Page 2 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter one

Cali

T he scent hit me first, faintly floral, a little dusty, achingly familiar.

Home.

My fingertips hesitated on the polished mahogany doors before I finally pushed.

The hinges creaked, slicing through the silence like a scream in the dark.

Inside, cream curtains framed the tall windows, sunlight filtering softly through the fabric.

Family photos lined the walls, frozen smiles trapped beneath glass, untouched by everything that had happened.

But I wasn’t untouched.

I dropped my bags onto the marble floor and stood still, the weight of memories crashing over me. Chaos. Blood. Sirens. Hollow condolences from relatives who vanished the moment the casseroles ran out. Time hadn’t healed those wounds; it had just taught me how to hide them better.

Taking a steadying breath, I glanced around. The silence wasn’t eerie like I'd expected, it felt heavy yet familiar, as though the house had been holding its breath, waiting years for me to finally come home.

I had spent my childhood here, endless summers swimming in the backyard pool, racing my bike down the long driveway.

But then everything changed. Dad remarried halfway through high school, and suddenly home wasn’t home anymore.

It was just another place filled with strangers—a stepmother, a stepbrother—I had no desire to know.

Boarding school became my relief, a convenient escape from a family I neither asked for nor wanted.

Even when I returned for holidays, Dad was a ghost, locked behind closed doors, consumed by work or his new wife. Demetrios Stavros. Shipping tycoon. Ruthless businessman. My father.

And now his legacy was my responsibility.

Three years ago, the empire I’d resented my entire life landed squarely in my lap. At nineteen, dreaming of college and freedom, I'd been suddenly thrust into the role of CEO-in-training. Trial by fire. No escape.

Standing here now, in the same foyer where I'd once decided I wanted out, I questioned if coming back had been the right move. But Papou had insisted, said I was ready, said he was tired of managing interim CEOs who never measured up.

The walls loomed taller than I remembered, the quiet stretching endlessly around me. I stepped farther inside, my voice barely a whisper in the cavernous space.

"I'm home," I whispered into the emptiness. The echo mocked me because we both knew I hadn't belonged here in a very long time .

The sound came back faint and distorted. The house didn’t respond—it only stared back, still and expectant, waiting to see if I'd finally make it through the front door without running.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

A soft rustle drifted from the kitchen, followed by the rich, familiar scent of fresh coffee. Slow footsteps shuffled closer, and my chest tightened with an ache I couldn't quite place.

And then she appeared.

My yiayia, Anastasia, stepped into view, her silver hair neatly swept up into her signature bun, a floral apron dusted with flour tied around her waist. Her presence instantly softened the sharp, empty edges of this house.

Age had carved gentle lines into her face, but her eyes—bright and mischievous—lit up exactly as they always had whenever she saw me.

"Cali!" she exclaimed, arms spreading wide as if she'd waited forever for this moment. "Look at you! So grown up, so beautiful."

Her embrace enveloped me, warm and strong, melting something deep inside, an icy part I'd forgotten was even frozen. I clung to her tightly, breathing in her comfort.

"Yiayia," I whispered against her shoulder, my voice thick with emotion. "It's good to be home."

She drew back slightly, hands settling on my shoulders, her gaze cataloging every change. "You've grown so much," she murmured, pride and worry mingling gently in her voice. Her palm cupped my cheek softly. "But you'll always be my sweet little angel."

Before I could respond, a deeper voice cut through the quiet.

"Well, isn't this quite the reunion?"

My grandfather, Leonidas, strode into the foyer, posture impeccable as ever. Tailored suit, graying temples, dark eyes that missed nothing, he still commanded any space he entered. Even now, with age stooping his shoulders just slightly, authority radiated from him effortlessly.

"Papou," I said, forcing a smile that felt small and uncertain.

In two long strides, he closed the distance, drawing Yiayia and me into a firm, unexpectedly tender hug. "It's been far too quiet around here without you," he said roughly, nostalgia coloring his voice.

When he stepped back, he studied me, gaze sharp and assessing. "Strange being back?"

I nodded slowly, the truth heavier than I was willing to admit aloud.

