74. Chapter 74
Cate
Present
The phone started vibrating again before I could stop it.
Seth.
His name lit up the screen like a flare.
Trevor didn’t look at the phone immediately.
He looked at me. “Go ahead,” he said quietly.
My pulse was loud in my ears. I forced my breathing to stay even, forced my hand to stay still in my lap instead of snatching the phone away.
It kept buzzing.
Seth would keep calling. I knew he would.
Trevor tilted his head slightly. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
His voice wasn’t sharp. Not yet. It almost sounded curious.
I shook my head once. “No.”
The buzzing stopped.
The silence afterward was worse.
Trevor’s gaze didn’t leave my face. He watched me the way someone watches a poker table - waiting for a tell.
“Why not?” he asked.
I swallowed. Carefully. “Because he worries. And I don’t want to make things bigger than they already are.”
Trevor smiled.
Slow and approving. “Good,” he said softly. “That’s smart.”
My stomach twisted.
The phone lit up again almost immediately.
Trevor’s eyes dropped to it this time. Then back to me. “Put it on silent,” he said.
Not loud.
Not demanding.
Certain.
My fingers trembled only slightly as I pressed the button.
The buzzing stopped.
Trevor took two slow steps toward me.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t back up.
Didn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me retreat.
“That’s the right choice,” he murmured.
He reached for the phone and I hesitated, just long enough.
His eyes sharpened. “Cate,” he said.
I handed it to him.
He didn’t pocket it. Didn’t throw it.
He turned it off.
Completely.
Then he set it on the entry table, just out of reach.
“That way,” he said mildly, “we can focus.”
He walked back toward me, slower now. Measured. Every step deliberate.
“You know what I need to understand?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
He stopped an arm’s length away.
“I need to understand why you went digging.”
I forced my voice steady. “That’s not what I was doing.”
His head tilted. “Cate.”
My throat tightened. “I was looking for a pen.”
Trevor’s jaw flexed and he stepped closer.
Too close.
I could see the fracture now - not rage, not yet - but strain. The careful architecture of his calm beginning to crack under pressure.
“You went into my office,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
His hand lifted.
For a second, I thought he was going to touch my face.
Instead, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.
Not violently, but firmly.
Too firmly.
My breath caught.
“You went into my desk,” he continued.
His thumb pressed into the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse.
Testing, feeling how fast my heart was racing.
“You were never curious before,” he said softly. “Not like that.”
My body betrayed me and I flinched.
It was small.
Barely there.
But he felt it.
His grip tightened, just enough to hurt.
“Don’t,” he said.
Not loud, worse.
Controlled.
“I have done nothing,” he continued quietly, “but protect you.”
The pressure on my wrist increased another fraction.
Pain bloomed sharp and immediate.
“You think anyone else would have done what I did for you?”
My pulse thundered.
I didn’t fight his grip.
I didn’t pull away.
Because I understood something now with absolute clarity.
If I resisted, he would escalate.
If I stayed still, he might choose restraint.
So, I stayed still.
“Trevor,” I said carefully. “You’re hurting me.”
He looked down at our hands, almost like he hadn’t realized.
Like it was an accident.
His fingers loosened immediately. “Sorry,” he said.
And the apology was so soft it almost sounded real.
He released me completely, stepped back, and ran a hand through his hair.
For a moment, he looked tired.
Not furious.
Cornered.
“You have to understand something,” he said, voice lower now. “Trust is everything. Once that’s broken…”
He let the sentence hang.
My wrist throbbed where his fingers had been.
I flexed it subtly.
“You said you were safe,” he reminded me. “You told the detective that.”
I nodded.
“I need to know you meant it.”
My phone was powered down across the room.
Seth calling into silence.
And Trevor stood between me and the exit.
“Yes,” I said.
He studied me.
Searching.
Measuring.
Deciding.
Finally, he stepped aside.
Just a little.
Just enough to look like he was giving me space.
“Good,” he said again.
But the word felt different this time.
Like a verdict.
And somewhere deep inside me, something shifted.
Not panic.
Not yet.
Something colder.
Because now I understood the rules.
This wasn’t about love anymore.
It wasn’t even about John.
It was about control.
And I had just failed my first test.