if I want to catch the ferry to Manhattan and considering that I’ve been working on admin all day wearing nothing but sweats and a messy bun, I have some work to do if I’m going to have a chance of measuring up to Sloane’s effortless beauty.

I rummage through my closet, tossing clothes left and right. Finally, I unearth the sweater—a garish green thing with a stuffed reindeer head protruding from the front, its red nose flashing with tiny LED lights.

As I pull it on, I grin at my reflection in the mirror and think of Jack. What would he think if he saw me? Not exactly a Scrooge right now.

After spending entirely too long applying makeup and trying to turn my unwashed hair into something presentable, I grab my bag and head out the door.

I slam into what feels like a brick wall but is only a man’s chest.

“Whoa there!” a familiar voice chuckles as hands steady me. “Where’s the fire?”

“Tyler?” I step back. Why is he at my house? Again.

His eyes travel down to my sweater, and his lips twitch into a grin. “Nice reindeer. Very . . . festive.”

“Uh yeah.” I don’t like the feeling I’m starting to get. Another unannounced visit is just . . . weird.

“Wanted to congratulate you on your latest post. It’s causing quite a stir at the office. We thought we should increase the number of pieces you show off this week since engagement is high,” Tyler says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He lifts a black velvet bag. “So I volunteered to bring you some more jewelry so you don’t have to come all the way to the office.”

“Oh . . . okay,” I say as I take the bag and place it inside next to the door, not entering the house. “I’ll get on that first thing tomorrow.”

I shift uncomfortably, acutely aware of how close he’s standing.

“But I’m actually heading out right now. I’m meeting Sloane for drinks.”

“Oh, Sloane,” Tyler says, his tone shifting slightly. “You two are pretty close, aren’t you?”

I nod, trying to edge past him. “Yeah, we’ve been friends for a while. Listen, Tyler, I really need to go. I don’t want to miss the ferry.”

He doesn’t move. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should grab a drink sometime, just the two of us. Professional, of course. Discuss some ideas for future posts.”

Alarm bells.

“That’s . . . nice of you to offer,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maybe we can discuss it at the office sometime?”

Tyler’s smile falters for a moment before returning, a bit too wide. “Sure, sure. No pressure. Just thought it might be good to collaborate more closely. You know, given the fact that your posts have had low engagement before the most recent . . . and I’d hate to see you lose your seat with the company.”

The implication hangs in the air between us. Is he threatening me? Suggesting he has some sway over my job security?

“Right,” I say, finally managing to step around him. “Well, I really do need to go. Thanks for stopping by.”

I hurry down the steps, my heart racing. As I reach the sidewalk, I can’t resist glancing back. Tyler is still standing there, watching me with an unreadable expression.

The entire ferry ride to Manhattan, I can’t shake the uneasy feeling that I’m being watched, but I know it’s impossible. I left Tyler on my porch, and he wouldn’t have been able to catch up to me without me noticing. But something is definitely off about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but off. I debate whether to tell Sloane about Tyler’s visit but decide against it. No need to ruin our night out with work drama.

As I approach Tonic, I spot Sloane through the window. She’s wearing a sweater that appears to be made entirely of tinsel and Christmas ornaments. I laugh louder than normal, my earlier discomfort fading away.

“There you are!” Sloane exclaims as I enter. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten tangled up in that reindeer.”

I settle onto the barstool next to her, grateful for the warmth and cheer of the bar. “Sorry I’m late. I had an . . . unexpected visitor.”

Sloane raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

I hesitate, then shake my head. “It’s nothing. Let’s focus on more important things—like how many candy canes are actually attached to your sweater?”

Sloane grins and launches into a detailed explanation of her sweater’s construction. As we laugh and sip our festive cocktails, I push thoughts of Tyler and work stress to the back of my mind. For now, at least, I can just enjoy this moment with my friend.

“So, I have a confession,” Sloane says as she orders us two more drinks.

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, taking a sip of my peppermint martini. “This should be good.”

“Actually . . . it’s you who should be confessing. You’re holding out on me. I thought we were close enough to not keep secrets.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “What are you talking about?”

Secrets would be an understatement. The question is which one?

Sloane crosses her leg, flips her hair and narrows her eyes. “A little birdie told me you’ve been spending time with a certain someone.”Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

My face is suddenly very hot, and I’m grateful for the dim lighting in the bar. “It’s not what you think. We’re just—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “You didn’t sign an exclusivity contract or anything. You can show off other jewelry besides Moth to the Flame. And Hailey has some amazing pieces. She’s far more . . . edgy . . . gothic. I’m surprised you like it so much. I didn’t peg it as your style.”

I blink in confusion, my mind racing to catch up with Sloane’s words. Hailey? Jewelry?

“Oh,” I say, trying to hide my relief that we aren’t speaking about Jack or even Dark Secrets. “Yeah, Hailey’s jewelry is . . . different, but in a good way.”

“You don’t have to hide it from me. I mean . . . my designs are still far superior,” she teases.

I laugh, grateful for the misunderstanding. “Of course they are. No one can top your designs.”

She preens at the compliment, tossing her tinsel-adorned hair. “Damn straight. But seriously, it’s okay to branch out a bit. Just don’t let Jasmine catch wind of it. You know how possessive she can be about her brand ambassadors.”

I nod, remembering the stern talking-to another influencer had received for wearing a competitor’s bracelet in an Instagram post. “Trust me, I’m careful.”

“Good,” Sloane says, raising her glass. “To staying on Jasmine’s good side and rocking killer accessories!”

We clink glasses, and I try to push away the guilt gnawing at me. She’s right. We shouldn’t keep secrets from each other, and lately that’s all I’ve been doing.

“So,” I say, eager to change the subject, “tell me more about this family Christmas in Montauk. What exactly am I missing out on?”

Sloane’s eyes light up. “Oh, where do I even start? There’s Aunt Marge’s infamous fruitcake—I swear it’s more brandy than cake. And when there’s enough snow, we have the snowman-building contest, which always ends in sabotage and tears . . .”

As Sloane regales me with tales of her family’s holiday antics, I find myself laughing harder than I have in months. For a moment, I almost regret turning down her invitation. But then I remember the empty house waiting for me, filled with memories I need to face.

“It sounds amazing,” I say when she finally pauses for breath. “Maybe next year?”

Sloane’s expression softens. “Absolutely. And hey, if you change your mind at the last minute, there’s always room for one more. Even if we have to stuff you in the chimney like Santa.”

I smile, touched by her persistence. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As we continue chatting and sipping our cocktails, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting another work email, but freeze when I see the name on the screen.

Jack.

I smile as I read the words.

There’s a flutter in my stomach as I read Jack’s message. Part of me wants to respond immediately, but I hesitate, glancing at Sloane.

“Everything okay?” she asks, noticing my sudden distraction.

“Yeah, just . . . nothing,” I lie, slipping my phone back into my pocket. I’ll respond to Jack later, when I’m alone.

Sloane narrows her eyes and leans forward, her sweater jingling slightly. “Oh no, you don’t get to ‘just nothing’ me. Spill it, Chloe. Who’s got you smiling at your phone like that?”