"Your papou and I know it isn't easy," Yiayia said softly, sensing my hesitation.

Her voice lowered, gentle yet firm. "We weren't always here when you were growing up.

Boston was your father's escape from Greece, his chance to build something without traditions and expectations weighing him down.

But after…" She paused, voice catching briefly.

"After everything, we knew you'd need us.

Three years isn't long, but we missed far too many before. "

She squeezed my hand gently, eyes bright with sincerity. "You're not alone anymore."

Papou nodded, warmth softening his usually stern expression. "And this place will feel like home again soon enough."

Yiayia tugged us toward the kitchen, her smile returning with quiet reassurance. "Come. We've missed you more than you'll ever know."

The kitchen had always been the only room in this cold, cavernous mansion that felt alive.

Copper pots gleamed warmly from the walls, strings of dried herbs hung from the rafters, and the air smelled richly of cinnamon, vanilla, and freshly baked bread.

A sturdy wooden table dominated the center, dishes steaming gently from the oven arranged across its surface.

At the far end stood Maya, our housekeeper, neatly stacking plates.

She glanced up, offering a soft, welcoming smile that made my chest tighten .

Without her, I never would’ve survived this house as a teenager. She was the closest thing I'd had to family before I'd been sent away.

She quickly set down the plates and rushed toward me, pulling me into a warm embrace. "Welcome home, Cali. I've missed you."

I hugged her tight, throat burning with unexpected emotion. "I missed you too, Maya."

For a moment, I let myself feel that ache, the bittersweet longing for years spent far from the people who’d made this place bearable. Maya pulled back gently, squeezing my shoulder once more before returning quietly to her task by the sink.

The comfort of our reunion settled softly around us until Papou cleared his throat, shattering the fragile peace.

“While it’s good to have you back, Cali,” he began, shifting into the controlled, businesslike tone I knew too well, “there are pressing matters. The company needs your attention.”

Yiayia's head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Leo," she warned, voice tight with quiet intensity.

He lifted a dismissive hand. "The longer we wait, the harder the transition becomes."

Tension sparked through the kitchen like lightning, the silent stand-off charged enough to scorch the air between them.

Maya glanced between us, sensing the sudden shift. She touched my arm gently, murmuring, "I'll leave you three to talk. I'll take care of your bags."

"Thanks, Maya," I said quietly, offering her a weak smile as she slipped silently from the room.

Once we were alone, Yiayia’s fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, prepared to argue, but I gently raised a hand to stop her.

“It’s okay, Yiayia,” I said quietly but firmly. “I knew exactly what I was coming back to.”

Papou nodded approvingly, eyes gleaming with pride. “Good. Then we can—”

“But,” I interrupted smoothly, meeting his gaze without wavering, “just because I knew doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. I understand my responsibility, but I don’t know if I’m ready for everything that comes with it. Not yet.”

Papou’s brow furrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thoughtful line as he studied me.

Without responding, he reached down and grabbed the briefcase I'd overlooked beside his chair.

The soft leather gleamed beneath the kitchen lights, and when he opened it, the Stavros family emblem—the silver ship—caught the glow.

My stomach knotted. That damn ship. Always there, always looming, always reminding me who I was supposed to be.

Who they demanded I become.

A sigh escaped before I could hold it back, and Papou glanced up sharply, silent and watchful. Without a word, he pulled a neat stack of papers from the briefcase and slid them across the table. Even untouched, their weight pressed heavily against my chest.

"That's a lot of paperwork for a homecoming," I teased lightly, forcing a smile, desperate to ease the tension before it suffocated me.

Papou chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "This is just the beginning, Cali. Three years we've waited."

He began pointing things out: figures, projections, acquisitions.

Numbers and expectations spilled across each page, one after another, like waves threatening to drag me under.

I leaned in, nodding when I was expected to, but it was too much, too soon.

My head spun, my chest tightening with every breath.

"Cali," Yiayia said gently, reaching out to cover my hand with hers. Her warmth seeped through, softening the cold, calculated air of the room. "Don't let it overwhelm you. Your father prepared you for this, even if you didn't realize it."

