Page 27 of Watch Me Burn

CATERINA

A sudden crash jolts me upright, and for a disorienting moment, I can’t tell if it came from my dream or reality. My heart slams against my ribs as my hand instinctively finds the knife hidden beneath my pillow.

Another muffled sound follows. Someone is inside the house.

I hear a soft scrape, furniture dragging across hardwood floors. Holding my breath, I go completely still, waiting for the next sound.

But nothing comes.

I know it’s not Aaron coming home. He moves through the house like a mouse.

I wait, but the silence stretches—taut and suffocating. Then a soft creak. A footstep. Weight carefully shifted across the living room floor.

Someone’s definitely here.

My grip on the knife tightens. My breath slows. Controlled. But my palms are clammy. My heart roars in my ears like it’s trying to outrun the quiet.

I grit my teeth in frustration, wondering if I should go out there or not. I’m so not prepared for a fight right now.

I slip from the bed, bare feet silent against the marble. Shadows stretch along the walls, too long, too dark. The penthouse feels alive—breathing with something I can’t see.

This isn’t fear.

It’s caution.

My killer instincts kick in as I curse Aaron under my breath.

Not for leaving, not really.

But for not being here.

For leaving me alone in this spotless, watchful house that feels anything but safe.

Still, my fingers tremble as I grab my phone. The screen casts a cold glow. Aaron’s name hovers.

Will he answer? Will he mock me? Will he care?

Fuck it.

I hit dial.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Caterina?”

The lump in my throat rises fast, but I force it down.

“I think there’s someone in your apartment.”

My voice is steadier than I feel. My pride makes sure of it.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Where are you?”

I hear the rustle of fabric, the thud of footsteps. He’s already moving. Already coming for me.

“Primary bedroom. I’m armed.”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

There’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before—raw, unfiltered urgency. It doesn’t feel like performance, not right now anyway.

I hang up, not knowing what to do next. Phone in one hand, knife in the other.

Confusion twists in my chest like wire.

I’m not a damsel in distress so why the hell am I acting like one right now?

Why didn’t Aaron shrug me off? Question my judgment? Maybe he won’t come and I’ll get butchered by whoever is out there.

It could be one of the men I haven’t killed yet, or one of my father’s men.

I could get dressed quickly, find some black clothes and try to figure out who’s here.

He just dropped everything. Without a second thought.

Not the time.

I’m still in the middle of scolding myself for thinking about Aaron right now when another sound cuts through the night.

Heavy boots coming down the hallway.

Closer this time.

The soft drag of fabric against a wall.

I press my back against the wall beside the bedroom door, knife poised, breath caught tight in my throat.

My body goes still—coiled, waiting.

The silence thickens, pressing against my chest, dense and suffocating. Anticipation is the worst part. I prefer being the threat, not the one waiting for it.

This is what I do.

I fight. I kill.

I don’t freeze.

I don’t need anyone.

Not even Aaron fucking Jackson.

A chime slices through the tension like a blade.

The elevator. I catch the soft hiss of the doors opening, followed by the faint, deliberate sound of footsteps.

It’s him.

I know the rhythm of his steps, the way he moves through any space like he owns it. But there is urgency now, as if he’s checking corners and searching every shadow.

Seconds later, there is a quiet but urgent knock on the door.

“Cat? It’s me.”

That’s the first time he’s called me that. A nickname, almost tender.

Not the time. Not even close.

I unlock the door, and Aaron steps inside—half-dressed, hair tousled, eyes storming over me like he’s searching for blood.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Did you see anyone?”

He shakes his head, breath ragged, chest rising like he sprinted all the way here. “Place was clear. No one’s inside.”

“You’re sure? Because earlier…”

His body stills. “Earlier?”

“When I went out, I could’ve sworn someone was watching me. And tonight, something woke me up. Then I heard?—”

My words trail off. I hate how weak they sound.

He steps closer, voice softening. “The balcony door was open. Wind probably rattled it loose.”

Then softer, almost like an apology:

“The latches stick sometimes. I should’ve told you.”

