HAYES
“What are you doing?” I ask, holding on to the door frame. I don’t dare enter Maeve’s office without an invite. Not after these last few weeks.
She ignores me, tugging on a frame over the cold fireplace. She stumbles, sharp boots slipping on the mantle.
“I hate this painting,” she mumbles, righting herself to pull again. I can’t help but smile—the frame is easily twice her height. When she slips once more, she slams into the fireplace and I wince.
“Damn.” I tsk. I grab the frame from her hands, untangling it as she fights with me. “Seriously, knock it off. You’re going to break something.”
She curses me out, shoving the frame into my hands. Stepping away, she moves to her chair and I place the frame down, the edges cracking.
I shift, uncomfortably. The room is heavy, quiet, like a ghost haunts us.
It’s never been like this between us—Maeve and I. As the person who gave me my life back, it’s been easy, friendly. Now, it’s overshadowed by too many lies and half-truths.
“Redecorating, still?” I ask, shoving my hands into my jeans. Maeve shrugs.
“I hate this room.”
I understand. This room was the seat of her father’s power—it’s where he gave her to Michael and sealed her fate. It’s a reminder of a time when her power was gone and she wants to erase those memories.
“I like the color,” I say, gesturing to the stark walls. Ferguson had this room done-up like a hunting lodge with thick brown paneling and dark green wallpaper full of forest animals. Now, everything is painted in a deep aubergine. “VeryMaeve.”
Without warning, she grabs a discarded picture and slams her heel into it. Glass rains down like freshly snow and she tosses it aside. “How about now?”
I hum. “Actually, yeah. Broken glass, full of sharp pointy things? Completely you. Props to the interior designer.”
She doesn’t crack at my joke.Okay. We’re still mad.
Not that I blame her. Everything is fucked.
“What did you want?” Her tone is cold—professional. Not a fan, honestly.
Maeve has been at my back since I joined this clan. We’ve fought together—bled together. And because I’m dating her sister, I get the cold shoulder?
Running a hand through my hair, I bite my tongue. It’s not that simple. Not for us.
“We need to talk.”
She raises an eyebrow, reclining in her desk chair. “Do we, now?”
“We do.” I hate the boundary between us. “About Collins. Where we stand. We can’t just keep tiptoeing around the matter.”
“Very mature of you,” she says snidely. “Tell me, where was this maturity when you were fucking my sister behind my back?”
Point to her. Pretty shitty thing to find out on a random weekday.
My mind flashes to Collins, legs spread, soaking her sheets. Her perfect pussy, those glorious lips. Just last night I saw the part of Collins that I knew was always there—her mess, her filth, and wanted to devour it whole. She trusted me enough to show me—and that was better than her screaming my name as her orgasm took her away.
Barely. But still.
I lick my lips. I can still taste her. Feel her.
Maeve glowers at me, as if reading my mind. I won’t feel guilty for finally having the woman I love. I didn’t set out to hurt my friend, but I won’t apologize for it either.
“Did you even think of telling me?” she asks. “Or was it always going to be hidden?”
“I didn’t hide?—”
