Chapter 5
CATHERINE
Catherine stepped out of the gallery feeling a little buzz from the wine, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as the cool night air enveloped her.
She shouldn’t have drank that much, she very rarely drank alcohol, but she had enjoyed it nevertheless.
The bustle of the evening faded behind her, replaced by the soft cadence of the city.
She paused under the glow of a streetlamp, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
The night felt sharper out here, clearer. It was a reprieve from the vivid colors, the laughter, and the overwhelming presence of Sloane Bennett. For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, the memory of the evening pressing against her mind.
She was about to move toward her car when a familiar voice broke through the stillness.
“You really don’t like sticking around, do you?”
Catherine opened her eyes, her head turning slightly toward the source of the voice. Sloane stood a few feet away, her figure framed by the soft glow of the gallery lights spilling out onto the street.
Sloane’s hands were tucked casually into the pockets of her leather jacket and her hair was tied up in a messy bun, but her eyes were anything but casual—sharp and intent, locked onto Catherine with a mix of curiosity and mischief.
Catherine straightened, her cool exterior snapping back into place. “I’ve seen everything I needed to.”
Sloane tilted her head, a smirk playing at her lips. “I don’t think you’ve seen anything yet.”
Before Catherine could respond, Sloane closed the distance between them, her steps confident and unhurried. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just the bold certainty that defined her every move.
And then Sloane kissed her.
It wasn’t tentative and it didn’t ask for permission; it arrived with a certainty that stole Catherine’s breath, soft mouth set with quiet purpose, the kind of unhurried pressure that didn’t shove so much as insist she notice what was already there between them.
Sloane’s lips were warm despite the night air, tasting faintly of wine and something clean and mineral, paint and jasmine threaded through her skin as if she’d carried the studio out here with her.
For a split second Catherine froze, mind scrambling to reassert order, to reach for the familiar choreography of control she relied on.
This wasn’t how she did things. There was no calendar invite, no careful preamble, no clause tucked neatly in the margin of a life she had color-coded into obedience.
But something in her shifted. The shock softened into heat.
Her body betrayed her with ease, tilting into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as if her bones remembered how to surrender long before her brain caught up.
Sloane’s hand slid to Catherine’s jaw, her thumb resting under her ear where her pulse was quick and obvious; the other found Catherine’s waist and stayed there, steady, the heel of her palm a quiet anchor as she deepened the kiss by a fraction, then another, building rather than grabbing.
The city thinned to a smear at the edges—headlights, laughter, a taxi door somewhere—while the center of the world narrowed to the press and drag of their mouths.
Catherine felt the soft catch of Sloane’s lower lip, the brief, deliberate graze of teeth that sparked high in her chest, the subtle change in angle when Catherine’s hand finally moved of its own accord and fisted in Sloane’s lapel.
She hadn’t felt this alive in years; it arrived like a clean shock, a clarity that wiped the slate of her thoughts until only sensation remained.
It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was happening anyway.
Sloane kept it slow and controlled, not coy but measured, the kind of kiss that knew exactly what it wanted to say.
Catherine felt her own restraint break in small, tidy pieces: the soft sound she couldn’t swallow, the way her fingers slid from the lapel to the back of Sloane’s neck, the involuntary step that brought them chest to chest. Heat pooled low and sure.
Her head tipped, letting Sloane take more, then giving it back, their breath mixing, a rhythm starting that felt discovered rather than invented.
When the kiss finally broke apart, they didn’t stumble. Sloane eased back by a breath, close enough that Catherine could feel the warmth of her across that narrow gap, both of them breathing harder than the moment warranted if you measured it by time alone.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sloane said, voice low and amused, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as her thumb brushed once more against the quick jump of Catherine’s pulse.
Catherine blinked, her composure returning in fragments. “You have an interesting definition of bad.”
Sloane chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ve been told that.”
There was a beat of silence between them, charged and electric. Then Sloane spoke again, her tone turning playful.
