I press my palms into my eyes, trying to blot out the images of what's to come. But they keep coming—Gianna’s fingers on his thigh, her laughter tilted toward him, the sharp glint of that diamond ring catching a camera flash.
It’s like poison in my veins.
And under the heartbreak, under the bruising anger, is a raw terror I can’t seem to shake. Because if he’s truly gone—if this is the final chapter—then who the hell am I now?
I’ve built so much of myself around the hope of him, around the fantasy that one day he’d choose me. That I could be morethan the girl hidden in the shadows, the secret no one dared speak aloud.
If that hope is gone for good… what’s left?
Somewhere beyond the bathroom door, the bass still pulses, an insistent call dragging me back toward the neon haze and the life I’m supposed to keep performing. And I know I’ll go. I’ll scrub the mascara from my cheeks, fix my lipstick, and walk back out there as Lily Davis—bright, unbothered, untouchable.
But inside, I feel like I’m bleeding out in slow motion.
And I’m terrified that no matter how many times I patch the wounds and stitch myself back together…
I will always be the girl who loves Matthew O’Malley.
But he will never be mine.
Chapter 17
“Jesus Christ. Do you even hear yourself?” Cora snaps, throwing her hands up like she’s trying to shove the words right into Da’s face. Tilting her chin high, staring down her nose at him as if daring him to argue. Even through this damn computer screen, you can feel the heat of it—her trying so hard to knock him down a peg or two.
From the moment this meeting started, Da’s been in rare form. Huffing like he’s carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders and rolling his eyes at anything that’s not coming out of his own mouth. Scoffing, sneering, making the room feel thick and toxic with every exasperated sigh. It’s exhausting watching him slowly attempt to poison everything and everyone with his attitude.
And hell, I get it. He’s pissed, he feels betrayed. He’s hurt, not that he’d ever admit it. But weallare. It’s not just his burden to bear and now, more than ever, we need to close rank to get to the bottom of this shit once and for all.
Declan stands back against the wall behind Da, like a statue carved out of ice, arms loose at his sides like he hasn’t got a care in the world but his eyes are focused—he’s always been the kind to be five steps ahead, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. Uncle Bren’s right next to him, glasses pushed to the top of his head so he can rub the bridge of his nose like he’s already feeling a headache coming on, like this whole thing is wasting precious seconds. Jack, Seamus and Owen? They’re equally as tense, like they’re ready to jump up and place themselves between Da and Jonathan at any second.
Some things don’t change. They just keep spinning in circles until you’re too numb to care anymore.
“What’s ridiculous is that I’m supposed to just stand here and pretend it made sense, sending what could’ve been our only real lead away without so much as a single question,” Da snarls, and suddenly, the whole room catches fire as tensions snap.
Jonathan’s arms are around Helen before anyone can blink—holding her back like she’s a wildfire about to break loose. She’s wild with fury—fists balled at her sides, nostrils flaring as she wrestles Jonathan’s hold. A mother ready to tear down anything and anyone who threatens her kids, even the ones not hers by blood.
“For the last time, Lily is not, and never has been, the enemy.”
Cora’s voice shakes on the first word, but she locks eyes with Owen—just a flick, too fast for anyone else to catch—andthe tremor dies in her throat. She straightens like she’s bracing against gunfire.
“The real enemy is out there, and we’re handing them the goddamn blueprint to destroy us. Can’t you see that? They want us distracted. Bleeding from the inside out. They want our cracks, our weakness. And you’re giving it to them, wrapped in a bow like some fucking Christmas present.”
The room that moments ago felt ready to combust stays frozen, like someone hit pause mid-explosion. Nobody moves, nobody breathes. Owen most of all just watches her, jaw locked, and pride evident in every line in his face and quirk of his mouth.
Some might call it weak, the way he stands back and lets her take the lead, but they’d be dead wrong. Owen has always been teamlet Cora shine. Always the first to step aside so she can take the space she deserves, the space she’s earned. He knows she’ll take Jonathan’s role one day and he’s never once tried to dim her to make room for himself.
But he’s also the same man who steps forward the second someone pushes her too far. The quiet warning. The shift in the air. The storm gathering at her back. The unspoken threat tucked behind his easy smile—she leads, but she never stands alone.
And for a moment, even in the chaos, that balance between them is so solid it sends a jolt of jealousy through me.
“When are you going to stop sulking,” she says, quiet now, lethal, “and start fighting with us?”
“Cora, enough.”
Jonathan cuts in before Da can open his mouth, still half-holding the woman trying to slip from his arms while pinning his daughter with a look. He’s not yelling, just using that quiet tone men like him use when they’re one inch from losing it.
But it’s too late for me. I’m already past whatever calm I had left.
“I disagree,” I say, voice cold and flat. “He needs to learn to watch his mouth. To show some fucking respect. We’ve all lost, we’ve all suffered. It’s not just him and his wounded pride.”
