Right now, I don’t have the time to waste on stupid brawls between the two of them. Not when our father might have been hiding something so catastrophic that it led to him being buried six feet under.
This empire is mine now, and I have a sinking feeling I’ve only just scratched the surface of the secrets it holds.
Chapter Seventeen
CIARA
It's been lessthan three days since Ronan Sullivan became my husband, and I’m already bored out of my goddamned mind.
Honestly, I thought being his wife would at least bring me a little entertainment, even if we do nothing but argue, but the asshole is never home. Not that I want him home, of course, because I can’t seem to be trusted when he’s around.
Images of his naked, powerful body in the bath with me flash through my mind, and I almost drop my coffee mug.
This isexactlywhy I need a job, or at least something that can keep my mind busy long enough that I can stop fantasizing about Ronan every second of the day.
He might never be around, but his presence is everywhere. It makes it hard to admire how beautiful this house is when all I can picture ishim.
He sure does know how to worm his way into my mind. I can picture his satisfied smirk now, knowing I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how good his tongue felt on my pussy for the best part of two days.
I groan as I take my coffee and head upstairs to my room, the one place in this house that feels like mine.
Every room I pass is just as immaculate and cold as the last, and I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched, as if the walls are talking to each other, or rather to Ronan.
My time might be my own, but with nothing to fill it with, it makes me feel more and more like a prisoner in a gilded cage. I’m afraid to touch anything in case I leave a mark.
The last of my things from home arrived this morning, so I distract myself by unpacking.
Part of me is genuinely surprised that Ronan didn’t just ship me off back home once we were married. After all, this was nothing but a business deal, so I didn’t actually think hewantedme living in his home.
Yet, as I sit on the plush carpet of my room, surrounded by my books and clothes, the last of my old life slips away. Every item of clothing, every piece of jewelry feels like a relic from a life I no longer recognize. One where I was free and my father was still alive.
Just as tears threaten to fall, my phone buzzes among the piles of clothes.
I hastily wipe my eyes and clear my throat before digging around for my phone.
It’s Mila calling. We’ve only exchanged a handful of texts since the wedding as she’s been busy with work, so I eagerly swipe my thumb across the screen, and her smiling face appears.
“So, have you killed him yet?”
“Not yet.” I give her a tired smile as I climb to my feet and move to sit on the bed. “But the fantasy is alive and well.”
“I’m sorry you had to do this.” She sets her phone down as she busies herself with making food.
The sight of her familiar kitchen starts an ache in my chest.
I should be there with her right now, enjoying a plate of pancakes after a night of drinking wine and watching old rom-coms. Not stuck here in this ridiculous house while I wait for my husband to come home.
“Yeah, well, join the club.”
“You okay?”
I glance around the room, my throat thickening at the sight of my empty suitcases. “As okay as I can be, considering I’m living in the lair of a glorified mob prince.”
“At least, he’s hot.”
I snort. “That’s irrelevant.”
“So, you do think he’s hot, then?” Mila grins, and I roll my eyes.
