I had never seen Catherine quite like this before.
She stood in the doorway, her eyes sharp and cold, her lips curled into that familiar, predatory smile. There was no warmth there, no invitation, just a quiet tension that screamed for us to react. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not after everything we had been through.
I glanced at Alexander. His body was tense, every muscle honed in on the woman who had been the architect of so much of the chaos in our lives. But he didn’t move, didn’t step toward her. He stood still, his eyes trained on Catherine, the same unwavering confidence in them that I had come to rely on.
I took a breath, gathering my composure, and finally, I spoke. “What do you want, Catherine?” My voice was steady, though the undercurrent of emotion was impossible to ignore. I could feel the weight of the moment pressing in, the realization that no matter how much we had fought, how much we had built, she was still here. Still trying to tear us down.
Catherine’s eyes flicked
