I watch her from the corner of my eye. The blood is still on her dress, dried now into dark patches that look black in the dim light. It's in her hair, too. Flecks of it on her neck, her jaw. Her father's blood.
Who was the target? The question circles in my head like a vulture. Dillon O'Rourke, head of the western territories? Makes sense. Take out the leader, fracture the alliance before it evenbegins. Or maybe it was Aoife herself. Kill the bride, end the marriage, destroy the unity we're trying to build. Could've been meant for me. Or Aidan. Or all of us.
Someone with a high-powered rifle and a clear line of sight doesn't miss by accident. They hit exactly who they wanted to hit.
The question is, why Dillon? Why now? Why wait until after we signed the contracts?
My hands curl into fists on my thighs. Someone opened fire. In my house. At our engagement meeting. While we were signing the contracts that were supposed to unite our families and keep us all safe.
Safe. What a fucking joke.
The SUV pulls through the gates of my estate. Security is everywhere now. Armed guards at every entrance. Lights flooding the grounds. The place is locked down like a fortress.
Should've done it before. Should've anticipated this. Should've protected her better.
The thought makes something twist in my chest. I barely know this woman. Just met her a few hours ago. She's a political arrangement. A strategy. But watching her father get shot in front of her, seeing her covered in his blood, hearing that raw, broken sound she made when she screamed...
It did something to me.
We pull up to the main entrance. I get out first, scan the area even though I know my men have already cleared it. Then I open her door.
Aoife doesn't move.
"We're here," I say.
She blinks slowly, like she's coming back from somewhere far away. Then she turns those blue eyes on me, and I see it. The shock is wearing off. Reality is setting in.
"I need to go back," she says. Her voice is hollow. "I need to be there when he wakes up."
"You need rest."
"I need to be with my father."
"He's in the ICU, Aoife. There's nothing you can do right now."
"I can be there." Her voice cracks on the last word, and I watch her fight to keep it together. Watch her jaw tighten, her shoulders straighten. "I can be there when he—"
"You can barely stand." I keep my tone flat. Factual. "When's the last time you ate?"
She stares at me like I've asked her to solve a mathematical equation.
"That's what I thought." I extend my hand. "Come on. Food first. Then we'll figure out what's next."
For a moment, I think she'll refuse. Will tell me to fuck off and demand I take her back to the hospital. But then she looks at my outstretched hand, and something in her face just...crumbles.
She takes my hand.
Her fingers are ice cold and so small in mine.
I help her out of the SUV and guide her toward the house. She's unsteady on her feet, and I move my hand to her elbow, ready to catch her if she falls. Security parts around us as we walk through the front door and into the main hall.
The house feels different now. Violated. The drawing room where we signed the contracts, where her father was shot, I can feel it from here. The wrongness of it. The violence that seeped into the walls.
"This way," I say, steering her away from that wing of the house.
We walk through corridors I barely register. My mind is racing, running through scenarios. Who took that shot? How didthey get past security? How did they know exactly when we'd all be in that room?
Someone on the inside. Has to be.
