Chapter 26 Katie #2
For the rest of the day, I comb through old documents, cross-referencing every email, every draft, every footnote that might come back to haunt us. By the time I finish, it’s nearly seven. The sky outside has gone navy-black, and my eyes ache from the screen’s glare.
Across the floor, Stephan’s light flicks off. He strides through the glass doors without looking in my direction. Not even a nod. Just the quiet, efficient exit of a man who never lets anyone see what he’s thinking.
I should wait ten minutes before leaving—keep up appearances—but the office is empty. No one will notice. I shut down my computer, grab my bag, and call for the car.
He’s just getting into his car when I step out into the cold. The wind whips at my hair, stinging my cheeks. For a split second, I think he might turn, but he doesn’t. His driver pulls away, the taillights disappearing into the dark.
I slide into the backseat of my own car and hit Mary’s name before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey, big shot! How’s corporate life?”
I laugh softly, the sound hollow but real. “Exhausting. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” she says, bright with hope. “I went out today. The park. Can you believe that? I didn’t even need to sit down.”
My throat tightens. “That’s amazing.”
“We should go somewhere when you’re home. Downtown maybe? I’d love to see the Christmas lights and maybe do some window shopping.”
With everything going on, I hadn’t even noticed it was almost the holidays.
“Downtown it is,” I say. “We’ll take Mom too.”
There’s a pause—soft, heavy. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I know what this treatment costs, Katie. I know what you’re giving up.”
I close my eyes. Not just my salary.
Maybe God stopped listening. Maybe he sent me Stephan instead.
“Anything for you,” I murmur, before she can hear my voice break.
When the call ends, the car is silent except for the low hum of the engine. My reflection stares back at me in the darkened window—polished, professional, a woman who looks like she has everything under control.
But I can hear my conscience whispering beneath the glass: This isn’t you, Katie. You don’t lie. You don’t hide.
And yet, here I am—living two lives for one impossible cause.
The elevator hums softly as it climbs. My reflection stares back from the mirrored walls—flushed cheeks, tired eyes, a woman trying to look composed. Cassian’s words replay in my head on a cruel loop.
When Stephan lets someone in, it’s because they’re useful to him.
By the time the doors open, my pulse is a staccato rhythm in my throat.
The apartment is dim, lit only by the city’s glow bleeding through the glass walls. Stephan’s jacket hangs neatly over the back of a chair, his briefcase open on the counter. The scent of scotch lingers in the air.
He’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, pouring himself a drink. His expression softens the moment he sees me. “Long day?”
“Something like that,” I say, setting my bag on the counter. We have already fallen into a domestic rhythm that is both comforting and unnerving.
He studies me the way he always does—quietly, deliberately, like he’s waiting for me to reveal what’s wrong.
I want to tell him about Cassian. I want to confess that his name came up, that Cassian warned me to be careful, that I spent the rest of the afternoon half-convinced someone could read my guilt straight from my face. But something holds me back. Maybe pride. Maybe fear.
“You’re quiet,” Stephan says finally, taking a slow sip of his drink.
I force a small smile. “Just tired.”
He sets the glass down. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure. You’re doing good work, Katie. Don’t let Cass—or anyone—make you second-guess that.”
The words catch me off guard. It’s as if he already knows.
My pulse spikes. “Did Cassian…say something to you?”
He shakes his head, just slightly. “He doesn’t have to. I know him. And I know you.”
I look away, pretending to study the skyline. The city is a sprawl of gold and glass, glittering like a promise I can’t quite believe in.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The silence is thick, charged—half safety, half danger.
Finally, Stephan moves closer, his voice dropping low. “You don’t owe him—or anyone else explanations. What happens between us stays between us. Do you understand?”
I nod, but the motion feels mechanical. My heart is thundering in my chest. Sometimes I forget the contract exists. But then he looks at me like this—and I remember—every word, every clause, every promise that made me his.
He reaches for me, then stops—only a breath of space between us.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. The words should comfort me, but tonight they feel heavier—like a tether tightening. Maybe obedience isn’t devotion anymore. Maybe it’s just survival.
We eat dinner in near silence, our conversation circling harmless topics: deadlines, the weather, the taste of the wine. None of it matters. The case is bleeding us both dry, and all I want is to curl into his arms and let the rest of the world dissolve.
But I know that can never happen.
I’ve traded the silence of the chapel for the charged quiet of this penthouse, and I don’t know if that makes me redeemed—or ruined.
I push the thought away, forcing myself to remember the man who told me about his mother’s sacrifices, his father’s demons, his climb from nothing. That man couldn’t be playing me.
He wouldn’t.