“So you sent him away to protect me?” My words tasted bitter. “That’s what you’re telling me? That six months of silence was for my own good?”
“I sent him away to give him a choice,” Sinclair corrected. “To give him the opportunity to build something stable enough that he could walk away from it. To prove to himself, and to you, that he could choose love over power.”
My hands were shaking. I pressed them against my belly, feeling the baby move beneath my palms. “He could have told me. He could have explained.”
“No, he couldn’t.” Sinclair’s voice was firm now, brooking no argument. “Any contact with you would have been monitored. Any communication would have been used against him. The only way to keep you safe was to cut all ties. Completely. Absolutely.”
“That’s not fair,” I whispered as tears streamed down my face again. “That’s not. You can’t just decide that for us. You can’t just—”
“I can, and I did. And I will do it again where my family is concerned.” There was no apology in his voice, no regret. Just cold, hard certainty. “Because if I hadn’t, you’d both be deadright now. St. James would have used your connection against him. She would have hurt you to control him, or hurt him to destroy you. The only way to protect you both was to sever the connection entirely.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to scream at him that he had no right, that he stole six months of our lives, that his protection felt like punishment. But somewhere beneath the rage and pain, I understood. Understood the impossible calculus of Sinclair’s world, where love was seen as a weakness and connection was used as a weapon.
“Then why come back now?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Sinclair’s expression softened slightly. “Because he’s done. The IRA is stable. New leadership is in place. Rowen spent six months building something strong enough to survive without him, and then he walked away from it. He gave it to Braesal O’Malley. He stepped down from power and came back for you.”
“Just like that?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “He just decided he was done and came back?”
“Just like that.” Sinclair moved back to his desk, picking up his whiskey glass. “He made his choice, Melissa. Power or love. The empire or you. And he chose you.”
His words should have felt triumphant. Should have felt like vindication, like proof that everything I felt for him was real and was reciprocated. But instead, everything just felt heavy. Weighted with all the time we lost, all the pain we endured, all the trust that had been shattered.
“I don’t know if that’s enough,” I admitted, as my confession tore out of my soul. “I don’t know if choosing me now makes up for leaving me then.”
“It doesn’t.” Sinclair’s honesty was brutal. “Nothing can make up for months of absence. Nothing can erase the pain you’ve endured or the trust he broke. But it’s a start. It’s proofthat Rowen is capable of putting you first, even when it cost him everything.”
I sank into one of the chairs facing his desk, my legs suddenly unable to support me. The baby kicked hard, as if protesting the emotional turmoil, and I rubbed the spot absently.
“Did you know?” I asked quietly. “Did you know how much we loved each other? What it would do to us?”
Sinclair’s silence was answer enough.
“You bastard,” I breathed, fresh tears spilling over. “You knew, and you sent him away anyway.”
“I knew,” he confirmed, his voice steady. “And I still sent him away. Because a man in love with a woman is more vulnerable. Because Sylvia St. James would have used you as leverage to control him. The only way to keep you both safe was to remove him from the equation entirely.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“No,” he agreed. “It wasn’t. But I made it anyway because someone had to. Because Rowen was too close to see the danger clearly, and you were too traumatized to protect yourself. So I made the hard choice. The cruel choice. The choice that kept you both alive.”
I wanted to hate him. Wanted to rage at him for playing God with our lives, for deciding what we could and couldn’t handle, for stealing six months that we’d never get back. But I couldn’t. Because somewhere beneath the anger and pain, I knew he was right.
If Rowen had stayed, Sylvia St. James would have found a way to use him against me. Would have threatened my baby, threatened me, and used our connection as a weapon to control him. And Rowen would have done anything to keep us safe, even if it meant surrendering to her completely.
“I hate you,” I breathed, my words lacking conviction.
“I know.” Sinclair took a sip of his whiskey, his expression unreadable. “But you’ll eventually forgive me. Because you understand why I did it, even if you refuse to admit it yet.”
“I loved him more than Travis.” My confession spilled out before I could stop it, raw and desperate. “I loved Rowen more than the father of my baby, and that makes what you did—whathedid—hurt so much worse.”
Sinclair’s expression shifted, something that might have been sympathy crossing his features. “I know that, too.”
“How?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I’ve seen the way you look at him,” he said simply. “The way you’ve looked at him since North Carolina. Travis was your partner, your protector, a friend, if you will. But Rowen is your match, Melissa. Your equal. The person who sees every dark corner of your soul and doesn’t flinch.”
The truth was devastating. I pressed my hands over my face, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm me.
