Chapter 12 Katie
Katie
The hotel outshines every place I’ve ever stayed. A waterfall spills down the center of the building behind the reception, and light floods in from every direction. The space feels less like a hotel and more like a monument to calm. Even the air carries the scent of money: eucalyptus and stone.
I want to feel impressed, but shame closes around me instead. The distance from the convent turns every trace of opulence into sin. And still, I like it—and I hate myself for that.
The clerk smiles as he hands me the keycard, his voice smooth and professional. “Enjoy your stay, Ms. O’Shea.”
I thank him, though the words catch somewhere between gratitude and guilt. Enjoy your stay as if I’m here on vacation, as if any of this belongs to me.
Stephan is behind me when checking in, and we ride together in silence, neither acknowledging what transpired on the ride home.
As I slide my keycard into the reader, I catch a glimpse of Stephan out of the corner of my eye. Of course, he’s in the room next to mine. Did he arrange this, or is it a mere coincidence? Perhaps Annie did.
I give him a smile— not big enough to be overexcited but not small enough to be flirtatious and open the door.
The room greets me with cold indifference—a space built for business, not rest. I kick off my heels, strip out of my suit, and start the shower.
Stephan’s warning from earlier hums in the back of my mind: Be careful with what you show. He doesn’t know how much weight those words carry. With him, every glance feels like a cross-examination.
Even now, I can’t quite relax knowing he’s on the other side of that wall—probably pacing, phone to his ear, briefing the other partners about our meeting with Halcyon.
I pause near the connecting door, the faintest hum of water and city noise filling the silence. I imagine I can hear him moving, the soft rhythm of footsteps. The thought of his presence so close sends a shiver down my spine—part fear, part something else I don’t have a name for.
We share a secret now—one that could cost us both our livelihoods, and for me, Mary’s life. If I think about it for too long, I forget how to breathe.
But I can’t stop; quitting isn’t an option. So I choose the smaller sin: feel something, then put the armor back on.
I step into the shower, hoping the stream of water can wash away the horrible feeling Halcyon gave me. But my mind keeps flashing back to the man on the other side of that door. I imagine him right now: loosening his expensive collar, rolling up his sleeves. Is he thinking about me too?
Running my hands over my breasts, I feel the water slick against my skin. It flows down my abdomen to where my cunt is already throbbing. I have denied myself this pleasure for months.
Since I started at Marek, West it is his.
I imagine Stephan’s hot breath on my neck, his arms wrapped around me from behind, crushing my breasts against the marble. His long, powerful fingers replace my own, finding the exact, desperate rhythm I crave. “Harder,” I command silently, letting heat unfurl through my core. “Be rougher with me.”
My hips buck, not against the shower wall, but against his phantom body.
I moan into the roaring water as I thrust my fingers in and out, faster and faster, chasing the shattering edge.
The sensation is a violent, welcome flood that wipes out the firm, the convent, and the guilt.
The walls here are thin. If I let go—if a sound slips—I won’t be the only one who hears it.
The thought shouldn’t excite me, but it does.
Part of me hopes he hears; the rest prays he doesn’t.
I press my mouth to my wrist, stifling the sound as I chase the edge—faster, until control fractures into a pulse. Release tears through me, hot and full of need. I bite down on a gasp until pain meets pleasure, my teeth marking the place it crests.
But, the guilt follows quickly, entwined with something almost clean.
Dinner is in an hour—just enough time to call Mom and Mary and check in.
Steam curls around me as I towel my hair, the air still warm against skin that hums from forbidden release.
In the mirror, a different woman takes shape—one built from precision and powder.
It’s more makeup than I’ve ever worn, each touch a layer of armor.
By the time I’m done, no one at that table will read a thing I don’t allow.
The little black dress becomes a weapon: simple, elegant, and deliberately revealing.
I looked up the restaurant before I left Chicago. Dinners there run from five hundred to a thousand dollars per person. This isn’t a place for summer dresses or soft edges.
When my phone lights up, my chest tightens at the name on the screen.
