Page 25 of Watch Me Burn

CATERINA

T he cave definitely wasn’t on our honeymoon itinerary.

It’s cramped, wet, and currently the only thing shielding us from the relentless downpour that turned our idyllic getaway into a tropical nightmare. Water trickles steadily down the stone walls, each drop echoing in the tense silence between Aaron and me.

“This is your fault,” I finally say, peeling soaked strands of hair from my face. Salt and rain cling to my skin, metallic and sharp. It tastes like frustration.

Aaron shoots me a glare.

He’s stripped off his drenched shirt and wrings it out as if personally offended. I try and fail to ignore the sharp lines of his torso in the dim light, droplets tracing maddening paths down his chest that my traitorous eyes follow.

Fuck him and his abs.

“My fault?” he retorts, scowling. “I didn’t exactly summon the storm.”

“No, but you did insist we take a ‘so-called’ public stroll along a deserted beach. In hurricane season, apparently.”

“Romance was your father’s idea, remember? And we got lost.”

“Ah, yes.”

“I was going for realism.”

“Because nothing screams realism like drowning.”

He smirks. “Trust me, the only risk of drowning is in your sarcasm.”

A laugh bubbles from my throat unexpectedly, surprising us both. I wrap my arms tighter around my damp frame, already feeling the chill sink deep into my bones.

Aaron’s expression shifts slightly, as if he’s concerned for me.

How sweet.

“You’re shivering.”

“Observant as always.” My teeth chatter.

With a sigh, he moves toward me. Instinctively, I tense, but he merely holds out the semi-dry shirt. “Here. Use this.”

“I don’t need?—”

“You’re freezing, Caterina. Don’t argue.”

I take it begrudgingly, narrowing my eyes. “Chivalry, Aaron? Careful—I might think you actually care.

“God forbid,” he mutters dryly. “I’m purely motivated by survival.”

I roll my eyes but press the shirt against my clammy skin, warmth seeping in slowly. We linger awkwardly in silence, the storm outside roaring louder, emphasizing just how trapped we are. Thunder crashes overhead, vibrations rumbling through the cave floor beneath us.

Eventually, Aaron settles onto a rocky ledge, leaving a careful gap beside him—a reluctant invitation. After hesitating a moment, I join him. Another crack of thunder booms overhead, and I flinch involuntarily, silently cursing myself for the show of vulnerability.

Aaron arches an eyebrow. “The infamous Caterina Mortelle afraid of thunder?”

I scowl. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to die by lightning.”

“I assumed your fears ran more toward tax audits and emotional intimacy.”

“I’d rather face a tax audit,” I admit, laughing quietly.

He chuckles, and the sound is warmer than I expect. “Figures.”

Another silence settles, but it feels less charged now, almost comfortable. The storm outside fades slightly, replaced by the rhythmic drip of water. Without warning, another chill shakes through me visibly.

Aaron sighs, shifting closer. “Look, we either freeze separately or share body heat and survive.”

“Such romance,” I mock, but don’t resist when his arm gently wraps around my shoulders. I let myself lean into him, surprised by how natural it feels.

His chest rises and falls steadily beneath my cheek, warmth gradually seeping into my bones. Somehow, this closeness feels more dangerous than any knife or bullet I’ve ever faced. I’m unsettled by how easily I’ve allowed this vulnerability to surface.

As Aaron’s warmth surrounds me, an uneasy feeling prickles my awareness. Is this too easy? Is he simply continuing the careful game he began at the villa—manipulation masked as vulnerability?

“Who knew surviving hypothermia with my enemy would be so cozy?” I whisper sarcastically, desperate to break the growing intimacy.

“Just don’t stab me. Dry cleaning blood is expensive.”

I snort against his chest, laughter shaking us both. “I’ll try to resist.”

“Good,” he replies, amusement evident. “Because dying in a cave on my fake honeymoon isn’t exactly how I envisioned my future.”

“How did you envision it?”

“Less wet,” he deadpans, making me laugh again. “Honestly? I pictured something…controlled. Predictable. Quiet.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Sounds safe.”

His unexpected honesty hits harder than I anticipated. Pulling back slightly, I study his face in the dimness. “Life’s messy, Aaron. You can’t control everything.”

