Page 19 of Sweet Sinners
Her shoulders tense, fingers tightening around the spatula. For a split second, I think she might throw it at my head. But when she doesn’t, I press further, the needling urge too strong to resist. “Did you even get a chance to tell them about your brilliant strategy?”
Cali’s back stiffens, her frustration bleeding into the air between us. She doesn’t answer immediately, instead turning back to the stove, gripping the pan handle like a lifeline. “This first week wasn’t about strategy,” she mutters, voice low but sharp. “It was about setting the stage, feeling them out. Letting them underestimate me. Not that it’s any of your business.” Her attention moves swiftly back to the sauce she’s stirring, shutting me out as deliberately as slamming a door in my face.
I inch closer, my voice softening, probing gently. “Who else is around to listen?”
She shrugs, pretending indifference, pouring the pasta into the strainer, the clatter of dishes filling the silence, drowning out the tension. But her lack of response speaks volumes, louder than words ever could.
I study her quietly, like a puzzle with shifting pieces. Cali could be dining in luxury, letting staff serve her on fine china, yet here she is—barefoot, hair messy, cooking dinner herself like it’s the only way she can stay grounded. It’s disarming, irritatingly human, and I hate the way it twists inside me, pulling at something buried deep.
She’s a living reminder of a world I’ve been locked out of for years. Prison walls and orange jumpsuits had stripped away my connection to normalcy, leaving behind only sterile headlines and digital updates that were never enough. Watching her now, effortlessly slipping into this mundane routine, makes me ache in ways I refuse to acknowledge.
“Maybe you could try making friends online,” she suddenly murmurs, voice gentle but precise, an arrow shot straight to the heart.
Her words hit me like a sucker punch. My jaw clenches, her casual suggestion grazing a nerve I didn’t realize was exposed. The thought of faking some shiny, sanitized persona just to belong in a virtual circle of strangers makes my stomach churn. My name is a scar, etched permanently across every digital landscape, unforgettable and unforgivable. There's no erasing it, no running from it.
“You’d think someone with your talent for strategy would know better,” I drawl, forcing dry amusement into my voice to hide the bitter aftertaste.
Her eyes dart briefly to mine, acknowledging me just enough to dismiss me all over again.
I attempt to lighten the mood, leaning back against the counter casually. “Maybe you should warn the board. If they don’t start taking you seriously, you’ll unleash me on them. They already think I’m dangerous—wait until they see me in a boardroom.”
My joke falls flat, even to my ears. But I watch her reaction closely anyway. She surprises me, hesitating rather than snapping back. Her brow creases slightly, like my words are a puzzle she's reluctantly considering solving.
Finally, she shrugs, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “I'll figure out how to sway them,” she says coolly, but there's steel behind her voice now. “If they won't listen to reason, then maybe I'll give them something else. Let them think they’re my saviors. Let them play their little knight-in-shining-armor fantasy. And when they least expect it…” A sharp, ruthless smile curves her lips. “I’ll flip the script.”
There's a fierceness in her I haven't seen before, this calculated determination, sharp enough to draw blood. She’s not the girl I remember anymore; she's transformed into someone who knows exactly what she's capable of.
“You really have it all figured out, huh?” I murmur, my voice softer than intended, drawn to her intensity despite myself.
Her gaze snaps back to mine, bold and challenging. “What other choice do I have?”
I don't answer, because she's right. We both know it.
“After dinner,” she continues, tossing her hair back with forced nonchalance, “I want to be alone.”
The dismissal stings, sharp as ever, but I can't resist baiting her. “Maybe wear a bell next time. You keep running into me.”
She scoffs, eyes flicking pointedly down at the ankle monitor wrapped around my leg, her silent reminder of the leash I'mstill wearing. It's subtle, effective. My fists tighten briefly, but I shove down the impulse to snap back.
“Let me help,” I offer suddenly, catching us both off guard. “I'll give you space later, but for now, put me to work.”
She hesitates, gripping the counter edge as if debating my sincerity. Then, reluctantly, she slides a knife toward me, its blade glinting under the kitchen lights. “Start with the onion,” she says quietly. “I hate chopping those.”
My fingers close around the handle, the knife heavier than I expect—solid, grounding. When I glance up again, our eyes meet, tension crackling silently between us.
There’s something wary in her gaze, a challenge lurking beneath the surface. It's about more than just onions; it’s about trust. The question hangs in the air: Will she ever truly trust me?
Probably not.
But there’s an ember inside me, a spark of stubborn defiance refusing to burn out. Determination or recklessness, maybe both. I’m not ready to back down. Not yet.
I want her to hand me a knife without wondering if I'll use it to carve out her heart.
And fuck if I know why the need to be her savior has settled deep into my bones, but right now, it's the only thing holding me steady.
Chapter eleven
Cali
