7. Chapter Seven Kieran
Chapter Seven: Kieran
I wasn’t proud of this. Then again, I hadn’t been proud of much lately.
It started with the cafe.
I’d gone there for one reason: to remind her who she was dealing with.
Tristan had made it clear that Ruby was a problem, and my job was to ensure she didn’t get any bigger ideas about dismantling the family.
But the second I walked in and saw her sitting there, head bent over her notes, hair falling loose around her shoulders like she hadn’t aged a day, my purpose slipped through my fingers.
I knew she would be alone. It should’ve been easy to corner her, to make her feel small. But the fact that it was her…it made any move impossible. I was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but wait for divine intervention.
She saw me before I could decide if I wanted to stay or leave. Her eyes locked on mine, her expression flickering between shock and recognition before settling into…well, rage.
And pain. So much pain that it made me feel like an asshole, resurfacing all the ways I’d hurt her.
I froze for a second, my stomach twisting into notes. I tried to push the tension away, to stay calm. I should’ve left. I should’ve walked out the door and told Tristan she wasn’t worth the trouble, that someone like Ruby Marquez couldn’t touch us no matter what.
We could’ve taken care of her so easily…
But I didn’t. I sat down. I talked to her.
I ate her fucking scone.
I had meant to stay in control, but with Ruby, control was always a losing game. She could wound me with just a look, slice me open with a few words, and in that cafe, she did exactly that.
Every ounce of disdain she had for me was etched into her expression, her tone, even the way she folded her hands like she couldn’t bear to touch anything connected to me.
And yet, there it was—that flicker of something. Maybe it was memory. Maybe it was resentment. Maybe she wanted to fucking castrate me and I was reading it as attraction because I’m a goddamn sucker. Whatever it was, it hooked into me, dragged me under, and refused to let go.
This was the reason I hadn’t wanted to see her again.
She made me crazy. She always had.
I wanted all of her, all the time. The idea of letting her go again, of watching her slip through my fingers like she had before, wasn’t just unbearable—it was terrifying.
And maybe that was it. Maybe I’d always been afraid of her — of the way she unraveled me, stripped me down to something I couldn’t control.
Maybe that’s why I left. Because when the family needed my full attention, I knew I wouldn’t be able to give it.
Because if she was in my life, she’d be all I could see.
By the time she stormed out, leaving me sitting there with half a scone and a thousand unresolved feelings, I was already spiraling. Ruby Marquez was a loose end , Tristan’s words echoing in my head. But to me, she was something else entirely—unfinished business.
And now I was parked outside her house like a fucking creep, watching her step out of her car with her kid in tow, wondering how the hell I’d gotten here.
The house didn’t suit her. It was too polished, too perfect, with its manicured hedges and spotless facade. The kind of place that screamed status, but not soul. Ruby wasn’t that person—she thrived on warmth, on chaos, on things that felt alive.
But she moved through it effortlessly, like it didn’t matter. Like the walls and the shine and the perfect angles couldn’t touch her.
Or maybe like she’d learned not to care.
Her laugh carried across the driveway, soft and unguarded, as she lifted Rosie into her arms. The girl was a miniature version of her—wild dark curls, freckles like scattered stars. She had light green eyes that caught the morning light and sparkled with mischief.
I’d only caught glimpses of her online, scrolling through photos like I had a right. Seeing her in person, even from a distance, hit differently.
A wave of disorientation swept through me—sharp and sudden. It wasn’t recognition, not exactly. More like a hollow ache I couldn’t explain. An instinct to look twice.
There was a familiarity in the girl’s face that unsettled me. Not because I knew her, but because some part of me wanted to.
Ruby’s exhaustion melted away the moment she saw her daughter, her smile warm and genuine in a way that made me feel like an intruder. I shouldn’t be here. I knew that. But the urge to stay, to watch, to see her when she wasn’t wearing her armor was too strong.
This wasn’t part of the plan. It wasn’t Tristan’s directive or some calculated move to dismantle her campaign.
This was personal.
An old obsession, reignited the second I walked into that café and saw her again.