“Doesn’t stop me from trying.”

He tenses, catching himself before he reveals too much.

“Why?” I finally work up the courage to ask.

“Because losing control means people get hurt,” he answers quietly, voice raw. “And I’m done letting that happen.”

“You can’t protect everyone.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t die trying. The people I love deserve that.”

So do you , I nearly say but bite my tongue. Where did that thought even come from?

“Maybe we’re both just products of shitty parents,” I offer instead, voice softening.

Aaron chuckles darkly. “Understatement.”

I shouldn’t feel comfortable with him. Every instinct I’ve honed through years of survival screams that vulnerability equals danger. But his arms around me feel like shelter from more than just the storm. They offer permission to be something other than calculated for a brief moment.

“Control’s the only way I know how to keep everyone safe,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s how I protect Zoe, Dominik, his mom, myself…even Tristan, despite his questionable sanity.”

My chest tightens unexpectedly. “You don’t have to carry that alone.”

“Sometimes it feels like I do,” Aaron admits quietly, his voice almost drowned by the storm outside.

I don’t reply right away.

Instead, I let the weight of his words settle in between us. For someone who outwardly projects a heartless image—calculating, cold, and unfeeling—Aaron’s true nature is becoming clearer by the moment. Beneath the facade of callous control lies a man fiercely protective of those he cares about.

Maybe his obsession with control isn’t about power at all. Maybe it’s about protection. About preventing harm before it happens, because he knows firsthand what it feels like to see someone you love get hurt because you couldn’t stop it.

He might be just as damaged as I am, but his damage runs deeper. He wears his wounds as armor, shielding his heart from further injury.

It’s painfully familiar.

And it makes him awfully appealing.

A lull settles between us, filled only by the rhythmic dripping of water inside the cave. The storm has softened, replaced by a steady rain that drums gently against the rocks. Without thinking, I let myself lean a little more into his warmth. His arm around me tightens slightly in response.

My eyelids grow heavy. It would be so easy to surrender to exhaustion, to drift off right here in his arms. But something in the quiet tension between us keeps my heart racing, alert and completely aware of him.

“This is bad,” I mutter, unable to stop myself.

“Being vulnerable?”

“Being this close.”

“Then why aren’t we pulling away?”

“Hypothermia, remember?”

He smiles faintly. “Ah, right.”

Tilting my face up slightly, I whisper, “Aaron?”

He looks down, eyes soft but guarded. “Yeah?”

“Maybe just for right now we can stop being enemies. Just until the storm ends.”

Aaron hesitates before leaning in. Doubt and desire dance in his eyes, along with the weight of everything we’re not saying.

“Just for a little bit,” he says, seemingly more to himself than to me.

His thumb brushes my cheek, soft and deliberate.

“No strings. No agenda. Just a ceasefire.”

Aaron closes the distance slowly, painfully slow, as if waiting for me to stop him at any moment. But I can’t. I won’t. The second his mouth brushes against mine, every rational thought evaporates. Warmth floods through me, erasing every chill, every doubt.

He kisses me softly at first, careful, testing.

But caution dissolves quickly, replaced by a fierce hunger that matches my own.

His fingers slide into my damp hair, anchoring me to him, pulling me deeper into the kiss.

I grip his shoulders, pulling myself closer until there’s no space left between us.

His kiss becomes more urgent, possessive, stripping away every carefully constructed defense until I’m raw, exposed, and completely vulnerable. I’ve never let anyone this close before emotionally, or physically. Yet with Aaron, vulnerability feels less terrifying, almost welcome.

Maybe I’m tired of fighting alone too.

Eventually, he pulls back, breath shallow and uneven. His forehead rests against mine, eyes shut tight like opening them might shatter the moment. Our lips still brush with every breath.

“Well, shit,” he murmurs, voice rough.

I exhale a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”

We sit there, suspended in the quiet, our bodies still pressed close, neither of us quite ready to move. The air is thick with everything we’re not saying.

He pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

Something shifts behind his eyes. A pause, a pullback. Regret, maybe. It doesn't hurt. Not in any obvious way. But it registers, like a fault line you didn’t know was there.

