CIARA
Ronan just…leaves.
I stare at the open door to the bedroom, listening to the sound of tires crunching against the gravel as he disappears into the night without offering me an explanation.
He knows something, and once again he’s keeping me in the dark when it’smyfriend who ended up dead. Despite the role Ronan played in Max’s death, somehow I feel like the one being punished.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sitting around and waiting for Ronan to decide whether or not he can trust me.
I wrap my arms around myself as I pad over to the window.
Ronan’s car is long gone, but I still stand there, as if hoping he might turn around and come back for me. But of course, he doesn’t.
My stomach knots with a mix of fear and frustration.
Why can’t he just talk to me? Have I not proven myself enough? Have I not shown that I’m loyal to him and to the Sullivans?
My life has been turned upside down because of him, but I’ve refused to walk away, even when Ronan gave me the chance.Despite everything that has happened, I chose him. Istillchoose him, and yet sometimes, it feels like he doesn’t choose me back.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
It could be hours or even days until Ronan comes back, and I know there’s no way Stephen will let me leave this house to go after him. So, I turn my back on the window and head into the bathroom to draw a bath because I have nothing else to do.
I run the water just hot enough to turn my skin pink, sinking down into it until it comes up to my chin.
The steam fills the room and beads of sweat start to form around my temples.
I try to clear my mind and let the water relax the muscles in my back and shoulders. The lavender oil and the bubble bath will help.
As I close my eyes, my mind starts drifting, and I slip into an almost dreamlike state.
Pictures start playing in my head. Every brutal swing of Ronan’s fist, every splatter of blood on Max’s face, the jolt of his body as the bullet?—
“No!” My eyes fly open, and I bolt upright, sending water splashing over the side of the bath as I gasp for breath.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
But the harder I try not to picture Max getting shot, the more my mind plays the image on repeat.
“Stop!” I cry out in the hopes of snapping myself out of the memory loop.
The image shifts, and now Ronan is watching the scene, his eyes focusing on the hand holding the gun and the flicker of panic that followed.
He recognized that tattoo. He knows who killed Max, but he refused to tell me who it was, and I can’t help but wonder who he’s trying to protect by keeping silent. Me? Or the killer?
When I finally step out of the bath, my skin is pink and raw from the heat, yet I feel no calmer than before. I take my time brushing out my wet hair, tying it back in a braid, and throwing on a fresh pair of sweats.
After I’m dressed, I pad barefoot out of the closet into the main bedroom and stare at the huge bed.
I’m exhausted, yet I have no interest in sleeping. Maybe because I know there will be no peaceful dreams when I do. So, I bypass the bed and head downstairs into the kitchen.
Stephen sits at the kitchen island, tapping away on a tablet as he switches between various camera feeds that survey the grounds. His eyes flick up as I walk in, and he straightens slightly.
“I heard Ronan leave.”
“Yeah. He had to go out.”
He frowns. “Is everything all right?”
