Page 46 of Watch Me Burn

AARON

N ight bleeds across Manhattan, the skyline shattering into a thousand points of light beyond my office windows.

I stand motionless, watching the city transform.

Tchaikovsky’s “Valse Sentimentale” plays softly from hidden speakers, the melancholy violin a stark counterpoint to the violence I’m planning.

The same one that’s been coursing through my veins since the meeting with Keira.

The penthouse office is silent save for the music and the soft hum of my computer, where surveillance footage loops endlessly.

Frame by frame, I watch Megan—my project manager, my supposed loyal employee—photographing confidential documents.

Sending texts after our strategy meetings.

Taking calls in the stairwell where she thought no one would notice.

Meeting with Mortelle in a secured spot.

Bugging my car. Caterina’s car.

I’ve watched the footage seventeen times.

Each viewing sharpens my fury.

Trust is a rare currency, freely given, catastrophically expensive when betrayed.

Megan knew that.

She knew exactly what doing this would cost her. She knew the risks and chose wrong.

The image of Caterina’s vulnerable expression, her guard finally lowered as she lay beside me, flashes through my mind. I won’t let anyone take that from her.

From us.

My index finger traces the rim of my untouched whiskey. The liquid catches the light, glowing like molten copper. I haven’t taken a sip. I need clarity tonight. Need to remember everything perfectly.

Carefully, I erase all records of what I’m about to do from the company’s security system. No footage. No access logs. No evidence.

Before something like this might have unsettled me. Now, it’s not even a question. It’s a necessity. I won’t risk anything that will endanger Caterina. For her, there is no line I won’t cross.

The underground parking garage beneath BarMed Capital’s headquarters is deserted at this hour.

Concrete pillars cast long shadows in the fluorescent light, and the air smells of oil and cold stone.

My footsteps echo as I approach Megan’s assigned space, her silver Audi gleaming under the harsh lights.

I checked her schedule. Board meeting tomorrow morning at the Harrison property. She’ll take the coastal route, the one with the steep cliff on the northbound lane.

I pull on black nitrile gloves, then crouch beside the car’s front end.

The tools I need are small, professional, and fit easily in one hand.

My movements are precise as I work beneath the vehicle, finding the brake line.

A slow, calculated weakening and not an obvious cut.

A failure that will occur only under the stress of high speeds and sharp turns.

“Didn’t think you’d wrinkle a suit to do this kind of work yourself.”

I’m not surprised she’s here, not anymore. Though I am impressed at how easily she slips in and out of sight, going completely unnoticed for so long. I finish the final adjustments before sliding out from under the car.

Caterina leans against a concrete pillar, arms folded across her chest. She’s dressed entirely in black—jeans, fitted shirt, leather jacket. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight braid, exposing the graceful line of her throat. Her eyes gleam in that predatory way I fucking love.

“Some things deserve a personal touch.” I remove my gloves.

She studies me, head tilted slightly. I pocket the tools and step closer, letting her get a good look.

Letting her see who I am now.

What I’ve become.

Her gaze shifts, the heat in it deepening. Less curiosity now. More…recognition. Appreciation.

“You’ve changed,” she says, but there’s no judgment in her voice.

“Have I?” I move close enough to catch the scent of jasmine and gunmetal that clings to her skin. “Or is this the part I never let anyone see?”

She shrugs and I tip her chin up, staring down at those lips, tempted to bite them raw.

She gives me a wicked smile. “Welcome to my world, Jackson. No turning back now.”

“I’m not looking back.”

Her pupils dilate with lust, danger, and invitation. A silent promise or a silent dare. For a moment, we stand still beneath the sterile garage lights, two predators recognizing the beast in each other.

“I’ll meet you at the apartment,” I murmur, dropping my hand. “This needs to look clean. She’ll arrive in the morning and leave for her meeting. No link. No trace.”

Caterina nods, pushing off the pillar with a grace that borders on criminal. If I didn’t have to finish this job, I’d flip her over and take her right here, right now. Against that same pillar.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, I have a surprise for you.”

She disappears into the darkness, and I take one final look at the scene. Everything appears exactly as it should, as if I was never here at all.

No evidence. No trace. Just a mechanical flaw that will look like simple oversight, a single invisible thread I wove into the fabric of her destruction.

When the car flips and burns tomorrow, they'll call it a tragic accident. The papers will paint her as another casualty of dangerous roads and cruel fate.

But I'll know the truth.

Because Megan didn't just betray us—she betrayed my wife. My anchor, my obsession, my fucking lifeline.

That's an unforgivable sin. A death sentence written in blood.

My only regret is that I won't be there to watch the light fade from her eyes when it happens. But knowing she'll pay for what she tried to take from me? That's satisfaction enough.