“I was just trying to keep you warm,” he offers, like a lifeline he doesn’t want to admit he’s throwing himself.

“Right. Body heat. Strategic survival.”

He nods once, like we’ve agreed to a story we’ll both pretend to believe.

Another silence stretches between us—quieter now, more brittle. Eventually, I settle back against him, my head finding the steady rhythm of his heart. I feel the tension slowly bleed from his muscles, the arm around me shifting slightly but never pulling away.

The rain softens outside, a gentle percussion against the mouth of the cave. Inside, we don’t speak.

And when my eyes grow heavy, when sleep starts to claim me, I don’t fight it.

Not because I trust him.

But because, just for now, I want to.

Just before darkness claims me, he murmurs something soft, too quiet to chase.

“This mattered. You matter.”

But his voice fades into the edges of darkness, and soon everything melts into oblivion.

“Caterina.” Aaron’s voice cuts sharply through the haze of sleep. “Wake up.”

I jerk upright, disoriented and momentarily confused. The warmth of Aaron’s arms is gone, replaced by a chill seeping through my damp clothes. I blink rapidly, taking in our surroundings—the cave, the fading daylight, the absence of rain.

Aaron stands by the cave’s mouth, fully dressed, watching me curiously. No lingering intimacy. No signs of the softness from earlier. It was all in my head.

The realization sends embarrassment flooding through me. It was a dream. Nothing more than my subconscious playing out a dangerous fantasy.

My mouth still tastes like him. I hate that it doesn’t feel like a lie.

“The storm passed,” Aaron explains, completely oblivious to my internal spiral. “We should head back to the villa before dark.”

I clear my throat, pushing myself to my feet and forcing my voice into neutrality. “Right. Good idea.”

He hands me the semi-dry shirt from earlier, studying my face a bit too closely. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I answer too quickly, slipping the shirt on, avoiding his eyes. “Just tired.”

“You slept pretty deeply,” he notes, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Fell asleep as soon as you laid down.”

“No way.”

“Mhm. And you mumbled in your sleep.”

Shit. My stomach sinks. “I did not.”

“You sure did.” His smirk grows more pronounced. “Something about a knight in soaking armor? Ring any bells?”

Mortification creeps up my neck, but I refuse to let it show. Instead, I narrow my eyes at him. “Sounds like the hypothermia got to your head, Aaron.”

He shrugs, clearly amused. “Whatever you say.”

We step outside the cave, emerging into the misty aftermath of the storm. The beach is quiet now, the sand damp and soft beneath our feet. I walk slightly ahead, desperate to put physical distance between us, but Aaron easily matches my pace.

We walk in silence, and his eyes drift over to me occasionally, as if trying to figure me out.

I force my mind away from the dream, burying any lingering emotions beneath familiar walls.

Aaron’s presence, steady and watchful at my side, reminds me exactly why being open is a bad idea.

Especially given our situation. Dreams blur the lines between reality and fantasy, and that confusion can get you killed.

“Hey,” Aaron says suddenly, breaking my thoughts.

“What?”

“You were right, back there. About the weight. I’m not saying it changes anything but you weren’t wrong.”

Surprised, I slow my steps. Wait, when did I fall asleep? He seems genuine and I honestly don’t know what to say to that so I stay quiet, nodding and pretending like I don’t feel completely out of my element.

“Just thought you should know that,” he adds quietly.

Before I can respond, he turns and walks ahead, leaving me staring at his back—more confused than ever. The dissonance between what I saw in the dream and what stands in front of me now unsettles something deep inside me.

My chest feels too tight. My thoughts, too loud.

Maybe it was just a dream, but it felt vivid. Too raw to ignore. It doesn’t matter because I can’t afford the luxury of hope, not with Aaron Jackson.

Not with the one man who could dismantle me in ways no weapon ever could.

Still, as we make our way back toward the villa, the warmth from that imagined moment clings to me like smoke, refusing to lift.

No matter how hard I try to shove it down, one truth lingers, sharp and unrelenting:

It’s not the dream that terrifies me. It’s that reality might be the thing that finally makes me drop the knife.