13. Cora
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
cora
I let the stairwell door close quietly, holding on just long enough that the latch let out a low hiss instead of the clang you’d usually get. I paused on the landing, listening. Nothing. The guards who usually prowled the upper floors of Conall’s building must have been distracted, or maybe I was getting good at slipping past them. Either way, the thrill of escape sent an intoxicating shiver down my spine.
I adjusted the camera bag strap across my shoulder and started down the stairs. Conall consistently underestimated me and thought I was still the quiet, obedient little sister he’d raised to be unseen and unheard. But there was a fire in me, a restlessness that grew while I’d been away. Since I’d been sent to Dublin, I’d only become less house-trained, not more so.
My methods for filling my loneliness weren’t exact, but my photography had helped.
I’d planned this outing carefully, memorizing his men’s shift changes and routines. The shooting a few blocks away last week had rattled them and made them more vigilant. It should’ve scared me, too, but it didn’t. If anything, it made each of these moments sweeter.
I was invisible when I reached the back exit—a shadow slipping into the night. The cool air hit my face as I stepped onto the sidewalk, and I smiled a small, defiant thing.
Tonight, I had a destination in mind. The area had been calling me since I first glimpsed it from the car window weeks ago. Its industrial charm mingled with the grit of the city. It was raw, imperfect, and alive.
I kept my head low as I walked, the camera in my hands like an extension of myself. Every step brought me closer to freedom and the world I craved to capture.
The streets around Vinegar Hill were quiet except for the occasional car hum or distant subway rumble. I ducked into an alleyway, and the faint glow of a flickering neon sign cast fractured light onto the damp pavement.
Perfect.
I crouched down, adjusting the settings on my camera. The lens focused on how the light hit the puddles, creating a kaleidoscope of colors against the worn brick walls. Snap. Another angle, this time catching the silhouette of a lone figure in a window, their face obscured by shadow.
Click. The curtain moved. Click.
The adrenaline surged again. Being out here, vulnerable and unseen, was dangerous, but it made me feel alive. It wasn’t just about the pictures—it was about the moment , the risk, the beauty of finding art where no one else looked.
I wandered further, weaving through the maze of narrow streets. Near the bridge, I found my next shot. The looming structure was framed against the night sky, its lights reflected in the inky waters below. A rusted chain-link fence in the foreground gave it a gritty edge, a reminder of the city’s roughness beneath its polished surface.
Click.
I climbed a few steps onto a low railing to get a better angle. My balance was precarious but steady enough. The skyline beyond was a study in contrasts, its clean lines softened by the haze of the city’s light.Behind an alley, I caught an incredible shot. A restaurant worker coming outside to yell and scream their frustrations at the sky. The woman shook her fist and kicked at the wall before her shoulders slumped as she lost heart — exhausted. Finally, she took a disconsolate look at the stars and returned inside.
The click of the camera shutter was like music. Each shot a note in the symphony I was composing.
I lost track of time, as I always did when I was behind the lens, but the sound of footsteps snapping against the pavement behind me jolted me back to reality. My heart leapt into my throat, and I turned quickly, clutching my camera.
A man stood at the end of the alley, his figure silhouetted against the streetlight. My pulse raced, but I forced myself to stay calm. He didn’t move. He just stood there, watching.
I stepped down from the railing, my fingers tightening around my camera strap. “Can I help you?” I called, my voice steady despite the knot forming in my stomach.
The man didn’t answer, but after a moment, he turned and disappeared into the night.
I exhaled, the tension draining from my body. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe Conall had caught wind of my little adventure and sent someone to watch me. Either way, it was time to go.
I slipped the camera into my bag and returned to the building. My steps were quicker now, the exhilaration of the night tempered by a new wariness.
The shots I’d taken tonight were worth the risk. Each frame was a piece of the city’s soul, raw and unfiltered, a reminder that there was beauty even in the darkest corners.
And in those moments, behind the lens, I was free.
Even as I climbed the stairs back to my room, avoiding the elevator and the prying eyes of Conall’s men, a small smile played on my lips.The stairwell was empty as I hurried up the landings, a spring in my step just as I whipped around the last corner.
Wham.
Straight into a wall of muscle.
“Hello, zayka. Where has my naughty little girl been?”
I’d been thinking about the images I’d managed to grab and hadn’t been as careful as I should have been. My head had been down, and I’d run smack into Maxim. He steadied me with both hands as I wobbled. Naughty … my cheeks flushed.
“Just here and there. None of your business,” I deflected. He wouldn’t be happy if I were out by myself. For that matter, my brother wouldn’t be happy either.
“You don’t think so?” His eyes sparked dangerously. “You’re not wearing your ring.”
“So?”
“Don’t sass me.” His hands tightened imperceptibly on my biceps, and I felt a thrill. For once, he wasn’t wearing a suit, and I could see the tempting display of tattoos spread even further.
“Will you punish me then?”
His eyes lit up, and my core pulsed. God, he was sexy.
“Yes. You’ll be punished. Where were you?”
I thought about it for about a minute. Did I want to go down this road? He wasn’t stupid. I was sure he knew exactly where I was and what I had been doing. Just as sure as he knew that I had slipped my guard, which was undoubtedly why he was here. If I provoked him, there was one outcome.
Did I want a real relationship with my soon-to-be husband? Looking at his fiery eyes and heated gaze, the decision was easy.
“Outside. All. By. My. Lonesome,” I sang out.
His jaw ticked, and he spun me around as he dragged me up the stairs towards the apartment.
“I can’t decide if I’m going to spank you or murder you,” he ground out.
“I vote for the spanking,” I said under my breath just as he hauled me by my wrist through the hallway furiously to the door.
“It’s really too bad that Conall is upstairs right now wondering where you are, zayka. Finn went to the cafeteria to look for you. I should tell him that you escaped. I wish we had time for that spanking.” His eyes were hot on mine. “I promise that you’ll get one soon.”
“Can’t wait,” I taunted before ducking under his arm and dashing for the apartment door. I wasn’t lying, either. The thought of it turned me on so much that I hoped it would happen. I wasn’t sure if that made me fucked up or just a little … naughty.