Page 12 of Sweet Sinners
Cali
Themassivedoubledoorsof Athen Shipping and Logistics swing open before me, revealing a space both familiar and strangely foreign. Stunning marble floors and sleek, modern lines stretch out, walls and hallways that still echo with fragments of my childhood. Memories of running through these halls, chasing after a father who rarely looked back.
Even stepping inside now, it still feels like his. Not mine.
The dull ache in my head reminds me it wasn’t just two glasses last night. But today will be different. I’ll be different. I have to show everyone—show myself—that I belong here.
My name glimmers sharply on the door: Calliope Stavros, CEO. It feels out of place, surreal, twisting sharply in my chest. Standing exactly where he stood, wearing shoes I never wanted to fill.
I take a hesitant step forward, my heels clicking against marble, the echo heavy in the silence. My stomach knots tight, but I school my features into something neutral, composed. I don’t hate this office—not entirely. But it will never truly feel mine.
“Calliope?”
The sound of my name hits me like a jolt, startling my heart into a quicker beat. I turn sharply, breath hitching when my eyes land on her.
“Anna?”
She grins, and I’m moving before I realize it, rushing forward to pull her into a tight embrace. It’s impossible not to recognize her, even after all these years. Over a decade, yet her face remains the same—maybe a little older, sharper, but undeniably her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, warmth creeping into my voice for the first time in weeks.
“Actually…” Anna steps back, that playful smirk curving her lips again. “I’m your assistant.”
Her words take a second to sink in. “You? My assistant? Seriously?”
“Seriously.” She laughs, eyes shining with amusement.
“Weren’t you supposed to be conquering the fashion world or something?” I ask, still trying to reconcile this polished, corporate version of her with the vibrant girl from my memories. Anna had always been destined for bigger things—Paris runways, New York galleries—not some stuffy corporate office in Boston.
Her smile slips slightly, shadows flickering across her expression. “Yeah, about that…” She pauses, tucking a strand of hair nervously behind her ear. “Dad had strong opinions, and you know how hard I’ve always tried to keep him happy.” Her voice falters, vulnerability slipping through her carefully crafted armor. But she shakes it off quickly, forcing another smile. “Anyway, what matters is I’m here now. With you.”
I step into my office, Anna trailing close behind. Setting my bag on the chair, I pause, taking in the space. Subtle changes jump out immediately—the fresh-cut flowers spilling from a vase on the desk, the warm-toned paintings now lining the walls. Everything feels softer, less sterile.
More like mine.
"You did this, didn't you?" I ask quietly, gesturing around the room.
She shrugs gently, searching my face. "It needed to feel less like a museum and more like…you."
My chest tightens, something warm and unexpected settling inside me. "Thank you," I say softly, swallowing hard.
Anna smiles faintly. "Don't thank me yet. The board's waiting. They're tough, but you’re ready for this, right?"
I exhale slowly, smoothing my ponytail. I'd rather have my hair down, but sleek and controlled was what everyone advised. The white Calvin Klein pantsuit feels stiff, foreign. I’d trade it in a heartbeat for a sundress and an afternoon by Mystic Lakes. Instead, I’m here, playing the role I've been given.
"Time to meet the vultures," I mutter under my breath.
Anna snorts softly, a reassuring gleam in her eyes. "You'll be fine."
We step into the hallway, Anna’s heels clicking rhythmically beside mine, echoing like a countdown. The boardroom doors loom ahead, the weight of everything behind them pressing tight against my chest.
Faces swirl in my mind—some I know, loyal to my father, his inner circle. Others are strangers, new names and faces who’ve filled empty seats in the years since his death.
Would he approve of me taking his place? The thought feels bitter. My father never spared smiles for me—not genuine ones, anyway.Those belonged only to my mother, and when she died, any warmth inside him went with her.
Even with my stepmother, he remained distant. I suppose she saw something I couldn’t, something worth loving beneath his walls. I never took the chance to truly know her, and guilt tries to slip in now. But guilt makes me think of Connor, and I refuse to go there.
Not today. Not now.
