Page 51 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter forty-four

Cali

I sit stiffly on the couch, 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 storming through 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.

I rise unsteadily from the couch, my legs feeling weak as I take a slow, careful step toward the door. My heart is a painful thud in my chest, dread crawling beneath my skin, my breathing shallow.

A distant sound—faint, sharp. Footsteps on the porch.

She’s here .

A knock on the door.

I pause, my hand hovering over the doorknob, trying to steady myself. My throat tightens, fear mixing with the bitter taste of uncertainty.

My fingers curl around the knob, gripping tightly.

Another soft knock—impatient this time, like she knows I'm hesitating.

I force one deep breath, then another, and slowly pull the door open.

Anna stands in the doorway, eyes scanning me carefully, her expression cool and unreadable.

I step aside without a word, allowing her to walk in, the sharp click of her heels echoing over the hardwood like a warning shot.

She pauses, glancing around with a calculated sort of interest. "Such a nice house, Cali," she murmurs, her voice smooth but edged with ice.

"You practically lived here in high school," I remind her quietly, forcing a neutral smile. "Remember when we played with the Ouija board in the study?"

She hums softly, noncommittal, as I lead her into that same room—my father's former study, now my own office. As we pass the spot where my dad and stepmother took their last breaths—the place Connor can’t even bear to glance at—I swallow thickly and quicken my pace.

Once inside the study, I motion toward one of the leather chairs, hoping my hands aren’t visibly shaking.

Anna settles into it gracefully, crossing her legs. "It's been a long time since then," she says, her voice deceptively calm.

"Unfortunately," I reply softly—more softly than I intend. "There are a lot of things I wish I'd done differently."

Her eyes narrow sharply, bitterness tightening her features. "Like firing me and filling my spot the same day? You humiliated me, Cali. Everyone watched security march me out like some criminal. Exactly how do you plan to take that back?"

I steady my voice, meeting her eyes directly. "Anna, I asked you here to talk about what's really going on between us. We used to be best friends—what happened? You know I turned Dean down. I told him clearly it was out of respect for you, because I didn't have those feelings for him."

Anna studies me, expression guarded, then slowly rubs her forehead as if fighting off a headache.

"It was never supposed to get this messy," she says quietly, and for the first time, her voice loses some of its edge.

"I don't even know how it spiraled out of control.

Working for you made me anxious. The pressure, the expectations—it got under my skin.

I lost myself." Her tone softens further, genuine vulnerability leaking through her carefully constructed walls.

"Everything got bad when you left for college.

My home life was a wreck, and suddenly I didn't have you around anymore.

" She lets out a bitter laugh. "You barely answered half my calls. Then your dad gave me that job—maybe out of pity, or as a favor to you. I don’t even know anymore. But after he died, that interim CEO was a disaster, and he didn’t care, so. ..eventually, neither did I."

She looks down, the confession hanging heavily between us, and suddenly guilt knots my stomach, anger mixing with confusion.

What if I misjudged her? What if Anna is just desperate to reclaim her life, and this blackmail was her misguided way of doing it?

She hasn't posted those pictures, hasn't actually crossed that line.

And now the thought of falsely accusing her—just like I'd done to Connor—makes my chest tighten with dread. Dean hasn’t exactly been forthcoming either; what if I focused on the wrong person entirely?

Taking a breath, I force myself closer, softening my voice as I lean forward slightly. "Anna, what's been happening at home? I can't believe I never even asked. We should’ve gone to lunch—I should’ve listened. I was thoughtless."

She sighs, dropping her gaze to her hands. "It's too much to unpack now. And it doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course it matters," I insist gently, forcing kindness into my tone.

My heart pounds in my chest, anxiety tangling with sympathy.

Connor's voice echoes softly in my head, a reassuring whisper reminding me to breathe.

To focus. To stick to the plan. "Look, I know things got tense at work, but friends fight.

I'm still CEO—there are plenty of positions.

That spot I mentioned earlier? Better pay, better opportunities, a fresh start. "

Anna's gaze snaps back up to mine, wary but searching. My heartbeat echoes loudly in my ears, uncertainty swelling again, but I refuse to break her gaze.

"I want to help," I say quietly, steadily. "But first you have to tell me the truth."

Anna shakes her head slowly, a grim, bitter smile twisting at her lips.

Her eyes stay locked on me, colder than I've ever seen them.

"I can't go back to that company without burning it to the ground, Cali.

Honestly, I thought you'd hate it there—that you'd cash out, take the payout they offered, and build your own thing. "

I lean forward, my pulse hammering as tension coils tighter between us. "What are you talking about? No one ever approached me about selling. No offers, no contacts—nothing."

She tilts her head slightly, surprise flickering across her face before quickly vanishing. "Really?"

"Yeah." My voice tightens, frustration seeping in despite my best efforts. "Maybe someone approached my grandparents, but apparently, I'm always the last to know. "

Her eyes narrow thoughtfully, gaze searching mine before she exhales softly, glancing restlessly around the room. "This is cozy and all, but I'm not here to reminisce. Where's Connor?"

I shrug carefully, forcing myself to look indifferent even as my nerves stretch thin. "No idea. He's probably in the kitchen—or upstairs in the gym. Hard to keep track."