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Fionn leans against the wall, watching me like he’s studying some kind of animal in a cage. “Based on how miserable you were afterward, I’d say pretty damn bad.”

I let out a curse, so done with this conversation already.

“Why not just ask her to marry you? Maybe she’ll actually say yes.” He smirks.

The words hit me like a hammer.

Marriage? Jesus.

There was a time when I couldn’t even stand the idea. I couldn’t let myself get trapped in that kind of life, tied to a family who had already taken so much from me. From us.

But now? The thought of her saying yes doesn’t feel so sickening anymore. Not after I’ve felt the agony of her being gone.

But it’s pointless. She’ll never say yes. I fucked up. She hates me.

“Not interested,” I mutter.

Denial is easier.

Fionn shakes his head like I’m some kind of idiot. “You haven’t learned shit, have you?”

I clench my fists and snap, “Mind your business, Fionn. Just let me work out.”

“You look like you’re trying to beat the hell out of someone, not work out.” His eyes glint with amusement.

“Maybe I’m imagining it’s your face,” I scoff, unable to hide the flicker of a challenge in my tone.

Fionn raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into something more intense. “Remember what happened the last time you wanted to fight me? You ended up with a shiner.”

“That won’t happen again.”

He shrugs, his grin unfading. “Guess we’ll never know. See ya tonight at dinner.”

Dinner. Fuck. I forgot.

Tynan’s hosting family dinner. That damn tradition my father started. Now I’ll have to sit there and pretend I’m not a goddamn mess.

And worse, everyone’s going to ask questions. They’ll know something’s off. They always do.

I shake my head, the frustration clawing at me, but Fionn’s right. I’m not here for a workout. I’m here because if I don’t hit something, I’ll snap.

I need this. I needher.

Dinara can’t be with Adriano. I won't let it happen.

And today? He’ll learn how far I’m willing to go to make sure he knows that.

She’s mine. Always was. And I’ll tear apart anyone who tries to take her from me.

* * *

Hours later, I find myself staring at the phone in my hand, the weight of it almost suffocating.

I’ve been pacing for God knows how long, fighting the urge to throw it across the room, but I need answers. I need to know. My fingers slide over the screen as I hit dial, and the phone rings three times before he picks up.

“Cillian Quinn. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Adriano’s voice is smooth, too calm, like he’s been waiting for this call.

The bastard knows exactly why I’m calling.