Page 44 of Sweet Sinners
That’s what I tell myself.
Later, after we’ve demolished two plates of pasta and half a pizza, Cali insists on checking my hand again. Carefully, she unwraps the gauze, her expression softening as she studies the wound.
“It’s deep,” she murmurs, concern edging her voice.
I shrug it off. “Just press the edges together and slap a bigger band-aid on it. It’ll heal.”
“It’ll scar,” she warns, voice gentle but firm.
I smirk, forcing casualness. “Wouldn’t be my first.”
She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. Instead, her eyes search my face, quiet, unguarded, unreadable.
“What did they do to you in there, Connor?”
I don’t flinch, but something inside me locks down tight. “Trust me, Cali, you don’t want those nightmares.”
Chapter twenty-two
Cali
Sundaystretchesquietly,themansion wrapped in a stillness that feels louder than noise ever could. It’s too big today, too vacant, like the empty spaces hold all the secrets we're both trying to bury. Boston’s heartbeat thrums faintly outside, a distant rhythm, but inside, it’s just me, Connor, and the heavy awareness that something’s shifted. I can’t pinpoint what, or even when, but the air between us feels charged, dangerously alive.
I make the decision early: today is for staying home. No errands, no distractions, nothing but me and this space. But even as I settle into the silence, an uneasy feeling lingers, circling inevitably back to Connor. He says he’s fine, but I felt it last night, his walls slammeddown, harder and colder than before. It left me restless, aching for some excuse to pull him closer, to make him spill whatever darkness he’s carrying. But I hold back, for now. Some doors should only open when you’re ready for what lies behind them.
Lunch is served in the formal dining room, at the absurdly large table that emphasizes how alone we are. Pale winter sunlight filters in through the massive windows, casting muted shadows across our plates. Outside, barren branches scratch restlessly at the glass, as if even they sense the tension inside. Connor sits across from me, half-focused, flicking aimlessly through his phone. His fork hovers over the plate, untouched, forgotten, as he stares into whatever void he’s found.
Then, he stiffens. His grip tightens on his phone, knuckles whitening, the tendons in his neck pulling taut like wires ready to snap.
"What the fuck is this?" he growls, low and dangerous, breaking the quiet so suddenly that I jump.
Before I can ask, he flips the screen around, eyes dark with anger, holding it out to me like an accusation.
A TMZ-style headline screams from the screen, paired with a grainy snapshot of Dean and me from yesterday.
Athen Shipping & Logistics CEO Calliope Stavros Spotted Getting Cozy with Board Member—Wedding Bells in Their Future?
My stomach knots viciously as I snatch the phone from his hand. God, could this get any worse? The image is blurry, captured at just the right angle to twist a casual conversation into something intimate. Dean leaning in, smiling; me laughing. Innocent, harmless, completely misinterpreted.
Connor is silent for a beat, eyes darkening with something I can’t name. "Can’t resist the spotlight, huh?" he drawls, voice deceptively casual, but the tension threading through his tone makes it clear he’sanything but amused. "This is gonna create some serious waves at work."
I exhale sharply, irritation flaring. "Then I’ll handle it. It’s bullshit anyway. I already turned him down."
The silence that follows isn’t a relief; it’s a storm, heavy and charged, pulling the air tight between us. I expect him to let it go, to shrug it off, but when I glance up, Connor’s watching me intently, every muscle in his body drawn tight, like he's barely keeping himself in check.
"He asked you out?"
His voice is low, rough, edged with something dangerous, something raw enough to catch my breath and send a shiver down my spine.
I lift my chin, defensive before I can stop myself. "Yeah, he did. So what?"
Connor’s jaw tightens, the muscle in his cheek flexing beneath his skin as his gaze pins me in place. "Nothing," he mutters, dropping his fork roughly onto his plate. "Good. Dating someone from work is a fucking disaster waiting to happen."
A muscle flexes in his jaw, the tendons in his neck tightening as he swallows roughly.
His dismissive tone sends irritation sparking through me. I drop my fork with a clatter, suddenly losing my appetite. "Oh, really? Since when are you an expert on workplace romances?"
Connor leans back, arms folded tight across his chest, his expression shuttered. "Honestly, I don’t care who you date, little sis."