It had been simmering in me ever since Tristan first said her name—a slow, unmistakable pull I’d tried to ignore. But it was there, coiled tight beneath my skin, waiting.
The house lights flickered on as they went inside, and I imagined her moving through the rooms—kicking off her shoes, tucking Rosie into bed, pouring herself a glass of wine. A normal life, one I’d never have, one I didn’t deserve.
But Ruby wasn’t normal; she never had been. That’s what drew me to her in the first place. We could’ve been completely casual, but it was so hard not to fall for her back then. She always made me laugh, but I could never manage to talk her out of anything.
Stunning. Stubborn. Annoyingly smart.
Absolutely, a hundred million percent, my type.
It was intoxicating, infuriating. Dangerous.
And that’s why I couldn’t stay away.
I told myself I was here to learn her weaknesses, to understand her patterns so I could dismantle her campaign.
But that was a lie. I wasn’t here for my family.
I wasn’t even here for the job. I was here because I couldn’t stop thinking about her—her voice, her eyes, the way she spat my name like it was poison in that cafe.
I’d spent years pretending she didn’t matter, and now, I couldn’t think about anything else.
I watched her for hours. My gaze traced her and her daughter moving through the kitchen, upstairs, into a room in the back. I watched Ruby go back downstairs, lights flicking on and off, the glare of the television just visible enough to see.
I watched, for hours, even though I couldn’t see anything.
And then she went upstairs.
I shifted in the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under me, and ran a hand through my hair. The tension had built to a dull ache, low in my stomach, insistent and consuming.
Through the dim glow of the streetlamp, I could still see her silhouette through the front bedroom window.
She moved gracefully, her outline flickering between the shadows of the curtains.
I let my head fall back against the seat, closing my eyes.
The image of her from earlier filled my mind: the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips as they tightened in frustration.
The way her mouth had looked as she snapped at me.
The way she had always been so good with her mouth.
I used to piss her off for fun…because the sex was always better when we were making up.
Christ.
My hand drifted lower, hesitation warring with deep, sinister desire. I clenched my jaw, trying to fight it, to pull myself back from the edge. But the tension was unbearable, coiling tighter with every breath, every passing second I spent sitting here, thinking about her. Her fire. Her anger.
Her fucking scone. Biting into something she’d tasted…traces of her lipstick on my tongue.
I looked back at her bedroom upstairs. She was alone. Her useless husband didn’t seem to spend nights with her.
Ruby was getting undressed. I could see it from the faint movement of her shadow on the drawn curtains of the upstairs bedroom. The outline was soft, hazy, but my mind filled in the details all too easily.
She wouldn’t look the same as she had back then — that much I knew. Her body had likely softened in places, the sharp lines I used to trace now fuller, more touchable. But that didn’t mean she’d grown gentler. If anything, she’d only gotten more dangerous.
I imagined the slope of her shoulder as she slid out of that blazer, the curve of her back as she reached for something, her hair falling loose around her face. She was still the woman who could wreck me with a look—maybe even more so now.
I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat making it hurt. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles going white. Look away.
I knew I was being a fucking creep, that I shouldn’t be watching her like this…but my body didn’t give a damn. I stayed rooted in the driver’s seat, transfixed, a knot of guilt and want tightening in my chest.
I should’ve driven off the moment I parked. Should’ve reminded myself this was a job—a necessary evil to keep the family intact. But instead, I was sitting, watching shadows dance behind curtains, imagining things that weren’t mine to imagine.
Her bedroom light flickered off, and the house went dark.
The tension in my stomach eased slightly, only to coil again, sharper this time. What the fuck was I doing? Sitting here, in the dark, outside her house? This wasn’t who I was—or maybe it was, and I’d just been fooling myself for years—
The light clicked on again.
She moved toward the nightstand, her silhouette bending slightly as she opened the drawer. My pulse kicked up…because I knew exactly what she kept there.
And sure enough, her hand closed around it.
Slender. Smooth. Familiar.
She lingered on it for a beat, her fingers drifting over the vibrator. She’d never been shy about her toys when we were seeing each other, and something deep inside me reveled in the fact that I still knew her well enough to know what she was up to.