“Have dinner with me,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Unless you’re scared, of course.”
Catherine raised an eyebrow, her tone cool despite the heat still lingering in her chest. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Good,” Sloane replied, her grin widening. “Then prove it.”
Before Catherine could respond, Sloane took a step back, her movements fluid and confident. She didn’t ask for Catherine’s number or offer any details. Instead, she winked, her expression equal parts daring and amused.
“See you around, Dr. Harrington,” Sloane said, turning on her heel and heading back toward the gallery.
Catherine stood there, the quiet street wrapping around her like a cocoon. She watched Sloane’s retreating figure, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.
For a moment, Catherine considered leaving, slipping back into the safety of her world where everything was predictable and controlled.
But as she stood there, the lingering warmth of Sloane’s kiss still on her lips, she found herself rooted to the spot.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
And yet, it had.
Catherine adjusted the collar of her coat, her fingers brushing against her lips as she turned and walked toward her car.
The night felt colder now, the air sharper, but there was something burning deep inside her, a spark of something she couldn’t quite name.
As she slid into the driver’s seat, Sloane’s parting words echoed in her mind.
“Prove it.”
Catherine’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as she started the car. For the first time in a long while, she felt…intrigued.
And she hated how much she liked it.
The Harrington family home loomed ahead, an architectural masterpiece of cold elegance.
White stone walls, tall windows, and immaculately trimmed hedges created an imposing facade that mirrored the woman who lived inside.
Catherine stepped out of her car, the gravel crunching under her heels as she approached the grand front door.
She didn’t need to knock; the housekeeper opened it as if anticipating her arrival. Inside, the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of polished wood and fresh-cut flowers. Everything was pristine, untouched by the warmth of life, much like its owner.
Her mother, Evelyn Harrington was waiting in the sitting room, her posture ramrod straight on a high-backed chair upholstered in pale gray silk. Her silver hair was swept into an elegant chignon, her piercing eyes sharp as ever.
“Catherine,” Evelyn greeted, her tone measured, giving nothing away. “You’re on time. Good.”
Catherine inclined her head, her face betraying no emotion as she crossed the room to take a seat across from her mother.
Evelyn wasted no time in cutting to the heart of the matter.
“I received the report on the new imaging equipment you pushed for,” Evelyn began, her voice cool and clinical. “A significant expense for a hospital already balancing a tight budget. Explain.”
Catherine folded her hands in her lap, meeting her mother’s gaze without flinching. “The equipment will improve patient outcomes and streamline pre-operative diagnostics. It’s an investment in efficiency and precision.”
Evelyn’s lips tightened. “An investment that won’t pay dividends if the hospital can’t sustain its financial health. Your focus should be on the long term, not indulging in expensive toys for your surgical suite.”
“It’s not indulgence,” Catherine replied evenly. “It's a necessity. Something you taught me to prioritize.”
Evelyn’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “And what else have I taught you, Catherine? That emotion and personal attachment have no place in our field. Yet I’ve heard murmurs that you’ve been…distracted.”
Catherine’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone measured. “I’m not emotional. I’m practical. Something you taught me well.”
As Evelyn continued dissecting her choices with clinical detachment, Catherine’s mind churned beneath her calm exterior. This wasn’t new. It had been her reality since childhood, growing up under the relentless expectations of a woman who demanded nothing less than perfection.
Her mother’s words had shaped her, molding her into a surgeon who thrived under pressure and demanded excellence not only from herself but from everyone around her. But it had come at a cost.
“You’re slipping, Catherine.” Evelyn’s earlier words echoed in her mind, striking a chord she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Catherine knew her mother’s approval was a currency she’d been chasing for as long as she could remember. Yet no matter how many successes she achieved, the goalposts always moved, leaving her striving for an impossible standard.
The icy demeanor she wore so well was survival as much as it was armor.
As Evelyn continued speaking, her voice sharp and cutting, Catherine’s thoughts drifted, something that rarely happened in her mother’s presence.