Page 14 of Watch Me Burn

CATERINA

I slam the door to the stairwell, my heels striking concrete like gunshots as I descend. The sounds from the gala fade with each step—criminals and their hollow laughter, my father’s display of power disguised as celebration. I fucking hate him. I fucking hate this life.

I hate myself even more for never finding the strength to defy him.

My heart pounds furiously in my chest, anger blending painfully with a sense of betrayal I refuse to acknowledge. This isn’t punishment; it’s calculated humiliation. Marriage to Aaron Jackson is my father’s ultimate power play, proving he controls me as easily as he controls this city.

He’s doing this because of what I said at the meeting. I told him he doesn’t own me, so he shoved my words back down my throat.

Fuck you, Father.

How could he trade me away like this? Like I’m merchandise he can barter whenever convenient.

A wedding.

My prison sentence.

He’s doing this deliberately. Showing me he controls me, that I’ll lower my head and comply no matter what he demands. Like an abused dog returning to its master.

He’s reminding me that despite everything—every sacrifice, every life I’ve taken for his kingdom—I remain nothing but a pawn. My independence was always his to grant or revoke.

Fuck him and his city.

Aaron’s face flashes in my mind, that look of barely concealed hatred when father announced our “arrangement.” As if I wanted this any more than he did. The memory of his clenched jaw and the way his muscular frame tensed beneath his tailored suit sends heat rushing through places it shouldn’t.

Not the time, Cat.

The underground parking garage is dim and cool, a relief from the suffocating atmosphere above.

I scan the row of luxury vehicles until I spot it, another one of Aaron’s many collector cars.

A sleek matte-black Aston Martin. I’ve memorized everything about him these past months.

His habits. His weaknesses. The way his strong hands grip the steering wheel.

The life he thinks is untouchable. The control he thinks he’s curated.

Fuck him too.

Powerful men are all the same.

Picking the lock is easy. A skill Father never knew I acquired.

The leather seat sighs beneath me as I slide in, surrounded by his scent.

The leather seat embraces me, and instantly I’m enveloped in him—his cologne, rich and intoxicating, blending with something darker, almost primitive.

I let his scent wash over me, aware of my body’s reaction, my nipples tightening painfully against the silk.

I hate knowing so much about him.

I hate how my body responds to it.

“So this is to be my life,” I whisper to the empty car, running my fingers along the dashboard. “Shackled to a man I was supposed to kill. I should have when I had the chance.”

Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda.

Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about him.

Because part of me still wants to finish what I started.

And the other part wants to see what else he’ll do to me first.

Shut the hell up and stop living in the past.

Who am I becoming? This isn’t my voice. I don’t break. I don’t allow rage to consume me this way. I need to purge these last hours from my system.

My mind drifts to our future: the elegant home we’ll share, the dinners where we’ll play the happy couple, the silent war between us that no one else will see.

And then, comes the nights. Some nights we’ll both disappear, pretending like the other doesn’t exist. And other nights, maybe our bodies will eventually collide in darkness.

Hatred transforming into something equally destructive.

What is it about him that unravels me so completely? Why does his contempt excite me, make my pulse race, and my skin burn? I despise everything he stands for—control, arrogance, entitlement—yet here I am, lost in thoughts of surrendering to that same power.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to Crimson. Maybe seeing that side of him changed something between us.

I close my eyes, remembering Aaron’s hands gripping my wrists tonight, the contained violence in his touch. “I hate everything about you,” he’d growled, his breath scalding my ear, his chest hard against mine.

My breathing shallows. Heat pools between my thighs, undeniable and insistent. My body betrays me, dampening the silk and lace barrier. I hate him too. I hate his world. Yet my flesh craves his touch with frightening intensity.

My hand slides down my gown, bunching the silk between my fingers.

I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not while thinking of him.

But knowing it’s wrong only seems to intensify the feeling.

Knowing he could catch me at any time, makes me need this even more.

I pull my dress up, exposing my thighs to the cool air.

My fingers slip beneath the lace of my underwear, finding the slick evidence of my desire.

In my mind, Aaron’s hands grip my hips with bruising force, pinning me down, forcing me to submit—calling me his good girl. In my fantasy, he whispers harshly against my ear, his voice rough with anger and lust, “Keep fighting, Caterina. I like breaking difficult things.”

“I hate you,” I whisper, imagining his face above mine, those cold eyes watching me come undone beneath him. His cock would press against me, thick and hard with want. My fingers work faster, circling my swollen clit, my other hand gripping the leather seat until my knuckles turn white.

I push two fingers inside, pretending they belong to him. I curl upward, finding the spot that makes my thighs quiver and sends sparks behind my eyelids. My thumb continues its merciless circles, building pressure that threatens to shatter me.

The pleasure builds, sharp and relentless.

In my mind, Aaron is no longer my enemy but something much worse—someone who sees through my carefully constructed walls, who matches my darkness with his own, who doesn’t run away from the worst parts of me.

He’s someone that stands beside me, a partnership unlike anything this world has ever known.

I imagine him taking me roughly, his powerful body dominating mine as he drives deep, claiming me even as I fight against the surrender.

Then the image shifts to me flipping him over, taking control of his pleasure, making him beg beneath my touch. Making him mine.

That’s when I come undone. Release tears through me in violent waves. My back arches off leather, inner muscles clenching around my fingers. A sound escapes that’s half-moan, half-growl, echoing in the confined space.

My body shudders in the aftermath, unsettlingly with a raw, aching longing. I stare blankly at the fogged windows around me, breath slowly returning to normal. This twisted need for Aaron is a weakness—but maybe, just maybe, I can use it as a weapon.

Soon to be his wife. His partner in a game neither of us asked to play.

But tonight has revealed something I never saw coming.

Hatred and desire are not opposing forces. They are twin flames, feeding off the same hunger.

I can use that.

I smooth my dress, feeling the damp heat between my thighs, a secret only I will carry back into that ballroom. My reflection in the rearview mirror is almost unrecognizable—flushed, wicked, lustful. Lips stained a deeper red, eyes glittering with the thrill of the unknown.

His car is exactly as I found it, only now bears an invisible claim.

My essence lingers in the leather, perfume mixed with arousal marking territory he’ll never fully reclaim.

The ghost of what transpired here will haunt him, a phantom touch against his skin the moment he slides behind the wheel, breathing in what remains.

Let him sit in the echo of me.

Let him smell my sin and wonder what it means.

Let him realize, far too late, that control was never truly his.

This game between us? It was always mine to claim.