31. Cian
Cian
The city hums with its usual chaos, the streets of Dublin alive with the sound of impatient horns and the rhythmic chatter of passersby. But none of it touches me, not really. The noise is distant and insignificant compared to the sharp clarity of my thoughts.
Ruairi’s request lingers in my mind like the aftertaste of something forbidden—unexpected but not altogether unpleasant. He wants me to go to Aoife. To be seen with her. Shape perception. Plant ideas.
He may as well have handed her to me.
I met her once, years ago. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, all wide eyes and wild hair, bouncing into her father’s office like she owned it. She was a distraction then. Nothing more than a bothersome child interrupting conversations she didn’t understand. I barely looked at her.
But now? Now she’s a woman. And not just any woman. She walks with pride and speaks with that sharp-tongued defiance that’s all fire and bite, like she knows what she’s doing. But beneath it, there’s something else.
She’s na?vé—untouched. Preserved like a secret. Hidden away by men who thought they were protecting her. Shielding her. All they really did was keep her ripe.
And Ruairi, the fool, just handed her over like she’s a pawn in his game. But Aoife Quigley isn’t a piece to be moved. She’s something to be claimed.
Broken in.
Ruined.
And if anyone’s going to do it, it’ll be me.
Ruairi thinks he’s using me to control her.
What he doesn’t realize is he’s handed me something far more interesting.
I step into The Emerald Briar, its polished floors gleaming under the soft glow of chandeliers.
The air’s clean and inviting, carrying a subtle blend of citrus and bergamot mingled with hints of sandalwood and a trace of white tea.
It’s a scent that speaks of quiet luxury, perfectly complementing the opulent surroundings.
Eamon O’Sullivan has always known how to project power.
It doesn’t take long to find her. Aoife stands behind the front desk, her uniform crisp and professional, but there’s something about the way she holds herself. A subtle defiance and a fire in her green eyes.
She’s no longer hidden away, unknown by those in our world. She’s transformed into something far more powerful, more dangerous. A force that cannot be ignored. For a moment, I wonder if Ruairi truly understands what he’s unleashed or if he’s blinded by the illusion that he can still control her.
When her gaze lifts and locks onto mine, surprise flashes across her face. It’s fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it appeared and replaced by a polite smile. But I see the way her fingers pause over the keyboard, the subtle shift in her stance.
“Cian?” she says, her voice smooth but edged with curiosity.
“Aoife,” I reply, letting her name roll off my tongue with a familiarity that makes her blink. “What are the odds?”
Her smile falters for a fraction of a second before she catches herself. “What are you doing in Dublin?”
I shrug, slipping my hands into my pockets as I lean casually against the counter. “A cousin’s wedding, if you can believe it. I figured I’d stay a few days. Enjoy the city.”
She studies me, her gaze scrutinizing, but her tone remains light. “And you just happened to check into this hotel?”
I laugh softly, the sound easy, but calculated. “A coincidence, I swear. Though I have to say, seeing you here is the best surprise I’ve had all week.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she glances down, typing something on her computer. “Well, welcome to The Emerald Briar.” Her tone is polite—detached.
Then, after a brief pause: “And your last name?”
“O’Leary,” I say smoothly, watching her for any sign that it registers. “Cian O’Leary,” I add, savoring the way her posture stiffens ever so slightly. That tells me all I need to know. She remembers.
But she doesn’t look up. Not yet. Just types. Efficient. Controlled.
When the card is programmed, she slides it across the counter toward me, her fingers brushing the polished wood.
“If there’s anything you need during your stay,” she says, her voice cool as she finally meets my gaze, “let me know.”
“Oh, I’ll let you know,” I murmur, my voice dropping just enough to make her look up.
She meets my gaze, tone cool. “Does that line usually work for you?”
My smile is slow and deliberate. “Only when I mean it.”
I pick up the key card, letting my fingers brush where hers just were. “And I always mean it with you,” I reply, letting my gaze linger on her for just a beat too long before pushing off the counter.
As I walk away, I can feel her eyes on me. Unsettling her was almost too easy.
Stepping into the elevator, I turn to face her, catching her gaze and holding it as the doors begin to close. Her expression is unreadable, but the fire in her eyes is impossible to miss. A silent promise that this game is far from over.
Aoife doesn’t know it yet, but this is no coincidence.
She’s walking into something carefully constructed—layered with intention, steeped in silence and patience.
She thinks she’s here to prove something to her brother, to take her place, to finally step out of the cage she was raised in.
What she doesn’t see is the trap being laid at her feet, velvet-lined and waiting.
She believes she’s carving out a piece of this world for herself when, in truth, she’s already been written into someone else’s design.
After all, even the brightest stars can’t outshine the shadows that surround them.