Page 9 of Sinner's Obsession

“All the more reason to show up.”

“I can’t come,” Cato says, features tightening.

Cameron jerks his face to him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Well, I am meeting my fiancée.”

He downs his drink.

I massage my temples, a headache splitting my head. When Cato leaves, Cameron stares out the window with a forlorn expression.

He turns to me and says, “She looks just like my mother.”

I shut my eyes. That reminder brings back unpleasant memories. Like my father getting himself killed over his love for a married woman. “I don’t care.”

“Aurora is not my mother.”

“Yeah, so?”

He pins me with a serious expression. “Keep your emotions in check.”

“When don’t I?”

He studies my face, and I mumble, “No woman will ever unbalance me.”

With that, I stand up and walk out.

At home, I go into my office and stare at the picture of my father on the desk. I keep it as a reminder of how one woman made him vulnerable enough to put himself in the crossfire. I will get my revenge for his death out of duty, even though I know if he had been smart enough to stay away from that woman, he would still be alive, but I wouldn’t be in this position if he was. Who needs a soul when you have enough power to buy, influence, and destroy countries?

“Your mother and sister are here, sir.”

I close the door to my home office and greet my mother in the hallway. Her face is a porcelain façade, cold but still beautiful. My sister smiles at me shyly and waves. She is the best thing in my life, and I wonder how long it will take my mother to ruin that joy for her.

“Leonie wanted to see you.” The corners of her lips twitch unpleasantly. I ignore the passive-aggressive grimace, taking itfor what it is—frustration over my father’s betrayal. Mine as well.

“I missed you too.”

I pick up my nine-year-old sister and breathe in her summery smell, flowery and sweet. I would burn the world down for her.

“Are you hungry?” I ask Leonie, and she nods enthusiastically.

My housekeeper, Tamara, appears from around the corner and claps her hands together.

“I made you your favorite,” she tells her.

Leonie’s eyes spark with childish innocence. “Chocolate cake?”

“Yes, but only after you eat.”

“I am not that hungry.”

“Darling, you know the rules,” my mom says, being a better mother to my sister than she was to me. Or maybe it has everything to do with the fact that I inherited everything from my father: my looks, and my ruthless business acumen. The only difference is I made the law bend to me. He always dangled on its fine line.

Inside the dining room, Leonie’s chatter and stories from school cut through the silent reproach my mother sends me. When Tamara brings out cake, my sister jumps up and down in her chair excitedly, and my mother’s eyes soften. They harden the moment she looks at me again.

When we finish dessert, my sister pleads with Mom to accompany Tamara to the kitchen. She loves it there.

“Can I, Mommy?”

---