“She’s asleep?” I say
Pauline gives me a hopeful glance. “She loves it here, She’s thriving Aria. Rosa makes sure of it.”
Rosa?The name hits me like a slap. “…What do you mean?” My voice cracks.
Pauline frowns. “She visits every day. Walks with her. Cooks with her. Keeps her company. She practically moved in those first few days.”
My jaw goes slack. She… kept her word to check on my grandmother, but every single day? I stagger. I never actually believed her.
Pauline looks toward the door. “Where is Rosa?”
“My aunt isn’t here today. She wanted to give Aria time alone with her grandmother.” Cyan says. I blink at him, vision blurring again. This was him. All of this. Before he ever dragged me into his world—he’d already built a better one for her.
Before I can say anything, the front door opens A woman wrapped in a green sari walks in. Soft curves. Long braid to her waist. Warm brown eyes like my own. She smiles. Before I can form a coherent word, Cyan’s phone rings. He glances at the screen, jaw tightening. “I need to take this. You two talk.” He strides past me, all broad shoulders, and disappears into the kitchen.
“Hello, you must be Aria. I’m Dr. Ochoa,” the woman’s voice has a full Texas twang.
My brain shuts off. “I, uh…” A sound wheezes out of me.
Dr. Ochoa bursts into laughter. Pauline joins in. “I was the same way,” Pauline says. “It’s her accent, it’s so unexpected that throws you off.”
Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Dr. Ochoa explains, “My mother was from India, my father from Nigeria, and I grew up in Texas. I confuse people a lot.”
“That’s… an understatement,” I mutter, grinning.
Pauline steps out to check on Nonna, leaving us, and Dr. Ochoa turns back to me. “First, Aria, thank you.”
My brows knit. “Why are you thanking me?”
She gestures around us. “For this. For all of it.”
A wave of confusion crashes through me. “I don–don’t understand.”
“Cyan funded the entire dementia village… because of you.” The words hit me like a physical blow. My knees nearly buckle as I take hold of the nearest wall.Because of me?My throat closes. I wrap my free arm around myself, trying to contain the messy, aching storm inside me.
Dr. Ochoa continues, as if sensing the emotional upheaval. “This village gives our residents a normal life—no restraints, no locked wards, and no cruel overmedication. They shop, cook, visit friends and enjoy their days. Your grandmother is thriving.”
Swallowing hard, my eyes blur. I think about my grandmother, how much she hated the nursing home in Chicago. Glancing toward the back door where Pauline has gone, thinking of my Nonna peacefully sleeping in the sunroom. “I...” I pause, my throat tightening. “Thank you, doctor, for caring about the elderly.”
Dr. Ochoa’s smile deepens. “Please call me Saaha.” She shakes her head. “And no thanks are necessary. I believe everyone deserves quality healthcare. If you want to thank someone, thank Cyan. He funded the entire project.”
I nod numb. An estate of this size, with this level of planning and execution, would have taken months. Which means... Cyan didn’t just take my grandmother to control me.
He stands at the kitchen counter, back turned, broad shoulders tense as he murmurs into the phone. Unaware how much my world just tilted.
As if sensing it–sensingme–he turns. Our eyes meet and I can’t look away from, his blue-green stare.
Thirty-Two
“You don’t cross the Irish Fist and live to whisper about it.” – Cyan MacBrady.
Ihate that I have to leave at the exact moment she’s finally seeing the edges of my truth. Aria’s still with her grandmother, processing everything. A slow exhale pushes past my lips as I lean against the car, tension winding through my muscles. Did she understand, even a little, that everything I’ve done is because I don’t know any other way to keep her? I saw it in her eyes. The hesitation. The push and pull between the truth she cling to and the pull she can’t deny.
I want her to choose me. To look at me the way she did, earlier with Marlene, when her instincts told her to stake her claim against that receptionist. That possessiveness–it’s there, even if she won’t admit it. I’ll keep pushing until she does. The roar of an engine pulls me from my thoughts. Collin’s red Lexus LFA swings into the parking lot. The car barely stops before the passenger door flings open, and Johnny jumps out, straightening his jacket.
“She’s inside with her gran,” Johnny says, though he knows damn well why I wanted him back in Crescent Bay. I nod. Aria’s safety comes before anything else. I wouldn’t leave her unguarded. Not now. Never. Johnny hesitates, scanning my face. “You good, C?”
I force a calm expression, pushing off the car. “Golden.” I slide into the front passenger seat. Collin flicks a glance my way, fingers tapping on the wheel. The minute have my seatbelt clipped; he peels away from the curb.
