The woman I manipulated.
The woman who's mine, whether she wants to admit it or not.
Because Tierney Blake can lie to herself all she wants. She can tell me our whole marriage was fake, that she was just surviving, that she doesn't give a shit about me.
But you don't take a blade for someone you don't care about.
And you sure as hell don't look at a man the way she looked at me this morning if it's all just pretend.
She can run back to Dublin if she wants, crawl back to whatever pathetic ex she thinks will hurt me, and tell herself she was playing me the whole fucking time.
But I know better.
I've had her underneath me, screaming my name. I've seen her laugh like she forgot how to be angry. I've watched her trust me with pieces of herself she's never given anyone else.
That wasn't fake. Not forher, and damn sure not for me.
So she can run. She can hide behind her anger and her hurt and her fucking pride.
But when she's done licking her wounds, when she realizes that what we had was real despite all the lies around it, I'll be waiting.
Because Tierney fucking Viacava is my wife.
Mine.
And I don't give up what's mine without a fight.
31
TIERNEY
If I don’t move, the pain around my stitches stays manageable. Like if I keep everything locked down tight, nothing else will split open either.
Angry threads hold the raw flesh together and bite every time my lungs expand. I swear my body knows exactly what I’m trying not to feel.
Part of me hates how I didn’t even hesitate, how I moved for him out of instinct.
And the other part… the other part wishes the blade had gone clean through his chest instead, just to see if he’d bleed the same way I am now.
Connor knocks and steps inside my private room, braced for impact. He knows what he’s done. After he closes the door behind him, his gaze is all over me, searching for a hint of softness in my tired expression.
“Tier—”
“Whatever bullshit you’ve got lined up, save it,” I say, myvoice rough with a wobble that gives away how close I am to breaking. “I’m not interested. You need to go home to Dublin. There’s nothing for you in this city. And as of today, there’s bad blood between us and the Viacavas.”
He exhales and moves closer to the bed I’m lying in.
“I’m not leaving without you,” he says. “I’ll help you get back on your feet.”
“I don’t need your help.” I glare at him, letting the full force of it land—the betrayal, the fury, the disbelief that still hasn’t dulled. “You know I’ve looked after myself for years. Go back to da and sort your shit out.”
He flinches. “Tierney, please don’t be like this?—”
“Be like what?”
My hand tightens in the sheet, the movement tugging at my side hard enough to make my breath hitch, but I push through it anyway, because pain is easier than whatever this is.
“You knew there wasn’t any incriminating footage of you held inside the Blood Vault, Connor. I risked my neck to go in there, and Da knew I’d never come out empty handed. He knew I’d seal my fate by getting intel on one of the higher ranking families. And you kept your mouth shut the whole time. You watched me walk straight into it and said nothing. Not once.”
