“You brought shame to our name, girl.”
Something sharp presses into my neck.
A sting.
A cold rush. My legs collapse.
Before my vision fades, I hear the rustle of leaves, the creak of a door.
The night slips from me like silk.
The jet hums with a steady,polished roar beneath my feet, like it’s holding its breath.
I’m strapped in, literally. A leather belt buckled too tight across my waist. My hands trembling in my lap, I don’t remember getting on the plane. It’s all flashes. Men in suits. A needle. Darkness. And now the sky.
I can barely move, but I twist enough to see him.
Uncle Liam.
Sitting across from me, legs crossed, a crystal tumbler of whiskey in hand like we’re just out for a business trip. His suit’s crisp, tailored, gold cufflinks winking in the dim cabin light. Like this is normal. Like kidnapping his niece is just a normal Monday morning for him.
He watches me, lets the silence stretch so thin it trembles.
“You’re quiet,” he says at last, sipping slowly. “But I suppose that’s what we like most about you, Aoife. Obedient. Polished. Never ask too many questions.”
“I’m not going through with it,” I rasp. My voice is raw. “I’ll never marry him.”
He chuckles. A sound without warmth. Without real amusement. “Oh, sweetheart. That decision was never yours to make.”
“I’ll fight you. I’ll run again?—”
“You won’t,” he interrupts, calmly. “Because we’ve already taken away everything you thought you had. School. Safety. Matteo.” He leans forward, voice lowering to something colder. “And if you do try again, next time it won’t be a plane. It’ll be a box. You understand me?”
My stomach twists.
How can my own family do this to me?
I lunge suddenly, jerking against the belt, hands clawing toward the buckle.
He doesn't even flinch.
Another man, silent, heavyset, grabs me from behind, pressing me back into the leather seat. A zip tie clicks around my wrists.
“You’re passionate,” Liam says, almost admiring. “Just like your mother was… right before the wedding.”
He says it so casually, like it’s trivia. A family heirloom. Pain passed down like china and silver. I know my mom never wanted her wedding but was forced into it for power.
“You drugged me,” I whisper. “You stole me.”
“No, Aoife,” he says, voice cool. “We’re reclaiming you. You’ve forgotten who you are.”
I lock eyes with him. “I know exactly who I am, and I know what you’re planning.”
A slow smile creeps across his face. “Do you? Then tell me, little lamb… when exactly do you think your knife-wielding, oath-breaking lover will come flying to save you?”
I don't blink. It makes me sick, him calling me the name Matteo uses for me. Sick asshole.
The whiskey sloshes as the plane hits turbulence. My stomach rolls, but my rage burns steadily.
