Page 153

Bridget doesn’t answer right away.

"I don’t know if I can forgive her," she murmurs."Not now.Maybe not ever."

"I’m not asking you to right now," Ruairi says quietly, the words scraping out like they cost him."Give it some time.For now, step back and let me figure out what’s best."

She hesitates.Then nods."I’ll try.But I’m not going to pretend this didn’t wreck me."

"I know."I kiss the top of her head.“Let’s talk about something else.”A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth."Like the fact that you’re carrying our child?"

She pushes up on her elbow, her expression softening."Yeah.Like that."

"How far along are you?"

"Fourteen, fifteen weeks.I haven’t had a proper checkup yet."

"We’ll fix that."I grin."I hope it’s a son."

She laughs softly."Of course you do."

I reach for her hand and thread our fingers together, but before I can say anything else, a yawn pushes its way up through my chest.

Bridget smiles, brushing her thumb across my knuckles."Sleep.You need to rest so you can get better and we can go home."

"I want that more than anything,” I murmur as my eyes begin to drift shut.I’ll never take for granted the feeling of Brie lying beside me.

The safety.The quiet.The peace.

Eamon

The door clicks shutbehind us, sealing Ruairi and Bridget inside their own storm—acceptance, rage, whatever comes next for them.It’s not ours to carry anymore.

The penthouse hums with silence.

The doctor is gone.Seamus is gone.

There are footsteps.No voices.

Just us.

Aoife moves ahead of me down the hall, her wet hair clinging to the back of her shirt, still damp from the shower.

She’s silent but not retreating.Not lost.

She's dangerous now.

She’s ruined and radiant all at once.

I close the bedroom door behind us, the sound sharp in the quiet, final in a way that sinks deep into my bones.

When I turn, I see her—truly see her.

Not the girl I met.

Not even the woman who survived.

Someone new.

Someone forged in blood and ruin and fire.