Page 16 of Sweet Sinners
“What?” she snaps, but the bite in her voice doesn’t match how still she stands, how her gaze searches mine as if daring me to push.
I hold her eyes, the tension between us thickening like fog. “You can hate me all you want, but we’re stuck here together.”
She yanks her wrist free, her expression flickering with frustration and something else. “You’re right. I do hate you,” she whispers fiercely, taking a step back. “But worse than that, I don’t trust you. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
The words sting deeper than they should, but I keep the smirk firmly in place. “We live under the same roof, Cali.”
“Unfortunately for me,” she fires back, eyes burning into mine one last time before she turns sharply, walking away and leaving me alone in the charged silence, her name still hot on my tongue.
I don’t know why she gets under my skin like this. Her hatred shouldn’t matter—hell, it should fuel me. But it bothers me, clawing at the edges of my sanity. Maybe because deep down, I don’t really hate her. I hate what she represents: the flawless daughter, the golden child. Everything I never was. Everything I was never allowed to become.
I hate the way she looks at me with those icy blue eyes, blaming me for the cracks in her porcelain-perfect world, accusing me of shattering the glass tower she built around herself. Like it’s my fault she’s stuck playing dress-up in her father's empire, choking on obligations she never asked for.
I see her late at night, wandering this empty house like a ghost, the glow of moonlight catching her silhouette. Drinking glass after glass, drowning something she thinks I can’t see. But it doesn’t take an expert to recognize that desperation. Even if Anastasia hadn’t quietlymentioned Cali’s accident, I’d have figured out the princess liked her drinks a little too much, that her perfect façade was frayed around the edges.
It brings back memories I’d rather forget—my father stumbling in late, eyes glassy and hateful, fists raised. My mother always bearing the brunt of his rage. Until I got bigger, stronger. Until I finally fought back, and the satisfaction I felt, knowing I’d never again let him touch her, was the sweetest victory of my life.
I would’ve killed him if my mother hadn’t chosen to run, to leave all that ugliness behind. Then she met Demetrios, a man who made her feel safe, who gave her something resembling happiness. And even though I spent every moment with him lurking in the shadows, an outsider looking into a life that was never mine, I accepted it.
I’m still not sure if their love was genuine. But at least she smiled again. At least she found peace, even if I never could.
Chapter nine
Cali
Retreatinghomeafteryetanother disaster at the office feels like waving a white flag, admitting defeat when I've barely even started.
Today should’ve been monumental. My first real meeting, my first chance to show them I was more than just a pretty face keeping the seat warm. Instead, I stumbled through the boardroom under a barrage of empty smiles and half-hearted nods, abandoning ship at the first ripple of trouble—just like I had on Monday.
Self-control didn't just slip this time, it shattered the second my office door closed and I saw that damn bottle of bourbon again. Anna didn't even try to stop me this time.
I fumble with the keys at the front door, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. If this isn't rock bottom, it’s close enough to taste.
Crossing the threshold, I pause, the weight of the day pressing down, suffocating. The house is eerily still, amplifying every doubt, every insecurity I’m desperate to silence. Between the chaos at the company, my grandparents leaving, and the constant friction with Connor, home feels less like a sanctuary and more like a ticking time bomb.
I toss my bag on the counter, gaze flicking toward the kitchen cabinets. For one dangerous moment, I consider reaching for something strong, something to numb the edges. But Anna’s words echo in my head, sharp, unforgiving.
Don’t let them break you.
“Fuck,” I mutter, the word cutting harshly into the quiet.
“Rough day at the office?”
My breath hitches as I spin around, heart slamming in my chest. Connor leans casually in the doorway, work gloves dangling from one hand, dirt smudged across the taut fabric of his shirt. He looks perfectly at ease, all rugged confidence and infuriating composure, the polar opposite of my unraveling.
My stomach tightens painfully at the sight of him. I resent how effortlessly he holds himself together when I’m barely clinging on.
“What the hell do you think?” I snap, frustration bleeding into my voice before I can stop it.
His lips quirk up in that damn smirk of his, eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable. “You look like hell, Cali. Something happen?”
The casual concern in his voice grates on me, igniting fresh anger beneath my skin. I fold my arms tight across my chest, glaring up at him defiantly. “You really wanna go there, Connor?”
He pushes off the doorway, stepping further into the room, dropping the gloves onto the kitchen island with a casual toss. Hismovements are slow, deliberate, every step calculated to invade my space, to force me to acknowledge him. His presence fills the room, magnetic and infuriatingly dominant, demanding my full attention.
And damn him, he gets it.
“I’m serious, Calliope,” he says, voice dropping dangerously low. “Tell me what happened.”
