9. Ciara
CIARA
Declan’s voice fills the ballroom, warm and easy the way it always is when he’s about to get exactly what he wants.
“I have an announcement to make.”
I can’t breathe. My heart slams against my ribs as I watch Cillian’s face, waiting for the mask to crack the way it cracked for me twenty minutes ago in the barrel room.
It doesn’t. Not even a flicker. He stands there beside Maura looking calm, composed, every inch the heir everyone expects, and for the first time I really see how hard he’s working to keep that mask on.
“Cillian and I are thrilled to be strengthening the ties between our two families,” Declan says, gesturing toward Maura like she’s a prize he’s presenting. “A formal engagement announcement will follow within the month.”
Applause ripples through the room. Champagne glasses lift. Somewhere behind me a woman says something about how lovely they’ll look together, and I dig my nails into my palm just to keep my face still.
Cillian doesn’t correct him. Not here. Not in front of two hundred people who’d remember exactly how his father looked the second his own son humiliated him in public.
I know why he stays quiet. I told myself I understood it walking back into this room.
Understanding it doesn’t make it hurt any less, watching him let the lie stand for one more night.
He finds my hand under the cover of the crowd shifting toward the bar. Just for a second. Just long enough to squeeze once before he lets go. It isn’t much. It has to be enough for tonight.
Something changes in the house after that.
It starts in the small things, but I catch every bit of it.
Declan’s warmth toward me thins out over the next few days.
He’s polite now instead of doting. His eyes catch mine a half second too long across the breakfast table, like he’s working something out.
The staff go quiet whenever I walk past. Conversations cut off mid-sentence.
My mother keeps giving me these small worried looks she never explains.
Nobody says a word directly. That’s almost worse. I keep waiting for someone to just spit it out, whatever it is, instead of leaving me to walk through this house guessing at what’s already been decided without me.
Four days after the party I take my usual walk along the coastal path, the only stretch of this place where I can still breathe. The wind off the Atlantic is strong enough to pull my hair loose from its braid. I’m halfway to the cliff overlook when I realize I’m not alone.
Connor’s leaning against the old stone wall where the path narrows, waiting.
I’ve seen him around the house a hundred times, always a step behind Declan, quiet and watchful in a way I never thought much about until right now.
He’s the kind of man you don’t notice until you need to.
The way he stands, weight balanced, eyes never quite settling, tells me exactly what kind of work he actually does for this family.
“Ciara.” He says my name like he’s been expecting me, which I suppose he has. “Good afternoon for a walk.”
“Can I help you with something?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.” He pushes off the wall, unhurried, and falls into step a few feet away like this is a normal conversation between two people who barely know each other. “Declan knows. About you and Cillian.”
The wind seems to go still around me, even though it doesn’t.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t.” Connor’s voice stays mild, almost calm, and somehow that makes it worse. “I’m not here to argue with you or catch you in a lie. I’m here because Declan asked me to have a quiet word instead of a loud one. And in this family, believe me, there’s always a version where it gets loud.”
I don’t answer. My legs feel unsteady under me in a way that has nothing to do with the uneven ground.
“He’s not a cruel man,” Connor says, “but he’s not a patient one either.
He’s spent years building something out here, and he’s not going to let a summer fling knock it over.
Declan doesn’t call lawyers when something threatens the family.
He calls me.” He glances at me sideways.
“Whatever’s happening between you and Cillian, it ends.
Now. Quietly. Before you lose more than you’re ready to give up. ”
“And if it doesn’t end?”
His face hardens slightly. Not unkind, exactly.
Just final. “Then your mother loses everything she’s built here.
The marriage. This house. The life she’s finally allowed herself after years of nothing.
Declan won’t destroy his own son over this.
He’ll go after the people standing closest to you instead. That’s how these things usually go.”
I stop walking. “You’re threatening my mother.”
“I’m telling you what happens if you don’t end it yourself.” He says it so plainly, so matter-of-fact, that it lands harder than if he’d shouted. “I’ve got no issue with your mother, Ciara. I’d rather not watch that happen. So would you, I imagine.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He just nods once, like we’ve finished some ordinary piece of business, and walks back up the path toward the house. I’m left standing there with the wind roaring in my ears and my whole chest caving in on itself.
I don’t remember deciding to run. I just find myself moving, fast, back toward the house, toward him, because there’s only one place I want to be right now and it isn’t out here alone with what Connor just dropped on me.
I find Cillian in his office. White button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, staring at the open folder on his desk like he’s trying to burn a hole through it. He looks up the second I open the door and whatever he reads on my face has him crossing the room before I’ve even said a word.
“What happened?”
“Connor.” I’m still out of breath, half from running, half from everything else. “He found me on the coastal path. He said your father knows. About us.”
Cillian’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look surprised. The lack of surprise lands harder than anything Connor said on the path.
“You already knew.”
“I found out three days ago.” He pulls me further into the room and shuts the door hard, like even now, with everything already falling apart, some part of him is still trying to keep this contained.
“Declan called me in. He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t accuse me of anything. He just laid out the facts the way he always does, clean and final. ”
“Tell me.”
“He gave me a deadline.” Cillian’s voice stays low and controlled, but I can feel how much work it takes him to hold it steady. “Marry Maura within the month or lose everything. The company. The inheritance. My name on anything that matters in this family.” He pauses. “I already told him no.”
“You told him.” My voice cracks on the word. “When?”
“The same day he gave me the deadline.” He reaches for my hands and holds them both between his.
“I’m not doing it, Ciara. I told him exactly that.
He didn’t believe me. I don’t think he’s used to hearing that word from anyone, least of all from me.
” Something darker moves across his face.
“My father’s not a man who loses well. Not in business.
