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"My real name on your real lips," I say, working her with punishing strokes. "No more lies."

She claws at my shirt, ripping it open. Her nails rake down my chest, leaving red trails. Pain and pleasure blur as I lift her higher, her legs wrapping around my waist.

I free myself from my pants, position at her entrance. "Last chance to stop this."

"Fuck me," she demands, her voice raw. "Make me feel you."

I drive into her with a single brutal thrust. We both cry out as I fill her completely. Her heat grips me like a vise, wet and tight and perfect. I pull back and slam in again, establishing a merciless rhythm.

"This is us," I growl into her ear. "Stripped bare. No masks. No pretense."

"Yes," she gasps, meeting each thrust. "Harder."

I comply, pounding into her against the wall, each stroke punctuated by her cries. Her nails dig into my shoulders, pain fueling my desire. I bite her neck, marking her as mine despite everything.

"You're mine," I repeat. "Say it."

"I'm yours," she admits, voice breaking. "God help me."

I reach between us, my thumb finding her sensitive spot. She tightens around me instantly, trembling on the edge.

"Come for me," I command. "Orla Nolan, come for me now."

She shatters, screaming my name as her body convulses around me. The sound of my true name on her true lips pushes me over. I thrust once more and explode inside her, claiming her on the most primal level.

We slide down the wall together, still joined, sweat-slick and panting. Her head falls to my shoulder as reality slowly returns.

"What happens now?" she asks into the silence.

I stare at the ceiling, feeling her pulse still racing where we remain connected. "I investigate Sullivan. If you're right?—"

"I am."

"If you're right," I continue, "there will be consequences. Family justice."

"And me?"

I turn to face her, seeing her without masks for the first time. "I don't know."

The admission costs me. Kavanaghs always know next steps, always maintain control. But with Orla Nolan, I've lost my strategic footing.

"Your father wouldn't have killed mine," she says. "Not over accounts. Sullivan acted alone."

"You sound certain."

"I've spent two years studying your family. Tiernan Kavanagh is many things, but he's not careless. Killing an accountant creates questions. Sullivan got my father out of the way before he could report the embezzlement."

I sit up, reaching for my discarded clothes. "I need those files."

"They're copies. Originals are with my attorney, set to release if anything happens to me."

A contingency plan. Smart.

"You sleep with a gun under your pillow?" I ask.

She doesn't deny it. "Wouldn't you, in my position?"

I finish dressing, then gather the evidence spread across her table. "I'll contact you tomorrow. Stay here. Don't leave."