Katherine’s POV
The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft sizzle of onions in the pan and the occasional pop of oil on the stove.
For the first time in what felt like days, the house was still.
No Jake pacing. No footsteps echoing through the halls. No murmurs from the Black Cats’ inner circle. Just me, standing at the stove in one of Andrew’s oversized t-shirts, sleeves rolled up, trying to forget how many eyes had been on me at that meeting — hungry, cruel eyes.
I stirred the onions, letting the smell of garlic and pepper wrap around me like a blanket. Something about cooking always calmed my nerves. It reminded me of a different life. One where danger didn’t sit next to me at a table full of criminals. One where I didn’t flinch every time a man smiled too long.
But that life felt li
