Page 37 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter thirty-one

Connor

F older after folder, each click drags me deeper into a nightmare. Photos upon photos, each one darker, uglier than the last. My gut twists sharply at the thought of Cali seeing even a fraction of this shit. I pause, noticing one folder still open, labeled simply with her name.

My pulse quickens as I click into it. There are dozens of pictures—of Cali at work, Cali coming home, Cali smiling obliviously, unaware she's being watched.

There are even some of me, always in the background, always glaring or looking pissed off.

One photo grabs my attention immediately: me, eyes blazing with rage, fixed on my stepdad.

The caption beneath is short, damning: "Likely Suspect. "

It's cold proof of a fucking setup, and anger simmers in my veins. Then I see another file—phone records, dates, times. Names I don't recognize.

"Cali, what are these?" I ask, voice tight, controlled.

"I don't want to look," she whispers, her voice thin, edged with a fragility that knots my chest.

I glance down at her, and that's when I see it—the trembling in her fingers, the uneven hitch in her breathing.

Her shoulders start to shake uncontrollably, panic building in her body with each passing second.

I recognize it instantly because I've been there—after my mother was murdered, after those first hellish nights in prison. My stomach clenches painfully.

"Shit," I murmur, turning her away from the screen. "Cali, hey—look at me."

Her eyes are glazed, unfocused, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. "I—I can't…"

"Yes, you can," I say firmly, cupping her face, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Breathe with me. Slow. In and out."

She shakes her head, tears pooling in her eyes, panic stealing the words from her throat.

"Cali," I urge softly, pressing my forehead to hers. "Just match my breaths. You're safe, I'm right here. Breathe."

Slowly, painfully, she starts to sync with me. Her frantic gulps for air begin to steady, until finally her trembling eases and she slumps against my chest, exhausted. I hold her tight, stroking her back, not letting go until her heartbeat returns to normal beneath my palm.

When she's finally calm enough to speak, I pull back slightly. "Has that happened before?"

She swallows thickly, nodding against me.

"After my mom died. Dad made me see a therapist once a week—it helped.

They almost stopped completely, until three years ago when…

" Her voice trails off, haunted. "After Dad died, they came back.

Nightmares, panic attacks, anxiety so bad I could barely function. "

Her confession cuts deep, a familiar ache tightening in my chest.

"They eased up when I went away to school, when I started seeing someone again. They got less intense, manageable even," she whispers, eyes downcast. "Until now."

I brush my thumb gently over her cheek, catching a stray tear. "You're not alone this time," I promise her quietly. "You never have to deal with this alone again."

She looks up at me then, eyes wide, searching my face like she's desperate to believe every word.

And fuck, I need her to believe me too.

I reach out and close the laptop, pulling the papers from the desk and placing them gently on her lap. Cali stares down at them, fingers trembling as she taps softly on the green-highlighted sections.

"This person," she murmurs shakily. "I think they're what all this is about. The yellow highlights must belong to whoever made…all this."

I watch her closely, my chest tightening painfully. She doesn't need to carry this alone anymore. She shouldn't have to.

"Okay," I whisper, hoping to calm her, ease her panic. "We don't have to keep looking at this, Angel. None of it matters right now."

She jerks her head up, confusion brightening her tear-glazed eyes. "Angel?"

Fuck. I didn't mean to say that out loud.

I swallow hard, holding her gaze. "It's a flower," I say softly. "In the greenhouse—I’ve been taking care of it."

Her expression remains puzzled, and heat rises in my chest as I admit, "I'll show you later. "

She nods slowly, almost absently, her finger hovering over the highlighted section again. Suddenly recognition flashes across her face. "Oh…that's me," she breathes, her voice barely audible, almost lost.

The message is simple, innocent—a daughter checking on her father. Cali’s lip trembles slightly as she reads it, eyes haunted. She clears her throat, visibly pulling herself together, shoulders squaring in that practiced way she does to appear strong. It breaks my fucking heart.

"I tried to Google the numbers," she explains quietly, her voice forcibly calm.

"But nothing substantial came up. I don't trust those sketchy lookup sites.

" She pauses, breathing shakily. "But these texts prove it. Whoever did this was from inside the office—and they're still there, Connor. They’re after my dad’s legacy. "

The fierce determination in her tone guts me. I gently lift her chin, making her meet my eyes again. "And we’re going to fix that, aren’t we?"

Her lower lip trembles, eyes wide with something close to desperation. "I just want it all to end," she whispers, voice cracking.

My chest aches, my throat tight as I see the raw fear reflected in her eyes. I would do fucking anything to take that pain from her.

"We're going to take this to the police," I tell her firmly, holding her gaze. "After I talk to my friend. He can trace these numbers, point them exactly where they need to look. You’re going to call the police today and set it up so they come here tomorrow, okay?"

She nods slowly, reluctantly, eyes flickering with uncertainty even as she agrees. "Okay," she whispers, her shoulders drooping as if the weight of it all is pressing down on her.

