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“Maybe I want to get burned.”

I keep my expression playful, teasing, while inside, I’m counting how many ways I’ll use his desperation against him.

A slow breath leaves him, his grin spreading with quiet satisfaction like he’s already won.I keep my gaze steady, my smile soft and inviting.Let him believe that.The more power he thinks I have, the easier he’ll be to manipulate.

As we pull away from the warehouse, Cian’s grip on the steering wheel is loose, relaxed.He’s in a good mood, smug even.He’s confident today went exactly as he planned.

After a few minutes of driving in comfortable silence, I glance at him.“So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, his eyes never leaving the road.

“That’s not an answer.”

He glances my way.“Just trust me.Consider it a celebration.”

“A celebration?”I ask, playing along.

“Of our future,” he says.“And whatever else might come of it.”

I let out a small laugh.“That’s vague.”

“You’ll like it.”

I lean back against the seat, watching the sights blur past the window as I pretend to let myself be charmed.Eventually, he slows the car, parking along a quiet street, and turns to me with a glint in his eye.

“Come on,” he says, pushing open his door.

After stepping out of the car, I take in my surroundings, following him through the winding streets.We turn down a narrow alley—Love Lane.It’s tucked away and bursting with vibrant murals, hand-painted tiles, and scribbled love notes left behind by strangers.The colors pop even in the gray Dublin light, bright splashes of red and blue standing out against the damp brick.

Cian watches me as I trail my fingers along the artwork, pretending to be lost in the charm of it all.

“Fitting, don’t you think?”he says, stepping closer.

I glance at him with a playful smile.“You think bringing me to a place called Love Lane is subtle?”

“Nothing about me is subtle.I thought you would’ve figured that out by now,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

As we walk, Cian watches me more than the walls.“You know, they say if you leave a note here, it seals your love forever,” he muses, voice laced with amusement.

I glance at him over my shoulder.“Is this where you tell me you believe in that kind of thing?”

“I believe in making memories.”Before I can respond, he pulls out his phone.“Come on, we need a picture.Something to remember the day by.”

“Didn’t peg you for the selfie type.”

He just smiles.“There’s a first time for everything.”

I let him position us in front of the wall and make sure my smile is bright.He holds his cell phone in front of us, capturing the moment—the illusion of something real.Cian tucks his phone away, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.“We’re not done yet,” he says.

Taking my hand in his, Cian leads me over cobblestone streets that are alive with music, laughter, and the low hum of conversations in different accents to Temple Bar.A place that always pulses with energy.

“Now this,” he says, gesturing around, “is what Dublin is all about.”

I glance at him, amused by the pride in his voice.“And here I thought Dublin was only business to you.”

“Not always.Sometimes, you have to enjoy the finer things in life.”

We step into the pub with its dim lighting, old wooden beams, and walls lined with framed records and whiskey bottles.The air is thick with the scent of aged liquor and firewood.We’re seated right away and Cian orders for us without asking my opinion.