Chapter 014 Cillian
By the time Edith arrives to point people in the right direction, I’ve bitten the head off nearly everyone on my payroll.
The caterers are too loud. The florists are too slow. The string quartet is tuning their instruments, and the noise is drilling directly into my skull. I retreat to my office, slamming the door on the chaos, but the silence doesn't help. It just amplifies the noise in my own head.
"Is there a reason you’re more agitated than usual?" Edith asks, slipping into the room without knocking.
I’m standing by the mirror, wrestling with my bowtie. I yank the silk end, botching the knot for the third time. "No."
"Right." She walks over, her heels clicking on the hardwood. "And I’m the Queen of England."
I let out a frustrated growl and drop my hands. "Goddamn it."
"Let me." She doesn't wait for permission. She steps into my personal space, her hands deft and cool against my neck. I lift my chin, staring at the ceiling, trying to regulate my breathing. "Does this chipper attitude have anything to do with the new nanny?"
My jaw tightens. "Why do you say that?"
"No reason. I’ve just known you for over a decade and I’ve never seen you so tied in knots." She steps back, surveying her handiwork. The tie is perfect. Symmetrical. Orderly. Everything I’m not right now. She grins. "Pun intended."
I walk to my desk, needing distance. It’s on the tip of my tongue to lie, to give her the corporate line—stress, mergers, deadlines—but my shoulders are heavy. The weight of the last twenty-four hours is crushing me. The sex. The pills. The desperate, clawing need to keep Lyra here, to bind her to me so tightly she can never leave.
"I can’t control myself around her," I say. The words taste like ash.
Edith barks out a laugh.
I glare at her. "It’s not funny."
"Oh, it’s hilarious," she says, picking up her tablet from the coffee table. She taps the screen, checking off some last-minute detail. "I’m going to be honest with you, Cillian. Your control issues have made you an incredible success. It’s the reason you have all of this." She gestures vaguely at the estate, the wealth, the empire. "But people don’t operate like a corporation. You’re someone who can’t function without controlling every variable, and you think that applies to human beings."
"That’s not true," I snap. "With Elara—"
"With Elara, you had to change because you didn't have a choice," she interrupts, her voice sharpening. "She walked into your life and dragged up every emotion you buried when your brother left. And to your credit, you’ve been wonderful with her. Distant at times, sure, but you’re learning." She softens, her gaze piercing. "The difference with Lyra is that she doesn't have to rely on you. You feel something for her, but she could walk out that door tonight, and you couldn't stop her."
I clench my fists at my sides. The logic is sound. Cold. Irrefutable.
That’s the terror of it. Lyra is a variable I can’t isolate.
"It’s impossible to feel something for someone I just met," I say, trying to convince myself more than her. "We don’t know each other. It’s... lust. Proximity."
"Oh, Cillian." Edith sighs, shaking her head. "I wish I could live in your fantasy world. Are there gumdrop flowers there, too?"
I narrow my eyes. Most people cower when I give them this look. Edith just arches a brow. It’s why she’s still employed.
"Now, if you want my advice—"
"Clearly, I don’t."
"You’ll open your eyes."
"What?"
She sets the tablet down. "You’re a good man, Cillian. A little too bossy. A little emotionally constipated. But you have a lot to offer someone. And not just the money."
I scoff, turning toward the window. The driveway is filling with luxury cars.
"I mean it," she says. "The things you care about go deep. You’re generous with your time. You listen. You make space for people to be the best versions of themselves. I’ve watched you with employees for years. You think it's the order and the rules that make them stay, but it’s not. It’s the way you make them feel seen."
She crosses the room and pats my cheek. It’s a motherly gesture, simple and affectionate, and it hits me harder than a punch. My chest tightens. It’s a longing for something I never really had, something I lost a long time ago.
"She deserves a chance to get to know the man you really are," Edith says softly. "Not just the CEO." She heads for the door. "Now get your butt in gear. Guests are waiting."
