Page 94 of Sweet Sinners
"Anna’s coming," she whispers.
"Tonight?" My voice is steady, but my mind is already racing ahead, calculating our next move.
"Right now," she says, her voice barely audible. "I…I’m not ready. I feel sick."
I close the distance immediately, lowering my voice. "I’ll stay hidden. Remember, the staff isn’t here. Just one press of that emergency button on your phone, and security sends the police immediately—no questions asked."
She nods, but she’s visibly pale, shaking slightly. "I know, but…how can you ever really be ready for something like this?"
"We’re as ready as we can possibly be," I say firmly, squeezing her hand. "You have control. I’m here as backup. Stick to the plan."
Cali meets my eyes, anxiety radiating off her in waves. After a second, I release her hand and head back to the kitchen, shutting the doors quietly behind me. Thankfully, it's separate from the living room. I know she'll be great, I just hope she holds herself together as effortlessly as she does in every business call, every tough decision.
We can handle this.
We just have to trust each other.
Chapter forty-four
Cali
Isitstifflyonthecouch, my palms rubbing anxiously over my knees as I try—and fail—to steady my racing heartbeat. The house is quiet, too quiet, every faint creak or shift making my pulse spike. Closing my eyes, I strain to focus on Connor moving around in the kitchen, hoping the comforting sounds will settle my nerves. He promised he’d stay hidden unless I called for him, but it doesn't make me feel any safer.
If Anna really murdered my father and stepmother—if she’s truly determined to burn down everything my dad spent his life building—then what's stopping her from stormingthrough that door, pouring gasoline all over the house, and lighting a match just to watch Connor and me burn?
The thought sends a violent chill through me, ice seeping deep into my bones despite the warmth of the room.
She’s already taken photos or videos of our most private moments. I’ve seen the evidence clear as day, and though sharing it would be revenge porn—a crime—fighting it would mean a lengthy, ugly court battle. That terrifies me almost as much as the recordings. It would put our relationship on public display, and I’m nowhere near ready for that scandal.
I need to get Anna arrested and charged with our parents’ murders—without that picture ever surfacing. Too many pieces are spinning, too many threads unraveling, and I can’t afford to let a single one fall. The thought of being at Anna’s mercy, after everything I tried to do right, rattles me deeply. I never could control our clashes before—not with her temper and mine—but this feels different, more dangerous. Like I'm balancing on the edge of a cliff, ground shifting beneath my feet.
"Stop worrying," Connor calls calmly from the kitchen.
My gaze snaps toward him, irritation flaring when I realize he's not even looking my way. Typical. I huff softly, forcing a small, humorless smile he won't see. Has he just gotten that good at reading me—or have I become so predictable he knows exactly when my thoughts spiral?
I grab my phone again, checking the time for what feels like the hundredth time. Twenty minutes. Twenty agonizing, endless minutes since I sent that text, and still nothing from Anna. No update, no ETA—not even a clue about where she's coming from.
A notification from Dr. Anderson flashes on the screen, asking about scheduling a session. My thumb hesitates, hovering uncertainly.Terrible timing, but also maybe perfect. I've been dodging this ever since I came back home, but deep down, I know I need the anchor she'll provide. Quickly, before I can second-guess myself, I confirm for next week. If I'm still alive by then.
No. We're not doing this, Cali. Don't let your mind go there.
My fingers shake slightly as I send another text to Anna, asking again for an ETA, urgency seeping into every carefully chosen word.
No reply.
Nothing but silence—and the cold, sinking certainty that Anna's already two steps ahead of me.
Five minutes.
Just five minutes, but each second drags out like a razor blade drawn slowly across skin. I sit frozen, listening to the muffled sounds of Connor moving quietly in the kitchen—his footsteps cautious, the oven opening and then closing softly. My pulse pounds louder in my ears with every faint noise, every rustle, every creak.
Then silence.
Absolute, crushing silence.
I glance at the clock on my phone again. Still five minutes. Has time stopped altogether?
Connor knows to stay hidden; he promised he would. But Anna isn't stupid—she'll know he's here. He's still confined to the house, bound by the ankle monitor that's kept us on edge since day one. She'll know exactly where to strike, exactly how to twist the knife to make it hurt most.