Not in anything. Anyone who’s pushed back against him before rarely gets a second chance to talk about it. ”
I think of Connor’s voice on the path, calm and certain, laying out exactly what happens if I don’t end this myself.
I think of my mother in the kitchen this morning, humming over her coffee, completely unaware that her whole life here is already sitting on a set of scales she doesn’t even know exist.
“He threatened my mother.” My voice comes out smaller than I want it to.
“Connor said if we don’t stop, Declan won’t come after you.
He’ll come after her. Her marriage. This life she’s finally built for herself.
” I press my palm flat against my chest like I can hold everything in place that way.
“I can’t be the reason she loses all of that. ”
“He’s not going to touch your mother.” Cillian’s voice hardens in a way I haven’t heard before. Something dangerous moves under the words. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise you what I’m going to do about it.
” He tilts my chin up until I’m looking at him.
His gray eyes stay steady even with everything pressing in.
“I’m not walking away from you because my father decided that’s the easiest path for everyone but us.
And I’m not letting Connor or Declan or anyone else in this family use your mother as leverage against a choice that’s mine to make. ”
“What are you going to do?”
He doesn’t answer right away. For a long moment he just looks at me, like he’s measuring exactly how much I can take on top of what Connor already dropped on me out on that path.
“I don’t know yet,” he says finally, quieter. “But I know what I’m not doing. I’m not letting him win this. Not the engagement. Not you.”
My mind keeps spinning between the two fears.
Losing him. Watching my mother lose everything she’s finally gotten to have.
I can’t land on which one terrifies me more.
The weight of both sits heavy in my chest, too big and too sharp to name cleanly, so I do the only thing that makes sense right now.
I close the last of the distance and press myself against him, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried in his shirt like I can hide from the whole conversation in the warmth of him.
He holds me there. One hand spreads against my back. The other cradles the back of my head like I’m something he’s already decided to protect no matter what comes next.
“I’m scared,” I admit against his chest, the words muffled but honest. “Not for me. For her. For what happens if this goes wrong. And for us. For what happens if we end this.”
“I know.” His voice softens. All the hard edges from a moment ago are gone now, just quiet certainty left underneath. “That’s why I’m not letting it go wrong.”
He tilts my face up and kisses me, slow this time. Nothing urgent. Just steady and sure, like his mouth is saying what words haven’t quite managed yet. I sink into it, into him, and the fear in my chest eases a little under how tightly he’s holding me.
I feel it start before I even clock what it means. Warmth spreading low against his shirt where my chest presses into him. Not from stress this time. From this. From him.
He feels it too. He doesn’t say anything. Just walks me backward until my knees hit the edge of the leather couch, then eases me down onto it, following with his mouth still on mine.
“Let me,” he murmurs against my lips. “Just let me hold you like this for a minute.”
He works the buttons of my blouse open slow, no rush at all, like whatever’s waiting outside this room doesn’t exist while we’re in here. When the fabric falls open he doesn’t go straight for my mouth or my breast. He presses his palm flat over my heart first, feeling it hammer under his hand.
“Breathe,” he says quietly. “I’m here. Nothing gets to you. Not Connor. Not my father. Not any of it. Not while I’m still standing.”
Only then does he lower his head. He takes his time with the soft underside of one breast before he finally closes his mouth around me.
I gasp, fingers sliding into his hair, and the first pull draws warmth straight through the fear still sitting in my chest, softening it at the edges.
He drinks slow, unhurried, one hand resting flat against my ribs like he’s steadying both of us at once.
“You’re safe,” he says against my skin, voice rough. “Whatever happens after tonight, this doesn’t change. You don’t have to carry any of this alone.”
I hold his head there, other hand pressed over his where it rests on my chest, and for a few minutes the study, the threat, the whole ugly night falls away. Just his mouth, his hand, his voice low and certain against me, telling me without needing more words that he isn’t going anywhere.
When he finally lifts his head my whole body feels looser, some of the day’s fear drained out of me. He straightens my blouse himself, fingers careful with each button, then presses one more kiss to my collarbone before he sits back.
“I’ve already made my choice,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I’m not marrying her. I’m choosing you. Nothing Declan says or does is going to change that.”
“And if he goes after my mother anyway?”
“Then I deal with that too.” His thumb brushes along my cheek, steady, certain. “I’m done letting him decide what I lose and what I keep. I choose you, Ciara. I’ve already chosen. I’m just figuring out how to make sure choosing you doesn’t take everyone else you love with it.”
I want to believe that’s enough. I want to believe he can actually hold every piece of this together, my mother’s marriage, his inheritance, us, without any of it shattering in his hands.
But I’ve spent this whole summer learning exactly how dangerous this family can be underneath all that polish and money, and some small, cold part of me knows that sometimes wanting something doesn’t make it true.
“What happens now?” I ask quietly.
Cillian’s jaw tightens. Something resolute settles into his expression, the same look he gets right before he decides something he won’t be talked out of.
“Now I go talk to my father.” He presses one more kiss to my forehead, lingering there like he’s steadying himself as much as me. “Properly this time. No more waiting for him to hand down deadlines like I don’t get a say in my own life.”
“Cillian.”
“I need you to trust me.” His eyes find mine, unwavering. “I need you to know I chose this. All of it. You.”
I nod, even though I’m still shaking from what Connor said on that path, even though I have no idea what waits for either of us once he walks into Declan’s study and finally says out loud everything he’s been holding back his whole life.
He kisses me once more, brief and fierce, then steps back. He straightens his shirt and pulls his guard back into place before he opens the door.
“Stay here,” he says. “I won’t be long.”
I’ve heard him say that before. I don’t know if I have the strength to believe it this time.