I drop my gaze. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have?—”

“Don’t. You did the right thing.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“You were scared. That’s reason enough.”

I scoff, bitter and defensive. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Watching me come undone?”

His eyes go dark. “No. I’m not.”

“You should be,” I mutter. “Caterina Mortelle, panicking over shadows. That must feel satisfying.”

Another step. Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him.

“I know exactly who you are,” he says. “You don’t rattle easy. So if you called me, it matters.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Liar.” His scent curls around me—spice and control and something I can’t name, something that makes my skin burn.

I notice the tight set of his jaw. The crease between his brows. The unspoken war behind his eyes. He’s just as wrecked, but better at hiding it.

“This place is getting to me,” I admit quietly. “Your penthouse...it’s too big. Too empty. It feels haunted, or alive, or both.”

He leans in, gaze burning into mine. “Funny. It didn’t feel haunted until you showed up.”

My mouth curves before I can stop it. “Charming.”

“Caterina,” he murmurs. “Why did you call me?”

The honesty in his voice surprises me, making my mask slip slightly.

I swallow hard, knowing I have to choose my words with care. “Because this is your home, not mine.”

What I really want to say is, maybe I needed you to face whatever was out there.

His guard lowers for a heartbeat, and for the first time I see him clearly. Not the businessman, not the reluctant husband, not the enemy. Just Aaron.

“If I didn’t know better,” he says, voice almost teasing, “I’d think you missed me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” My words fall flat.

There is a charged silence, the kind that vibrates between two people on the edge of the unknown.

This is a line we shouldn’t cross.

Then tell me why I don’t pull back, and neither does he.

“You’re shaking,” he says, eyes falling to my hands.

Before I can respond, he reaches out slowly, taking the knife from my fingers and setting it on the nightstand.

It’s the first weapon I’ve ever let anyone take without a fight.

“Adrenaline crash,” I reassure him, but that’s a lie too.

He nods, not bothering to call me out. “You should sit.”

I sink onto the edge of the bed.

He joins me, not too close, but close enough. His presence steadies something in me I didn’t realize was swaying.

“You didn’t hesitate,” I say, breaking the quiet. “You came immediately.”

I study the sharp line of his profile, trying to find the answer before I ask the question.

Aaron turns to look at me, his expression composed, calculated…unwavering like always. But there is something he’s not saying. I wish I could crawl into his mind for just a second, just to get a peek.

“I did.”

Two simple words. Heavy with meaning.

“Why?”

The question lands between us like a lit match, small but capable of setting everything on fire.

His stare burns through me. “Because you needed me.”

My heart stumbles. I look away first, unsure how to breathe through the strange pressure twisting in my chest.

“But you hate me.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t come when you call.” He shifts slightly closer without touching me.

I exhale slowly, the vulnerability nearly suffocating. I hate that part of me feels gratitude, hate that part of me might trust him, hate that something inside me is beginning to see Aaron Jackson not as my enemy.

“Thank you,” I whisper, barely audible.

We sit in silence, wrapped in shadows—not speaking, not moving, sharing space in a way that feels both impossibly tender and deeply unsettling.

Gradually, exhaustion begins to pull at me.

I resist at first, but my body softens, lulled by the quiet rhythm of Aaron’s breathing beside me.

His warmth feels like shelter, a strange, unfamiliar kind of safety I didn’t know I craved.

He gently guides me down, resting my head on the pillow as my eyes grow heavy.

“Stay a minute longer,” I whisper, too tired to shield the vulnerability in my voice.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Sleep drags at my limbs, heavier now, and still I hold on to the feeling of him.

Just before the darkness pulls me under, the truth lands hard and clear: Aaron didn’t come tonight out of strategy.

He didn’t pause or weigh the cost. He came because something in him needed to. It wasn’t calculated, just instinct.

And in a moment of terrifying clarity, I realize I trust him. Not just to fight beside me, but to guard the parts of myself even I’m afraid of.

Enemies are easy to anticipate. To fight. To kill.

But this feeling? This is something else entirely.