The light went out.
Fuck.
She’d probably had a long day—I could see it in the way her shoulders slumped when she got out of the car, in the tight lines around her mouth as she kissed her daughter goodnight. But now? Now she was alone.
Unwinding the way I used to beg her to let me watch…maybe even thinking about me.
About my lips on that damn scone, tasting her lipstick and sugar.
And the images came fast, unstoppable—the way she might lean back, slow and practiced. The way her thighs would part, eyes fluttering closed as she touched herself, letting the stress bleed away.
I knew how she sounded when she came.
Knew how to pull those sounds from her throat with my mouth, my hands, my name.
And now I had to sit here, hard as hell, and imagine it.
Christ.
I couldn’t resist anymore. It felt like my body was in charge when I undid my belt, when I held my hard cock in my hand.
I kept my eyes glued on that window, thinking about her.
I stroked slowly at first, trying to savor the torture, but the need was too great.
Each pull brought a rush of memories—her skin against mine, her breath in my ear, the heat of her.
I bit down on my lip to keep from making noise, from letting out the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks.
My gaze never left her window. I imagined her lying in bed, eyes half-closed, one hand slipping beneath the sheets while the other held whatever toy she’d taken from the nightstand.
She’d favored curved, vibrating dildos…and fuck, she was probably thinking about how my cock used to feel inside her, wasn’t she?
My mind painted a picture of her body arching, muscles tensing, every movement precise and desperate.
My strokes were slow, torturous, each one sending a jolt through me that I tried to suppress.
I didn’t want to rush it; I wanted to savor every forbidden second, every illicit thought.
The image of her in the café played over in my mind—the defiant set of her shoulders, the flash of anger in her eyes when she saw me.
How could she have known? How could she have guessed that seeing her again would unravel me like this?
I pictured her angry now, furious that I’d disrupted her life, that I was here watching her.
Her anger had always been the hottest thing about her—because underneath it, there was passion.
Passion that could be redirected, channeled.
How angry would she be if I walked in right now, made it clear I knew where she was and what she was doing?
How hard would she clench around my cock when she gave in?
How sharp would her nails be as she raked them over my back?
My hand moved faster, desperate. I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste mingling with the salt of my sweat. Fuck. I was so close.
And then her silhouette appeared in the window again. My heart nearly exploded in my chest. She stood there, motionless, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I thought she could see me.
I froze, my grip still tight around myself, thumbing the tip where moisture had already started to bead. I was beyond stopping now; the sight of her standing there had pushed me over the brink. I just needed a few more seconds…
She moved away from the window. My body sagged with a mix of relief and disappointment, but the tension in me didn’t release. I closed my eyes and leaned back in the seat, stroking again, harder this time, chasing the last bit of friction I needed.
My breath caught in my throat as the release tore through me, swift and violent. I stifled a groan, my whole body tensing as waves of pleasure mixed with a crushing weight of guilt. My hand was a mess, my chest heaving like I’d run a marathon.
For a moment, everything was still. The world outside the car was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath. I sank into the seat, exhausted, my mind a blank slate of post-orgasmic clarity.
I thought I heard a car door.
The police? A concerned neighbor? Her fucking husband?
But then there was nothing but receding footsteps, and I was left there, wondering what the fuck I had just done.
When the rush faded, a wave of shame crashed down on me. I was a grown man sitting in a fucking car in the suburbs, jerking off like a horny teenager. Worse, I was doing it while spying on a woman who wasn’t mine—who’d never been mine, not really.
I fumbled for the glove compartment and pulled out a wad of napkins. The reality of what I’d done sank in as I wiped myself clean: the sticky evidence of my weakness, my betrayal. This wasn’t who I was supposed to be. This wasn’t who Ruby had fallen for all those years ago.
The thought of her knowing—of anyone knowing—made my stomach turn.
I needed to get the fuck away from her before this…before whatever this was got worse. Because I knew it would if I stayed around her, and I had no fucking idea what I was going to do if it did.