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My father squares his shoulders and glares down at me, his voice cold and commanding. “That is not for you to decide.”
“NOR IS IT FOR YOU!” I shout, my voice echoing down the empty street. “I am not the same timid girl who left this house. You will let her live her life. And if you need another Bride to give them, give yourselves. No one will touch Ella.”
I glare at my mother. How would she feel if she was handed over to some man to do with what he wishes?
My father's face contorts with anger. “You ungrateful—”
“Trust me, I am grateful. So fucking grateful. I’m grateful for the lessons you taught me. Never quit. Always go for the gold. Endure the pain. All of this has come in handy over the last few months. And you also taught me how to be a good parent. I will do the exact opposite of everything you did.”
His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches. “I’m calling the police.”
I step closer, a smirk curling at the corner of my mouth. “What will you tell them, Father? That the daughter you sold to a cult has come to her own home to tell you how fucked up you are?” I let that sink in before I continue, my voice a low, threatening growl. “You are lucky I’m here because this is your warning. I will be watching you, and you better not fuck up Ella like you fucked up me.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond. I yank the door shut, cutting off his sputtering retort. I hear the door reopen behind me, but I don’t turn back as he shouts into the night, spewing his fury like poison. Instead, I walk calmly toward the car, my head high and my heart racing. The guards watch me, wide-eyed, as I slide into the back seat and slam the door shut.
“Drive,” I command, and the engine roars to life, leaving behind the shouts of a desperate man in the distance. I catch a glimpse of my father’s enraged silhouette shrinking in the rearview mirror.
Will my words sink in? I have no idea, but I need to remember they are afraid of the cult, and I can use that to my advantage to keep Ella safe. I can pretend I have some sway if another conversation presents itself.
The engine hums softly as we cruise down the empty streets, the headlights cutting a path through the darkness. The tension from my confrontation still lingers, but it’s mingled with a sense of triumph. I stare out the window at the passing city, my pulse slowly steadying.
I’ve never stood up to my parents in my life. I’ve never stood up to anyone and that is a flaw I am determined to correct. No more nice Niamh.
I catch the driver's gaze in the rearview mirror. He’s smiling, the corners of his mouth curling with amusement.
"I have a brother you can yell at if you're still feeling spunky," he quips, the smile reaching his eyes.
I can't help but laugh, shaking my head as I sink back into the seat. “Bring me every mother, father, brother, sister, and fucked-up cousin. I’ll take them all on.”
His chuckle joins mine, a shared moment of lightness in the dark night. The road stretches ahead, but I have an unshakeable certainty that whatever lies beyond, I'll be ready.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Diarmuid
THE BED IN this guest room was clearly designed for two, but I've grown spoiled by the custom mattress in my master suite. Still, I don't mind sharing space when it's Selene I'm pressed so closely to. Her lavender-scented hair is the first thing I breathe in as I wake, and the fragrance wraps around me, comfortingyet stirring something deep inside. I linger for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest, savoring the warmth of her skin.
I'm a King, and a King is supposed to have a chosen Consort, a woman who would share his secrets and help continue the family line. Every day, it feels more and more like it should be Selene.
I run my hand through her hair, and she sighs in her sleep. Selene is impossible, reckless. She takes unfathomable risks to get what she wants. How dangerous would it be to choose a woman exactly like me?
I slip out of bed quietly and head to my own room. The absence of Niamh catches me by surprise. She's usually there, vigilant and punctual. I shake my head and head to the shower. Warm water cascades down my body, clearing away the tension. By the time I'm dressed and heading downstairs, I've already planned my day.
In the living room, I find Niamh sprawled on one of the couches, an empty carton of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table. The Netflix screensaver gently illuminates her sleeping form. I frown and make a mental note to address this later.
From the corner of my eye, one of my men approaches.
“You have a guest waiting for you in the foyer.”
It's too early for visitors, and I feel my irritation mounting as I adjust my sleeves and head out.
The sight of Father Isaac Waryn, standing there serenely with his arms clasped behind his back, ignites my fury. This is a man who should have never contacted me again, let alone shown up at my home unannounced.
"Clear the foyer," I order my guards, my voice cold and firm. They hesitatebriefly before scattering, leaving me alone with the man who once betrayed me.
"Father," I say, the word dripping with disdain, "what business do you think you have here?"
Isaac seems to sense my fury and raises his hands defensively, his eyes darting from me to the empty foyer behind him. His voice is measured but trembling. "I know I shouldn't be here."