I grip her chin a little tighter, capturing her focus. "But today, you let me handle this."

Cali’s eyes flash, mouth opening to protest, a spark of her stubbornness returning. "Connor, you can't just— "

"You have enough to handle at work," I cut her off gently, thumb stroking her jawline even as I speak, needing her to understand.

"My name needs to be cleared, and I’m going to make sure it happens.

And you," I growl, frustration bleeding into my voice as my pulse races, "you need to stop tempting me. "

Because fuck, she’s everywhere. All warmth and softness and whispered breaths against my neck, making me imagine a thousand ways to claim her mouth, her body—to drag her deeper into the darkness with me.

She's unraveling every defense I’ve carefully constructed, and I'm dangerously close to letting her.

But I won’t destroy her. Not even if it kills me to stay away.

She blinks at me, confusion flashing in her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," she murmurs defensively.

"No more touching yourself upstairs while saying my name," I growl, holding her tighter against me.

"No more looking at me like you want me to kiss you.

No more climbing into my lap, clinging to me like I'm your last fucking lifeline.

" My voice drops lower, harsher. "If you keep tempting me with something I can't have without ruining you, then we're going to have a much bigger problem—and whoever this is will have even more ammunition. "

Cali lifts her chin, defiance blazing in her blue eyes.

"This person—whoever the hell they are—doesn't get to dictate my life.

They've already stolen enough from me. My father, my stepmother…

you. What's next? My job? Losing you again?

" She exhales, shaking her head fiercely.

"I've fought for everything I have. My place in the company, my reputation—I’ve earned all of it, despite what anyone says.

And if I feel something…" She pauses, gaze dropping briefly to my lips before returning, voice steadier.

"Then I've earned the right to feel that, too. "

Fuck, her defiance is intoxicating. But it's dangerous. Dangerous for her, dangerous for me, dangerous for everything we're trying to protect. I shake my head, forcing my voice calm. "That's exactly what we need to avoid."

She doesn't back down. Instead, she inches her face closer, challenging me. "So, you don't feel anything?"

I want to lie. I want to push her away, tell her the thought repulses me, remind her of all the reasons it's wrong.

But after everything she's been through, after all the shit we've seen together, I can't lie to her now.

I sigh heavily. "What I feel doesn't matter, Cali. Justice matters. Your father’s legacy matters. Clearing my name—that matters."

Her eyes narrow, frustration flickering in their depths. "Of course it does. Don’t you think I want justice, too?"

"I know you do," I whisper, softening my tone. "But we can't afford distractions. The staff already walks around me like I'm dangerous. If Maya hadn't walked in earlier—"

She holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Don't.

It'll just piss me off more." Cali sighs, shoulders slumping slightly, though the fire in her eyes never quite fades.

"Fine. You handle the police and your friend; I'll dig deeper into company issues.

But for the rest of today, we stay away from each other. "

Her lips twist into a small, defiant pout, as if even saying the words is physically painful. And hell, it's painful for me too, because staying away from Cali is becoming the hardest goddamn thing I've ever had to do.

Finally, I force myself to stand, gently lifting her from my lap and setting her on her feet before stepping back.

My cock is rock-hard, straining painfully against my jeans, so I busy myself by gathering the scattered papers, pulling the USB drive from the computer, making sure she can't torture herself any further. I hold it up between us.

"Thank you for showing me. Now leave this to me."

"I can handle it," she insists stubbornly .

"I know you can," I concede, holding her gaze.

"But you don’t have to. It's my turn to take care of you, Angel.

I couldn't protect you all those years, but.

.." I move closer, gently cupping her cheek, and the way she leans into my touch immediately makes my chest ache.

"I'm here now. And I'm not letting anyone hurt you again. "

Our eyes lock, the air pulsing hot and heavy between us, a silent war neither of us wants to lose. Eventually, she points firmly toward the door. "Get out."

I nearly laugh. Our feeble attempts at resisting this pull between us are pathetic—almost comical, if it weren't for the crucial evidence she's just uncovered. Because now, we both have work to do.

Once I'm safely back in my room, I realize I've picked up more than just a stack of papers and the USB drive. There's a notebook nestled among them. Cali didn't mention it earlier, and curiosity spikes as I flip it open.

The pages are filled with her handwriting—notes from work, random scribbles, adorable little doodles that make my chest tighten. But then my eyes catch on something else: a neatly written list titled "Pros and Cons of Kissing Connor."

My pulse quickens, heart thudding painfully as I scan the words. The pros outweigh the cons, and the cons themselves don't feel like negatives at all.

Fuck.

We're so screwed. I don’t know if we'll ever truly expose who murdered our parents, but in this moment, it hardly matters. Not with this relentless, forbidden ache building between us. It’s only a matter of time before we shatter, before someone sees, before the whispers begin, tearing Cali down piece by piece.

Groaning, I drop the notebook onto the desk.

I need a cold fucking shower—now.