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His mock hurt melts into a lopsided grin in an instant. “Harsh, but I’ll let it slide for a lovesick fool.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I would not want to be on the receiving end of that blowup. The man’s got a temper like scotch on an empty stomach.”

After a beat, he lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head once more. “Well, you have the girl…”

I huff a laugh, rubbing a hand down my face. “Ye’re not thinkin’ anythin’ I huv’nae already thought of myself.”

Bran chuckles, shaking his head. “I enjoy a harebrained plan, and there’s only one way you’re getting out of this, so you might as well go full throttle.”

He pauses, then squints at me. “How long did she ask you to wait?”

I sigh. “She said a ‘little while longer’.”

He raises a brow. “And how long ago was that?”

I glare at him. “Bran. I’m a man of my word.”

He smirks. “You’ve kept your word, as far as I’m concerned. Be honest, Finn. How long are you willing to fight the inevitable before you do something reckless?”

I stand there for a long moment, Bran’s words sinking in. My jaw tightens, my grip flexing around the hilt of my sword. I’ve spent so long holding back, waiting for feelings to fade, for the pain of wanting her and not having her to come, only to be met with an undeniable truth. A truth Triona herself made reality when she came to me. When she told me she wanted me. To hell with waiting. The right moment isn’t some far-off thing we wait for—it’s what we claim for ourselves. I made a vow when I confessed my truth. I have to make damn sure we have what we both want.

I exhale sharply, something fierce settling on my chest. “I hate when ye’re right. Hate it. Worse still, I cannae argue. But if I’m already halfway to damnation, I might as well sprint.”

I’m through holding back.

Triona

The room is alive with chatter and laughter, everyone immersed in their own conversations, but a sudden commotion in the hallway makes the noise falter. The sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps echo, growing louder with each second. I turn toward the doorway just as Finn storms in, his presence demanding.

Golden eyes ablaze, jaw clenched with intensity. I can’t help the way my heart races. His presence fills the space, and though a knot of anxiety twists in my stomach, butterflies erupt in its wake. Every step feels like a declaration, and it’s unmistakable—he is here for me.

“Finn—” I start, my voice barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t slow. He doesn’t stop.

Within moments, he’s in front of me, his gaze locking onto mine with a force that robs me of breath. Without a word, his hands cup my face, calloused thumbs brushing tenderly over my cheeks. His touch is possessive, yet heartbreakingly gentle. I can’t suppress the way my breath hitches.

“What are you doing?” I stammer, my voice trembling under the weight of his intensity.

“What I should have done long ago,” he growls, his voice low but loud enough to still the room. Every pair of eyes shifts to us, but Finn’s gaze doesn’t waver. “What I should have done that day at the cliff’s edge.”

“Finn—” I try again, but he cuts me off, his words unravelling any coherent thought.

“You are no secret, Triona,” he declares, his voice fierce. “You are mine, and I am yers. Not in silence or shadow, but boldly, for all the world to see. I’m through denyin’ it.”

His words overwhelm me, and before I can respond, he narrows the gap between us. His lips crash into mine, fierce and consuming. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a claim, a confession, a release of a weight he’s carried for far too long. My knees falter beneath the weight of his ardour, yet his hands at my waist hold me firm. The room seems to dissolve, leaving only Finn—the heat of his lips, the strength of his touch, the raw, desperate emotion that has us both trembling.

The murmurs of shock ripple through the room, and seem a distant echo. I kiss him back without hesitation, my hands curling into his shirt as though I can secure myself to him, to the raw power of what we’d just claimed. Every thought and worry drowns in the torrent of emotion we’ve unleashed.

“Finally!” Aunt Amelia’s voice breaks through the haze, her exclamation followed immediately by Deidre’s identical one.

The laughter and applause swells, but just as quickly, the room quiets as Callan steps forward.

His nostrils flare, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. His eyes flick from me to Finn, disbelief warring with fury. His hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles white. The room feels too small, too suffocating. My stomach knots as I feel Finn’s grip on me tighten, his body bracing instinctively.

Then—without warning—his fury erupts.

“Callan, don’t—” I start, panic lacing my tone, but it’s too late.

His fist shoots out, connecting squarely to Finn’s jaw. The sound of the impact reverberates in the suddenly silent room. Finn staggers a step but doesn’t fall, his hand brushing his jaw as he straightens, his golden gaze settling on Callan with a calm, simmering defiance.

The entire room holds its breath, waiting for Finn’s reaction. Casey steps forward as if to intervene, but Finn holds up a hand, stopping him. His eyes meet Callan’s, calm yet burning with resolve.