Page 34 of Shameless Royalty

No meds. No safety net. No lifeline.

I haven’t had them since I was dragged here, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna tell Connor Cunningham that I’ve been relying on pills to keep my anxiety and depression in check.That’s private.Mine.Not something I’m about to hand over to the guy who kidnapped me.

The holidays always make it worse. Too many memories, too much emptiness. It’s like the world slows down just to remind me of everything I don’t have. Not that I’ve ever been a fan of Christmas, but at least I had my own routine before all this. My meds. My space. My freedom.

The sound of the door opening behind me pulls me out of my thoughts. I don’t turn around. I already know who it is. His boots make that stupid heavy sound on the hardwood, and there’s no mistaking the way he moves.

“Brooding by the window, huh?” Connor’s voice is laced with sarcasm. “Very dramatic, Babyface.”

I don’t react. Normally, I’d fire something back, but I don’t have it in me today. I keep my eyes on the rain, watching as the wind pushes it sideways against the glass.

He doesn’t seem fazed by my silence. I hear the soft creak of the desk chair as he sits down, probably smirking to himself. “What’s wrong? Run out of snarky comebacks?”

Still nothing. I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to bite, but I don’t. I don’t even flinch when he calls me Babyface again, though it makes my chest tighten like it always does.

“Alright,” he says after a moment, the teasing edge slipping from his voice. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

I turn my head slightly, just enough to see a blurry version of him out of the corner of my eye. He’s leaning back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, his arms resting casually on the armrests.

When I don’t answer, he sighs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, if this is about me bein’ gone, you can save the guilt trip. I had shite to do.”

I look away and let out a breath, watching the fog cloud the glass again. “It’s not about you,” I say quietly, my voice flat.

“Then what is it?” I can tell that throws him by the lack of snark in his voice.

I shake my head, still not turning around fully. “Nothin’. Forget it.”

Connor doesn’t forget anything. I can feel him shifting behind me, his frustration palpable. He’s never been great with silence around me, and I know this is driving him mad. Good. Let him stew in it for once.

“Christ on a bike, you’re moody today,” he mutters. “Did I miss somethin’?”

I almost laugh at that.Almost.Instead, I take my glasses from the windowsill and finally turn around as I slip them on, leaning back against the window with my arms crossed. The look on his face is exactly what I expect—confused, irritated, and maybe even a little concerned, though he’d never admit it.

“What do you want, Connor?” I ask, my voice tired. “Because if you came here to be an arse, you can save yourself the trouble. I’m not in the mood to bite today.”

He blinks, caught off guard by the bluntness. “Wow. Someone’s in a right fuckin’ state.”

I just stare at him, waiting for him to say something useful or leave. He doesn’t do either. Instead, he leans back in the chair again, studying me like I’m some puzzle he can’t figure out.

“What’s wrong, Malachi?” he asks, his tone softer now. “Seriously.”

The words catch me off guard because of the use of my name. I can tell he means it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to answer. How the hell do I explain something like this? That I’ve been feeling like I’m drowning for days, and no matter what I do, I can’t come up for air? That I feel like a hollow version of myself, trapped in a room with nothing but my thoughts and a view of the rain?

“I’m fine,” I say finally, looking away.

“You’re full of shite,” he shoots back without missing a beat. “I might be a bastard, but I’m not blind.”

I glare at him, but it doesn’t have the heat I want it to. “Why do you care?”

He shrugs, leaning forward again. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Then go bother someone else,” I snap, my voice cracking slightly.

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p” like the annoying bastard he is. “I’m here now. Might as well make the most of it.”

I let out a harsh laugh, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re miserable,” he counters, his green eyes sharp as they lock on mine. “So, what’s it gonna be, Babyface? You gonna keep sulking, or are you actually gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

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