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With a sharp smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, I turn to Mannie, sliding my hand into his outstretched one. My heart protests, each beat a silent plea for the man beside me to stop me, to fight for me. But I bury the yearning deep, layering my actions with feigned confidence. If Finn won’t step forward, then I’ll do what I must do to protect myself—even if it means hiding the truth of how deeply his rejection cuts.

A small spiteful voice inside urges me to push forward, to show him what he’s letting slip through his fingers. “I’d love to dance,” I say, my voice laced with a forced sweetness.

Mannie glances at Finn, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before leading me back to the floor. My steps are deliberately lighter, my laughter too bright as I throw myself into the dance. Bitterness threatens to ruin this night if I don’t tamper down this hurt.

Fighting to hold a smile, I let Mannie lead me deeper into the crowd. With each step, Finn fades from view, swallowed by the sea of dancers and gilded light.

26

Surrender

Finn

Iwatch Triona from a distance, the only one in the room who gleams with a light all her own. The gown wraps her in defiance, absorbing the shadows around her and amplifying the fire in her every movement. She is a flickering flame amidst a sea of polished elegance, untouchable, hypnotic. Her steps are graceful yet deliberate, but it isn’t her poise or the elegance of her dance alone that keeps my gaze locked—it’s the way she moves with Mannie.

With his smooth charm and effortless grace, he guides her through the steps as if they’ve done this a hundred times before. His hand rests high on her back, fingers splayed possessively against the intricate fabric of her dress. I see his thumb move, brushing lightly against her, and my pulse quickens, heat rising to the surface.

To those watching, they must seem the perfect pair—their bodies aligned, their movements effortless, their smiles exchanged as if they exist in a world of their own. But to me, the sight tears at something raw and primal. It’s like watching another man lay claim to what is mine—no, what should be mine. What would be mine if I only dared to give life to my dreams.

For a split second, I nearly lost control—almost pressed my lips to hers, and dragged her out of the room. Let the world watch as I made it known she was mine, consequences be damned.

But I didn’t.

I’m a cursed man with a heart too full and hands too empty—and now I’m watching someone else touch the fire I’ve been burning for.

Each touch, each laugh she throws Mannie’s way sharpens the edges of my frustration, carving my restraint down to brittle remnants. when she tilts her head, catching the chandelier’s light, her smile glimmers as if meant for no one but him. Tension coils its way through my muscles, winding tighter, tighter. I struggle to keep from acting on every primal instinct, screaming at me to rip her away.

“You’re staring.”

A voice cuts through the haze.

Bran steps beside me, casual as ever, his usual humour tempered by something more knowing. He watches me, watches them, and the weight of his gaze is unbearable.

I drag my eyes away from Triona. I can feel the frustration and pain bleeding through, despite my best efforts to mask it. My voice is tight, coiled with something I can’t quite mask. “How can I not?” I gesture toward the dance floor. “Look at them.”

With an exaggerated nod, he mutters under his breath, “I know. That dress is something else.”

I turn to him with a murderous look, my jaw clenching so tightly it aches.

He raises his hands in mock innocence, eyes glinting with amusement. “What? I’m honestly shocked at your restraint. I think I just saw a priest in the corner crossing himself. That dress is a religious experience.”

He has no idea how close I am to snapping. “Say one more thing, Mums. Just one. And I swear, they’ll be peelin’ you off the ballroom floor.”

That first glimpse of her in that dress didn’t just steal my thoughts—it obliterated them. The rush of blood to my cock was so sudden, so overwhelming, I thought I might pass out.

It wasn’t just lust. It was need. Raw, instinctive, all-consuming. The kind of need that makes a man forget where he is, who’s watching, or what damnation he might earn if he touched what he shouldn’t. I nearly stumbled under the weight of it—of her

But I won’t admit that.

What I admit—gritted out through clenched teeth—is, “I just want to cover her up so no one gets the wrong idea.”

He snorts, clearly not buying it.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling sharply before I add, “So no one else sees it and takes it as an invitation.”

A beat.

Then, more pointedly, “Especially not Mannie.”