MAREK: Meet me in the lobby at 6:30 p.m. ME: See you then.
I stare at the message a beat too long before swiping it away and opening a video call to Mom. It’s close to eight in Chicago—Mary’s probably already asleep. I picture her curled up on the couch next to Mom, and my heart aches. She is the reason I’m doing this. Nothing matters but her.
Mom answers on the second ring, her face filling the screen in the dim light of the kitchen. A pot simmers behind her; I can almost smell the tomato sauce, the old linoleum, the life I left behind.
“Sweetheart! You’re there safely?” she says, smiling too widely. She’s tired — I can see it in the creases around her eyes — but she’s trying to hide it.
“I’m here,” I say. “The hotel’s… beautiful.”
“I’ll bet it is. California! I can’t even imagine.”
“Neither can I.”
Mom nods, but her expression shifts. “You sound worn out. They’re not working you too hard, are they?”
“Just the hotel lighting, Mom,” I lie, my heart still hammer-tapping against my ribs. I'm wearing a thousand-dollar dress and a mask of makeup, and for a second, I wonder if she even recognizes the girl she raised. “It’s busy,” I say instead. “But I’m learning a lot.”
She hesitates, like she can sense something beneath the words. “Katie… you’re doing the right thing. I know it’s not easy, but your father would be so proud.”
A familiar pang catches in my chest — pride and shame, tangled tight. “Thanks, Mom.”
Neither of us speaks. The stove fan hums softly through the speaker. It’s strange how far away home feels now — like a memory I can still smell but not touch.
“I should let you go,” she says finally. “You’ve got a fancy dinner to get to.”
“Love, you, Mom,” I say, with a wave.
The screen fades to black. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my reflection in the darkened screen. The dress, the makeup, the quiet ache in my chest — none of it feels like me. But tonight, it’s who I have to be.
Before I leave, I kneel beside the bed. The carpet is soft beneath my knees, the air faintly scented with the hotel’s sterile eucalyptus. My dress rustles as I bow my head, hands clasped tight.
The city hums outside the window—distant, indifferent. I let myself speak into the stillness.
“Please, God,” I whisper, “let me get over these feelings for Stephan. Let me learn to live without him. And if I fall, let it still somehow help Mary.”
The words sound fragile in the empty room, like something already breaking.
I stay there a moment longer, eyes closed, trying to remember what peace felt like. Then I rise, smooth my skirt, and reach for my bag.
Time to go.
Stephan is waiting in the lobby when I arrive, wearing a navy suit tailored to within an inch of its life. He’s clean-shaven, his hair styled in a careful sweep I haven’t seen before.
My breath stutters in my chest at the sight of him. The light from the glass atrium catches the sharp lines of his face, the silver of his watch, the easy confidence in the way he stands. He looks like he belongs here—like this hotel, this city, this world of power was built around him.
When his eyes find mine, something in his expression softens. Before I can linger too long on the thought, it’s gone a second later, replaced by the polished calm I’ve come to know too well.
“Ready?” He says, extending his elbow.
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, looping mine through his—only realizing afterward how much like a couple we must look.
“Carlyle’s people don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Neither do you,” I say before I can stop myself.
That earns the smallest curve of a smile, a flash of amusement that makes my pulse quicken.
We turn toward the revolving doors, and I catch the eye of the young hostess at the lobby bar.
She’s staring at us—not with curiosity, but with a kind of breathless envy.
Her gaze travels from Stephan’s custom-tailored shoulder down to where my hand is tucked into his elbow, her expression clear: she thinks I’m the luckiest woman in the building.
Heat rises in my cheeks, and I look away.
She doesn't see the case files in my head; she just sees the man on my arm. For a moment, I imagine this is my life. I am his, and he is mine. But then I bury that thought deep inside. He is a partner at a premier law firm—and I am an associate. There isn’t a world in which we can be together.
Not that he has even hinted he has feelings for me.
Together we cross the marble floor toward the waiting car.
The driver opens the door, and we slide into the back seat. The air inside smells faintly of leather and cologne, the kind of scent that feels expensive by design.