I clear my throat, forcing the lump down. "I’ll be right out."
She nods, hand on the doorknob.
"Edith."
She stops.
"Thank you. For all of that."
She smiles, a genuine, crinkly-eyed expression. "You know I never had kids. But if I had, they’d be about your age. And I think I did a pretty good job raising you."
"You did," I agree.
She leaves, closing the door with a soft click.
I stand there for a moment in the silence. I adjust my cuffs. I check my watch. I try to summon the cold, hard armor I usually wear to these events, but it doesn't fit right anymore. Edith is right. Control is just how I cope with the fear of loss. If I can dictate the terms, I can’t be surprised. I can’t be hurt.
But Lyra... Lyra is nothing but surprises.
I need to see her.
I leave the office, my strides long and urgent. I cross the marble foyer toward the grand staircase just as movement catches my eye at the top of the landing.
I stop dead.
Lyra and Elara are descending the stairs.
It looks like a scene from a movie, or a fairy tale, or some other sentimental nonsense I usually despise. But right now, I can't look away.
Elara is beaming, bouncing on the balls of her feet in a bright pink dress, looking like a princess. But Lyra...
My breath catches. She’s wearing the rose gold gown. It clings to her curves like liquid metal, shimmering under the chandelier lights. The fabric dips low, exposing the creamy slope of her shoulders, her collarbones. It’s modest enough for the public, but I know what’s underneath. I know the heat of her skin. The marks I left on her.
I stare up at them, the two most important people in my world, and my brain simply shuts down.
"Uncle Cillian, are you okay?" Elara calls out as they reach the bottom steps. "Your mouth is hanging open."
I snap my jaw shut. Elara giggles.
"I’m in awe of how stunning you look," I tell her, forcing my voice to work.
She does a little twirl, the skirt flaring out. "I see you went with the pink dress. Good choice."
"Thank you!" Elara flings herself at me.
I catch her, wrapping my arms around her small frame. She smells like strawberry shampoo and innocence. "You kept them all, right?"
She nods against my tuxedo jacket.
"Excellent."
"Who wants cake?" Edith’s voice cuts in. She’s standing by the dining room entrance with Elara’s sitter for the night.
Elara pulls back, eyes wide. "Cake?"
"Before dinner?" I start to protest. "You need to eat real food first—"
"Bye, Uncle Cillian!" She’s already running, grabbing Edith’s hand and dragging the sitter along in her wake.
Silence descends on the foyer.
Lyra stands on the bottom step, looking after them with a profound pout. "Dang it. I wanted cake for dinner, too."
I look at her. Really look at her. The rose gold sequins catch the light, but her eyes are warmer. Brighter.
"I’m sorry you’re stuck with me," I say, stepping closer. "But I promise to feed you any kind of cake you want later."
She gives me a small, tentative smile. "Even red velvet?"
"All you have to do is say the word."
I stop in front of her. She’s at eye level with me thanks to the step. The air between us is charged, heavy with everything we haven't said and everything we’ve done.
"But first," I say, my voice dropping, "I have to tell you how incredible you look."
A blush creeps up her neck. "Well, I was told you were very specific." She smooths her hands over the silk at her hips. "But I think you picked a good one."
I didn't pick this one. I picked the emerald.
I frown internally. I must have mixed up the order forms, or perhaps the stylist made an executive decision. It doesn't matter. She looks perfect.
"Lyra." I take her hand. Her fingers are small in mine, trembling slightly.
I need to do this. I need to override the programming that tells me to issue an order, to demand, to take.
"I’m grateful you’re here," I say. "And I want you to stay. Not just for Elara. But for me, too."
Her eyes widen, searching mine.
I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent—vanilla and something uniquely her. "This is new to me. Being with you physically... but also these feelings. I don’t want my control to scare you off, but I don’t know how to loosen my grip."
"Cillian," she whispers.
I slide my free hand around her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the silk. I pull her off the step and flush against me, my thigh brushing hers.
"Don’t make me start another year without you."