by cold eyes
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Welcome to the world of:
CATHERINA STEELE
"When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire"
CATHERINEFemale † Greek † "Pure ""CATH"Female † Greek † NicknameSTEELESurname † English † "Like steel" -
Basic info
◖BIRTHNAME◗
She was given the name: Catherina Steele. Steele is her father's last name, while Catherina was her mothers grandmothers name.
◖NICKNAME◗
It is only her dad that calls her Catherina, almost everyone else calls her Cath.
◖AGE◗
Cath just turned 21 years old - so she is finally old enough to drink, not that her age has stopped her before.
◖BIRTHPLACE◗
He was born in Burbank, California, USA.
◖NATIONALITY◗
American.
◖RESIDENCE◗
She still lives in her fathers run down house in Burbank, California.◖OCCUPATION◗
She never got an college education, there wasn't any money for it! She now works in her fathers auto shop.
◖BUILD◗
She is described as being petite, but also curvy, and has a slender/lean build
◖HEIGHT◗
Cath is approximately 5 feet 5 inches (165 cm
◖EYES◗
She has hazel eyes (A mix of yellow, brown, and green colors)
◖HAIR◗
Long straight brown hair.
◖COMPLEXION◗
Fair white skin
◖WEIGHT◗
No comment
◖SCARS◗
None that she knows of.
◖ZODIAC SIGN◗
She is a Pisces due to her birthday birthdate March 05.
◖SEXUALITY◗
She is a straigh woman
◖RELATIONSHIP STATUS◗
Single woman.
◖FACE CLAIM◗
Her fc is Dove Cameron -
Aesthetic
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Story
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Some children are simply born with tragedy in their blood
You think attention is love
and that's why you suffer so deeply
________________
Catherina never really knew her mother. She left when Cath was barely a year old—old enough to exist, too young to remember. There were no bedtime stories about her, no photographs on the walls. Just a quiet absence that settled into the house like dust. She grew up as the daughter of a single father—a man who wasn’t cruel, wasn’t heartless, just worn down by life. He loved her in the only way he knew how: by surviving. And survival, in their world, often meant crossing lines. Money was always scarce. Bills piled up like silent threats. Eventually, desperation pushed her father into stealing cars. It wasn’t glamorous, and it certainly wasn’t heroic—it was messy, risky, and necessary. When there was no one to watch her, he brought her to the auto shop. So Cath grew up under flickering fluorescent lights, breathing in gasoline and motor oil instead of perfume and fresh laundry. Her lullabies were the sound of engines revving. Her playground was a concrete floor scattered with tools. She didn’t choose to learn about cars. She absorbed it.
By twelve, she could take apart an engine faster than most grown men. By fourteen, she could identify a car’s problem just by listening to it idle. But she never spoke about it at school. The shop was a man’s world—loud laughter, rough hands, sharp words. Being the only girl meant learning how to shrink and stand tall at the same time. She became observant. Quiet. Sharp. She understood early that knowledge could threaten fragile egos. So she made herself smaller. When she was sixteen, everything shattered. Her father got caught. Arrested. Sentenced. Just like that, she went from being the mechanic’s daughter to the criminal’s daughter. The whispers followed her through town like shadows.
And suddenly, she was alone. She had dreams once. Secret ones. She wanted an education. A real one. She wanted to leave her small hometown—the cracked sidewalks, the judgmental stares, the suffocating familiarity. She wanted to reinvent herself somewhere no one knew her last name. But prison bars don’t just trap one person. They trapped her too. With no money and no other options, she stayed. She took a job at the shop. The same shop that had raised her. The same shop that now felt like a cage. While her classmates packed for college, posted pictures in dorm rooms, and talked about new beginnings, Cath tightened bolts and wiped grease off her hands. She told herself it didn’t matter.
“If only my heart were as cold as I pretend it is,” she would think, staring at her reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, “maybe I could get over this.”
Cath grew into a beautiful young woman—striking without trying. It was the kind of beauty that drew attention when she walked into a room. Boys admired her. Older men admired her more. But admiration is not the same as love. She never quite knew if the men she dated liked her for who she was—or for how she looked standing next to them. She learned quickly what they wanted: the cool girl. The easy girl. The adventurous one. The girl who laughs at their jokes, drinks what they drink, dances how they like, never asks for too much. So she became her.
She never talked about cars—especially not around men. Nothing bruised a fragile ego faster than a girl who knew more.
She never talked about her father. Or prison. Or debt.
She never talked about how scared she was of becoming stuck forever.
Instead, she perfected the performance. Fun. Detached. Effortless. And when the relationships inevitably faded—when the attention shifted, when the texts slowed, when she caught them cheating—she simply shrugged. She had trained herself not to react.
“Miss Ice Queen,” people called her. Untouchable. Unbothered. Impossible to hurt. They didn’t know her father had been her first heartbreak. After that, everything else felt smaller.
Girls often disliked her. Some out of jealousy. Some out of insecurity. It didn’t matter that she never chased their boyfriends. It didn’t matter that she turned men down more often than she accepted them. If a boyfriend tried his luck with her and got rejected, he would twist the story. And somehow, she would be the villain. It was easier for people to believe she was cold than to believe she was lonely. Because loneliness doesn’t look like her. It doesn’t look like someone beautiful. It doesn’t look like someone confident. But Cath is both lonely and starving—for connection, for understanding, for someone who sees her beyond the surface. She is a girl who needs love and attention. She often receives attention. Rarely love. Deep down, there’s still a spark inside her—the girl who once dreamed of leaving. She hides it carefully, afraid that hoping again will only lead to disappointment. She tells herself she was born to take care of her father’s mess. Born to inherit his unfinished life. She fears the day her beauty fades. Fears becoming invisible. Fears that without her face and figure, there will be nothing left for people to notice.
But what she doesn’t see is this:
She is intelligent.
She is resilient.
She is capable of building engines—and rebuilding herself.
She understands loyalty, survival, and sacrifice better than most ever will.
Catherina is not cold.
She is a burning heart wrapped in ice.
And one day, someone might stay long enough to see it melt.
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