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“O’Leary,” I say smoothly, watching her for any sign that it registers.“Cian O’Leary,” I add, savoring the way her posture stiffens ever so slightly.That tells me all I need to know.She remembers.

But she doesn’t look up.Not yet.Just types.Efficient.Controlled.

When the card is programmed, she slides it across the counter toward me, her fingers brushing the polished wood.

“If there’s anything you need during your stay,” she says, her voice cool as she finally meets my gaze, “let me know.”

“Oh, I’ll let you know,” I murmur, my voice dropping just enough to make her look up.

She meets my gaze, tone cool.“Does that line usually work for you?”

My smile is slow and deliberate.“Only when I mean it.”

I pick up the key card, letting my fingers brush where hers just were.“And I always mean it with you,” I reply, letting my gaze linger on her for just a beat too long before pushing off the counter.

As I walk away, I can feel her eyes on me.Unsettling her was almost too easy.

Stepping into the elevator, I turn to face her, catching her gaze and holding it as the doors begin to close.Her expression is unreadable, but the fire in her eyes is impossible to miss.A silent promise that this game is far from over.

Aoife doesn’t know it yet, but this is no coincidence.She’s walking into something carefully constructed—layered with intention, steeped in silence and patience.She thinks she’s here to prove something to her brother, to take her place, to finally step out of the cage she was raised in.What she doesn’t see is the trap being laid at her feet, velvet-lined and waiting.She believes she’s carving out a piece of this world for herself when, in truth, she’s already been written into someone else’s design.

After all, even the brightest stars can’t outshine the shadows that surround them.

Aoife

The weightof what I’ve caused keeps me tangled in a mix of guilt and defiance.The whispers of unease are always there, growing louder with every escalation in Ruairi and Eamon’s war.What started as calculated maneuvers, quiet power plays behind the scenes, has spiraled into outright hostility.The cracks are impossible to ignore now.Attacks on supply lines, ambushes in the dead of night, and casualties that neither side will openly admit, but both are quietly counting.

I didn’t want this war.I didn’t want blood spilled, lives lost, or alliances shattered.But I also can’t bring myself to stop it.Not yet.For most of my life, Da kept my identity a secret.He looked at me like I was a fragile doll to be kept on a shelf, away from the world.

I’d hoped Ruairi would be different.That he’d see me for what I’ve become.That he’d give me the chance to show him everything I’ve learned while I was away.The languages I picked up.The connections I made.The way I watched, listened, and studied.Proving every step of the way that I could be more than a name.More than a sister.

But he didn’t.So now I’ll show him another way that I’ve earned myrightfulplace in the Syndicate.

If forcing his hand means standing by while he and Eamon tear each other apart, then so be it.I refuse to back down, even if the guilt gnaws at me.Because so does the fire of my defiance.I won’t sit quietly on the sidelines, waiting for permission to act.That time has passed.

This war will end, but it will end on my terms.

My day takes a darker turn when Cian O’Leary walks through the hotel doors.He claims he’s here for a family wedding.A convenient excuse, too convenient.I don’t buy it, not for a second.

As soon as he disappears in the elevator, I pull out my phone.

Aoife:Cian’s at Eamon’s hotel.He says it’s for a wedding.What the hell is he really doing here?

The reply is almost immediate.

Ruairi:I don’t know.Why don’t you ask the man you’re sleeping with?

I grit my teeth, fingers flying across the screen.

Aoife:You think this is a joke?He’s on your payroll.I have no doubt he’s here doing your bidding.

Ruairi:Then handle it.You’re the one in the thick of it.Or is this too much for you, Evie?

The nickname twists in my chest, a reminder of when things were simpler between us before our lives splintered into this mess.But now, it feels like a taunt, a jab meant to remind me of how he sees me—little Evie, his helpless twin sister, playing at being something more.

Aoife:You really think you’re so clever, don’t you?Sitting up there on your throne, pulling strings like a puppeteer, while I clean up your messes.

Ruairi:My messes?Last I checked, you’re the one who crawled into bed with my enemy.If anything, I’m cleaning up afteryou.