Page 11 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter nine

Cali

R etreating home after yet another 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.

His movements 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.”

My jaw tightens, his use of my full name slicing through my defenses like a blade. He always says it with a quiet authority, as if he’s reminding me exactly who has the upper hand here.

“It’s none of your business,” I snap, forcing myself not to look him in the eye.

“It is when it affects this house,” he counters sharply. “You’re the CEO now. If you unravel, it takes everyone down with you.”

A bitter laugh slips from my throat. “Now suddenly you care about the family legacy? Worried I might ruin your cozy little hideout?”

His eyes darken, intensity flaring. “Don’t twist this around, Cali. If you’re pissed at the assholes on that board, go take it out on them, not me. I’m not your fucking punching bag.”

His words hit me hard, my anger fracturing just enough to let vulnerability slip through. I hate him for being right, for seeing through the cracks I’ve desperately tried to hide.

“I’m not falling apart,” I whisper, but the conviction isn’t there.

He steps forward, invading my space until I can’t escape the intensity in his gaze. “Then why do you look like you’re barely holding it together?”

I can’t breathe, the walls closing in as he stares straight through every barrier I’ve carefully built.

My throat tightens painfully, and before I can stop myself, the truth spills out—messy, raw, and unfiltered.

“They don’t respect me,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper.

“ All the board sees is my father’s shadow.

I’m just a placeholder until someone better comes along. And maybe…maybe they’re right.”

Something shifts in his expression, that harshness softening just enough to leave me exposed. I turn away quickly, pulse racing, unwilling to confront whatever truth lingers behind those eyes.

“You’re wrong,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor. Firm. Unyielding. Daring me to challenge him.

I let out a bitter laugh, crossing my arms over my chest. "What makes you so sure? You’ve been here for what, five minutes? You don't even like me."

His lips twitch, but it's not a smile. It's darker, sharper, more dangerous. "I don't need to like you to see what's right in front of me, Calliope."

The way he says my full name twists something deep in my chest, but I push it down, raising my chin defiantly. "Enlighten me, then. Tell me exactly what you see."

He steps closer, every movement deliberate, eyes fixed on mine with a fierce intensity.

"I see someone who's smart. Someone stronger than she pretends to be.

Someone who gives a damn about this place even when it doesn't deserve her.

" His voice drops to a rough whisper. "And if they can't recognize that, they're the fools, not you. "

His words hit deeper than I'm prepared for, slicing through layers of carefully constructed armor. My throat tightens, but I fight to keep my composure. "You don't know what you're talking about," I mutter.

Connor moves in closer, closing the distance until he's nearly pressed against me.

His presence fills every inch of space between us, the air charged with something heavy and dangerous.

"Don't I?" he murmurs, his voice low, rough, holding secrets I don't want to uncover. "I see you clearer than you think. "

I shake my head, stepping back instinctively, only for my spine to meet the hard edge of the counter. Trapped. "Why do you even care?" I snap, my voice wavering with frustration and something else .

He leans in, invading my space, the heat of his body a tangible force.

"Because whether you like it or not, we're stuck here together," he growls, frustration threading through his tone like silk over steel.

"And dealing with your attitude is easier than facing the ghosts haunting these halls alone. "

My heart pounds wildly, pulse echoing in my ears. He's too close, his scent, the intensity in his eyes, the way he watches me like he sees right through me.

"Maybe you're the one who's stuck," I throw back, grasping for control. "You're the one chained to this place. You're the one wearing that goddamn ankle monitor. Don’t pretend this house isn't just another prison for you."

His jaw tightens, a flicker of something raw crossing his features before melting into a slow, dangerous smirk. "You're right," he says softly, stepping so close I can feel his breath against my cheek. "It is a prison. But you're the one who keeps coming back to my cell."

My breath catches, his words landing like a blow, knocking the air from my lungs. The tension coils tight between us, stretching like a wire pulled to its limit, ready to snap at any moment. I hate that he's right. Hate that I keep stepping closer, keep letting him get under my skin.

“You don't know anything about me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, almost hoping he doesn't hear.

But he does.

Connor lifts his hand slowly, fingers reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek.

The touch is feather-light, softer than I ever imagined possible from him, almost reverent.

My pulse spikes, my heartbeat suddenly a fierce rhythm in my ears.

His fingertips linger just long enough to scorch my skin, heat trailing behind his touch, leaving a mark even as he pulls away.

“Maybe not,” he murmurs, voice low and thick, layered with something dark and complicated I don't want to unravel. His eyes hold mine, intense and unflinching, like he's digging for truths I haven't even admitted to myself yet. “But I'm starting to.”

His words hit deeper this time, tightening my chest painfully, unraveling parts of myself I've buried so carefully beneath layers of control.

Just as quickly as it happened, he steps back, dropping his hand and leaving my skin tingling, colder for his absence. I take a shaky breath, trying to find my footing again, feeling as if he's stolen something from me that I didn't mean to give.

Then, like a switch flipping, he smirks—slow, lazy, infuriatingly self-assured. “Dinner’s on me,” he says casually, dismissing the tension like the last minute never happened.

I blink at him, confusion turning to annoyance. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His smirk deepens, a challenge sparking in his eyes. “I'll handle dinner. You—” he gestures down the hallway, dismissively casual “—go take a shower. Clear your head.”

The audacity, the sheer nerve of him sparks anger, but I'm too tired to fight it. Too tired of battling every moment in his presence. I nod grudgingly, forcing my legs toward the stairs.

At the top, I pause and glance back, finding Connor’s eyes still locked on me. His expression is guarded, unreadable, but it sends a shiver through me nonetheless. For a fleeting moment, I wonder what he's thinking, what he's seeing, but I shove the thought away quickly.

My life is chaos enough already. The last thing I need is him tangled up in the mess.