Page 18 of Titus

Windows spanned the far wall, perfectly framing the final moments of sunset as it bathed the neutral tones I’d spent months perfecting in a beautiful soft gold hue. My townhouse embodied the ideal minimalist aesthetic—sleek lines and an absence of clutter. Most importantly, everything was precisely in its place.

Serenity was exactly what this space gave me, and after tonight? I needed it.

After placing my shoes on the shelf in my custom-built walk-in closet, I moved into the kitchen and poured a chilled glass of Chardonnay. At the marble island, I exhaled slowly, letting the events of the evening replay in my mind.

Titus Hawk. God.

I swear, the man didn’t just walk into a room—he captivated it. Every conversation shifted. Every person adjusted. Even the air felt… different.

And I hated that I noticed the exact second he walked into the ballroom, falling in step beside his brother as he joined Avery and Nat’s husband at their table. The same table I’d be joining.

But it wasn’t just that I noticed him. It was that he noticed me.

I leaned against the counter, taking another slow sip of wine.

“You’re not impressed,” I muttered under my breath. “He’s no different from the jackass who owns your building, turning a simple tenant reception into some overblown billionaire event.”

I told myself that. My mind didn’t care to listen.

His voice was firm, composed, and carried the unmistakable confidence of a man who never questioned himself. Then there were his amber eyes, catching the light differently than everyone else’s in the room. When they locked onto you, it didn’t feel like attention. It felt like an assessment. Like he wasn’t admiring you, he was figuring you out.

It wasn’t flattering. It was… annoying.

A sharp knock at the door cut through my thoughts, and I frowned as I glanced at the time. It was too late for a neighbor and too early for a problem at some luxurious event.

Another knock. Softer this time.

Something in my chest tightened. I set the glass down and walked to the door, pulling it open without checking, and everything in me stilled when I saw who was at the door.

“Cat…”

Amelia.

My sister’s voice was enough to tell me something was wrong. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot, loose strands falling around her face. Her eyes were red and exhausted—like she hadn’t slept in days.

And the bag slung over her shoulder? That told me everything I needed to know.

“Come in,” I said, standing aside to make way for her to enter.

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours, stepping inside slowly like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to take up space here. An assumption that couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Amelia,” I said, closing the door behind her, “what happened?”

She set her bag down gently, like even that felt too loud in my space.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

And just like that, everything else disappeared. The gala. Titus. The tension. All of it was gone.

I crossed the room in two steps, pulling her into me before she could say anything else.

“You came to the right place, sweetie,” I said quietly.

Her hands clutched the back of my dress like she was holding on to the only stable thing she had left. And maybe that was true.

I pulled back slightly, scanning her face. “You’re staying here,” I said, already deciding. “As long as you need.”

“Cat—”