72. Chapter 72
Cate
Present
Icouldn’t let him see it.
Not the fear.
Not the revulsion.
Not the shift.
If Trevor sensed I was slipping away, even emotionally, this would turn.
Fast.
So, I softened.
It felt like stepping back into an old skin. One I’d worn for years without realizing it was armor.
I let my shoulders drop. Let my jaw unclench. Let my breathing slow.
“I’m not turning on you,” I said quietly.
Trevor watched me with careful intensity, like he was waiting for the truth to leak out of my pores.
“You think this was easy for me?” he asked.
There it was, the narrative pivot.
I let my eyes glisten - not forced, not dramatic. Just enough. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
And that was the truth.
He exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through his hair. “You were drowning,” he said. “After John disappeared. You were barely functioning. Seth didn’t know how to help you. No one did.”
He moved closer again, but slower this time. “I did,” he continued. “I stepped in.”
I nodded slightly, as if that logic still made sense.
“You saved me,” I said softly.
Trevor stilled as the words hit their mark.
Saved.
“Yes,” he said. Almost relieved. “Yes. I did.”
He reached for me again and this time I didn’t step back. I let him touch my arm. Let him slide his hand down to mine.
“I just wish you had trusted me enough to tell me,” I added gently.
He searched my face again. “I couldn’t risk losing you,” he said.
And there it was, the confession hiding inside justification.
I swallowed. “You’re not going to lose me,” I said.
It felt like walking on a blade.
His shoulders lowered another fraction. “Good,” he murmured.
Then he cupped my face.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I flinched, just a flicker, a tiny recoil.
But Trevor felt it.
His hand froze against my cheek.
The room went silent.
His eyes changed.
It wasn’t rage.
It was something colder.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said.
Not a question.
I forced my muscles to unclench. “No.”
“You just pulled away.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
He stepped back slowly, studying me like a specimen again. “You did,” he said softly. “You meant to.”
“No,” I said again, stronger now, fighting to control the tremor in my voice. “I’m overwhelmed. That’s not the same thing.”
Trevor’s jaw tightened. “You think I’m unstable,” he said.
I shook my head immediately. “No. I think this is a lot.”
“A lot,” he repeated flatly.
He paced once. Twice. His steps were controlled, but the energy underneath them was shifting. No longer perfectly contained.
“You don’t get to be afraid of me,” he said.
That chilled something deep in my spine.
“I gave you everything.”
I nodded quickly. “You did.”
“You live in this house because of me.”
“Yes.”
“You have stability because of me.”
“Yes.”
Each agreement steadied him.
Each agreement cost me something.
He stopped pacing and looked at me again.
“But you flinched,” he said.
The accusation was quiet.
I swallowed hard. “Trevor,” I said softly, stepping toward him this time, closing the space deliberately. “I just found out the man I was supposed to marry was killed. And that my husband did it.”
There it was.
Out loud.
Between us.
“Of course I’m shaken.”
The word was careful.
Not afraid.
Shaken.
Trevor’s breathing slowed again.
He studied me, recalibrating. “You don’t think I’d hurt you,” he said.
I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I don’t believe you would.”
And that was the most dangerous lie I’d ever told.
He searched my face for longer this time.
Looking for cracks.
Looking for betrayal.
Finding none - or at least none he could prove.
Finally, he nodded. “Good,” he said quietly.
He stepped around me and unlocked the deadbolt.
The sound was deliberate.
“I don’t want you feeling trapped,” he added, almost gently.
The chain remained in place.
But he’d unlocked one thing.
That was enough to show he was still in control of the narrative.
“I’m not trapped,” I said softly.
He looked at me again. “Good,” he repeated.
Then he walked toward the kitchen.
“I think we both need to breathe,” he said over his shoulder. “We’ve had a long day.”
The calm was back.
Polished.
Controlled.
But it was thinner now.
I stood alone in the living room, heart pounding so hard I thought he might hear it from across the house.
He knew I was afraid.
And I knew he’d noticed.
The game had changed.
And I had just learned how quickly a tiny human reflex, a single flinch, could shift the balance between safety and survival.