My stomach tightens the moment his mouth opens, a slow, instinctive warning curling low and sharp, the kind that never shows up without reason. Whatever he is about to say, it is already wrong.
“Why?”
The pause stretches. Not long, but long enough to make my pulse thud in my ears.
“Conor.” I push to my feet, the movement abrupt, chair legs scraping behind me as I close the space between us, my eyes locking onto his face before he has time to look away. “What is going on?” The hesitation alone sets my nerves alight, dread twisting tighter with every heartbeat he wastes.
“It’s family business,” he says, too quickly, his gaze sliding past my shoulder like escape might still be an option.
I step directly into his path, forcing him to stop, forcing him to see me. “Do not lie to me.” His jaw tightens, a reflex he has never learned to control, and I know before he opens his mouth that the truth is already bleeding through.
“I’m not?—”
“Conor.” My voice leaves no room for him to finish.
He exhales hard, frustration cutting through his restraint as his hand drags over the back of his neck, skin flushed beneath his fingers. “They want an engagement picture.”
The words land wrong, sharp and cold, as if someone has dropped ice straight into my chest. “What?”
“For the announcement,” he mutters, the explanation thin, unfinished. When he finally looks at me, worry flickers there, quick and unguarded, and I know before he speaks again that this is not the full truth.
“Is that everything?” I ask, my voice flattening despite the panic clawing at my ribs. His eyes shift, and the last of my calm fractures. Fear rolls through me, hot and sudden. “Conor. Tell me.”
“It’s talk,” he says, too careful.
“Conor.” My voice rises, sharp enough to snap heads in our direction, and I feel it, the attention, the weight of it, but I do not pull back.
He closes his eyes as if bracing for impact, as if the words hurt him to release. “They are considering moving the wedding date forward.”
“No.” The denial rips out of me, raw and unfiltered. “No. They promised four years.” My voice climbs higher, anger burning through control, students openly staring now, the world narrowing to the space between us. I do not care who hears.
“I know,” he says quickly, glancing around, unease flickering across his face. “Lower your voice.” His attention snaps back to me, heavy, assessing.
“Why?” I hiss, stepping closer, every nerve screaming. “Why are they doing this now?”
“I don’t know.” He lowers his voice, leaning in as if secrecy might soften the blow. “Father refuses to explain, but there is talk of an heir.”
The air leaves my lungs. My chest tightens, vision blurring at the edges as the meaning settles, ugly and unavoidable. “They would not,” I whisper, even as dread floods through me.
“They will,” he says, final and unyielding.
I look at him, betrayal flooding hot and violent through my veins, my hands trembling at my sides. “And you are fine with this?”
“I am not in control,” he snaps, the edge in his voice finally breaking through. “I am trying to contain the damage. I am trying to protect you, Aoife?—”
“By lying to me?” The words cut through him, sharp and furious, the sound of something breaking that will not be repaired.
“By making sure it does not get worse.”
I shake my head, stepping back, the distance between us widening into something hollow and irreversible. “You waited too long for that.”
He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t speak and then he walks away.
Rage coils through me, hot and tight. “I’ll die before that happens!” I shout, and heads snap toward us. Conor freezes mid-step, turning back, eyes darting at the crowd. “And you won’t stop me!”
I know he will tell my father about these words. If he doesn’t someone else will, and right now I don’t care. My life is over anyway.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
