Page 14

Aoife

Back at the villa,the air feels charged, thick with the remnants of the day—salt, sun, and the undercurrent of the undeniable chemistry we share.I set my bag on the table, grabbing my phone, and immediately notice the string of missed calls and texts lighting up the screen.

Ruairi.Da.

The phone unlocks with a soft click, and a scroll through the messages reveals Ruairi’s usual style—short, clipped, every word edged with frustration.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay casual.“I need to make a phone call.”

He turns to me.“Is everything okay?”

“Just something I need to handle,” I say, avoiding his gaze.“It won’t take long.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his sharp eyes studying me with a calculating intensity.But then he nods and motions toward the door.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he says, his tone casual but edged with curiosity.He takes his drink and steps out onto the deck, sliding the glass door shut behind him.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and scroll through the missed calls and texts one more time.My chest tightens as I open the most recent voicemail and press play.

“Aoife,” my father’s voice booms, his Irish lilt harsher than usual.“I haven’t heard from you, and neither has your brother.You were supposed to call home this morning.If I don’t hear back from you by tonight, I’ll send my men to find you.Do not make me do that.”

My stomach twists as his words echo in my head.Do not make me do that.The unspoken threat is clear.He’ll use this as proof that I’m not capable, that I don’t belong in the Syndicate.I’ve been working hard to prove that I’m strong and independent—that I can handle myself.I won’t let a single mistake unravel my carefully constructed plan.

I glance toward the deck, where Eamon’s looking out over the water, his broad shoulders illuminated by the soft hues of the setting sun.For a moment, I’m tempted to follow the pull he seems to have on me, to lose myself in the easy distraction he offers.But this isn’t a conversation I can avoid.

Slipping into the bedroom, I close the door behind me and press the phone to my ear.

“Hi, Da.”

“Aoife,” he says, his tone warm but threaded with irritation.“You vanished.No calls.No texts.Do you have any idea what kind of risk that puts you in?”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, keeping my voice low.“I got caught up in sightseeing.”

There’s a pause on the other end.“You’re alone, right?”he asks.

“Of course,” I lie, glancing around the room.It’s then I notice them—Eamon’s suitcases.They’re neatly stacked in the corner of my bedroom.My heart skips a beat, my mind racing with so many questions.When did he do this?How did they get here?

“Aoife?”my father prompts, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

“Yes,” I reply quickly, forcing my focus back on the call.“No one’s here but me.”

His skepticism is almost tangible, but he doesn’t press.“Alright,” he finally says, though his tone is far from convinced.“But call your brother tomorrow.He’s worried, and you know how he gets.”

“I will,” I promise, forcing my voice to sound light and unconcerned.

“Do not make me rethink allowing you to continue travelingalone,” he warns.His emphasis on the word alone doesn’t escape me.

“I won’t.Talk soon.”

I hang up and let out a shaky breath, my eyes flicking back to the suitcases.Why are they here?Eamon hadn’t mentioned staying longer—or staying at all, for that matter.

This double life I’ve crafted, balancing who I am and who I pretend to be, is beginning to feel like a house of cards.And Eamon?He’s the wild card I can’t predict.One wrong move and it’ll all come crashing down.

When I return to the deck, he’s leaning casually against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest.“Everything okay?”he asks, his voice low.

“Fine,” I say lightly, brushing past to lean against the railing beside him.“When were you planning on telling me you moved in?”

He turns to look at me, the fading sunlight catching the mischievous glint in his eyes.“I thought it was obvious.”