Evelyn’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “And what else have I taught you, Catherine? That emotion and personal attachment have no place in our field. Yet I’ve heard murmurs that you’ve been…distracted.”
Catherine’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone measured. “I’m not emotional. I’m practical. Something you taught me well.”
As Evelyn continued dissecting her choices with clinical detachment, Catherine’s mind churned beneath her calm exterior. This wasn’t new. It had been her reality since childhood, growing up under the relentless expectations of a woman who demanded nothing less than perfection.
Her mother’s words had shaped her, molding her into a surgeon who thrived under pressure and demanded excellence not only from herself but from everyone around her. But it had come at a cost.
“You’re slipping, Catherine.”Evelyn’s earlier words echoed in her mind, striking a chord she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Catherine knew her mother’s approval was a currency she’d been chasing for as long as she could remember. Yet no matter how many successes she achieved, the goalposts always moved, leaving her striving for an impossible standard.
The icy demeanor she wore so well was survival as much as it was armor.
As Evelyn continued speaking, her voice sharp and cutting, Catherine’s thoughts drifted, something that rarely happened in her mother’s presence.
She thought of Sloane. The kiss. The audacity of it. The way Sloane had dared to challenge her control and, for a fleeting moment, made her feel something more than the cold, sharp focus that defined her life.
Catherine felt an unexpected urge to mention Sloane, to drop her name into the conversation just to see how Evelyn would react. But she stopped herself, the weight of her mother’s judgment looming large. Sloane was…undefined, uncertain. Mentioning her here would strip the moment of its freedom, turning it into something that could be dissected and dismissed.
Not here,Catherine thought.Not to her.
Evelyn’s voice broke through her thoughts, as sharp as the scalpel Catherine wielded in the operating room. “Distractions like these are beneath you, Catherine. Focus on what matters: your career, your legacy. Everything else is irrelevant.”
The words landed like a slap, though Catherine didn’t flinch. She met her mother’s gaze with the same steady composure she always maintained, refusing to give Evelyn the satisfaction of seeing the sting.
“I understand,” Catherine said simply, her voice cool.
Evelyn’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. “Good. I’d expect nothing less.”
As Catherine stepped out into the crisp evening air, the tension that had coiled in her chest began to unwind, though the ache of her mother’s words lingered.
The house loomed behind her, its cold elegance a fitting reflection of the woman inside.
Sliding into the driver’s seat of her car, Catherine let out a slow breath. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, her icy composure intact, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper.
As she started the engine, her thoughts drifted back to Sloane—the warmth of the kiss, the daring smile, the way Sloane had stepped into her world with no hesitation and turned it upside down.
For the first time in years, Catherine felt a spark of rebellion, a quiet but undeniable urge to prove her mother wrong, not with words, but with actions.
With Sloane’s challenge still echoing in her mind, Catherine pulled out of the driveway, her resolve hardening. She wasn’t sure what her next move would be, but one thing was certain: for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t content to simply follow the rules.
The door to her apartment clicked shut behind her, muffling the noise of the city and leaving Catherine in the embrace of silence. The space was as meticulous as she was: sleek lines, muted tones, and not a single item out of place. Everything had a purpose, a reason, just like she did.
She slipped off her heels, setting them beside the door, and crossed to the kitchen. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound as she poured herself a glass of water. She leaned against the counter, her fingers curling tightly around the glass as if anchoring herself.
Her mind drifted back to the gallery, to the vivid sprawl of it, so at odds with the deliberate order of her own world. And then to Sloane, the kiss, the teasing grin, the way she’d looked at Catherine as though she saw something no one else could.
Catherine closed her eyes, her breath catching slightly. The kiss was one thing, but the sheer audacity of it left her reeling. The way Sloane had stepped into her personal space, unafraidand unapologetic. Catherine had spent her life building walls, carefully curating who could get close, and Sloane had simply walked right through them.
She dared me.The thought sent a flicker of irritation through her, quickly followed by something warmer, more uncertain.
Catherine moved to the living room, sinking into the plush armchair by the window. The city lights stretched out before her, a mosaic of movement and life that somehow felt distant. She sipped her water, her gaze unfocused as her mind churned.
Her mother’s words rang in her ears: “Distractions like these are beneath you, Catherine. Focus on what matters.”
Evelyn Harrington had spent a lifetime instilling that belief in her. Love, joy, spontaneity—those were distractions, weaknesses. The only things that mattered were results, perfection, and the legacy of the Harrington name.
And yet, there was Sloane. A walking embodiment of chaos and color, someone who seemed to thrive in the very things Catherine had been taught to avoid.