Her words weren't cruel, but they stung nonetheless. My father hadn't prepared me. He'd dropped this weight onto my shoulders and walked away just as he had when he'd sent me to boarding school. Just as he'd done with everything else he wanted to avoid.

Papou cleared his throat, nodding as if her quiet reassurance settled everything. "She's right. This isn't just business. It's about legacy. Honoring what your father built."

Legacy. There was that word again.

I forced myself to breathe, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse quickened. "I get it. I understand how much this matters. I'll do everything I can to make sure the company succeeds."

The lie tasted bitter and heavy on my tongue.

I wasn't ready, not even close, but Papou watched me with expectation burning fiercely in his eyes, and nothing felt worse than disappointing him.

My father had drilled it into me for years: failure wasn't acceptable; it wasn't in our blood. Failure, he’d told me, belonged only to those too weak to fight for success. Now, seeing that same relentless determination etched into Papou’s expression, I couldn't help but wonder if my father had learned it from him.

"I know you will," he said without hesitation, oblivious to the anxiety clawing up my chest, tightening its grip with each passing second. I swallowed hard, licking my dry lips, desperate for something, anything , to ease the feeling away.

I wanted to believe him. I needed to. But the knot in my stomach refused to loosen, twisting mercilessly as a cruel reminder of just how alone I still felt in all of this .

Silence fell thickly around us, stretching just long enough for doubt to seep in. Then the doorbell rang, sharp, sudden, slicing through the quiet.

Yiayia frowned, her gaze flicking toward the entryway. "Who could that be at this hour?"

She rose, footsteps deliberate and steady, while unease churned inside me. I glanced at Papou, lowering my voice. "Were you expecting someone?"

He shook his head slowly, brow furrowing. "No," he murmured. "It's too late for visitors."

We sat there, tension crackling through the silence as low, clipped voices echoed softly from the hall. A moment later, Yiayia reappeared, her expression carefully composed—but her eyes betrayed her. Something was wrong.

And then he stepped into the room.

Connor.

His presence filled the space, dark and heavy like an approaching storm.

His posture seemed deceptively casual, but everything about him—the tense line of his jaw, the defiant tilt of his chin—dared us to look too closely.

But those eyes...those eyes weren't casual at all.

They locked onto mine, dark and fierce, and for one unbearable heartbeat, everything else stopped.

“Connor,” Papou spoke first, voice steady yet wary.

Connor gave a faint nod, gaze never leaving mine. “Cali,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, edged with something mocking. “It's been a while.”

Three years.

The last time I saw him had been in a courtroom, his expression unreadable as the judge declared him not guilty.

Lack of evidence, a technicality. But innocence?

That was another story entirely. One I didn't buy, no matter what the jury decided.

Connor hated my father, and even if part of me believed he loved his mother, I knew what lived inside him: rage, violence, madness.

Everything my father had warned me about, everything he'd begged me to avoid.

Connor was capable of murder. He had to be.

The justice system might’ve let him walk free for our parents' deaths, but they hadn't truly freed him. He’d been locked away, and I didn't care why. It only confirmed what I already knew: prison was exactly where he belonged, where all monsters belonged.

So why was he here now, standing in my kitchen, saying my name like he had every right?

My stepbrother was a real prize. Not that the title fit anymore, our parents were dead. Technically, we weren't family. No ties, no obligations, no reason for him to be in my house at midnight, looking at me like he belonged here.

“Yes,” I finally said, anger sharpening the edge of my voice. “Not nearly long enough, apparently.”

Yiayia cleared her throat gently, but firmly. “Connor is under house arrest as part of his parole. He’ll be staying here.”

She said it as if it were simple, as if she weren’t talking about the man who’d been dragged from this very house, thrown into a cell, accused of murdering my father. Her own son.

Connor moved toward the table and sank into a chair, casual as if he owned the place. My pulse quickened, and I flinched before I could stop myself. Fear or anger, I wasn't sure which. I only knew I hated how calm he appeared, every movement deliberate, every step measured.

Papou leaned back slowly, fingers steepling as he studied Connor. “Well,” he finally said, voice heavy, gaze calculating, “it seems we have more to discuss tonight than just business.”

Connor’s mouth curved slightly, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor behind it.