Page 36 of Claimed By Daddy

“You didn’t,” I manage, forcing myself to meet her eyes. They’re so damn full of worry that it makes my chest ache. Pulling her into me, I press my painful lips to the top of her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles against my chest.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, princess.” Tenderly cupping her face, I tilt it up to mine. “You’re worth it. Every second. Every bruise. I’d take his fists again if it means I have this—you. Out in the open. No more hiding.”

Her lips part, but no words come out.

“I’d let him knock me down a hundred times, Eavan.” I dip my head and press my swollen, split lips to hers. “Because nothing about us is a mistake.”

It’s been hours since Cillian stormed out of Enzo’s room—and subsequently out of the apartment. Nik and Enzo have both tried calling him a handful of times—all three of us having an apology of some sort to give—but he isn’t taking either of their calls.

With my legs draped over his, I sit on the couch tucked into Enzo’s side. I rest my head against his chest, the touch grounding me. His right arm is wrapped around me, and he uses the other hand to try Cillian again. But it’s yet another call that goes unanswered.

The front door slams shut, and I know it’s Cillian before seeing him or hearing the heavy thud of his boots on thehardwood floor. He steps through the foyer doorway, and his eyes immediately land on the two of us snuggled together on the couch. “Really?” His voice is sharp, with a displeased edge. “We’re playing fucking house now?”

The air thickens, and Enzo’s muscles tense beneath me. I glance at his face to find his jaw tightening, but he bites his tongue and fights the urge to snark back at my brother.Even though I know he wants to.

As much as I hate confrontation, there is no avoiding this any longer. I take a deep breath and turn my attention to Cillian, stomping across the apartment. “Come. Sit,” I insist softly but firmly, trying to keep things civil. “We all need to talk.”

He huffs from the base of the spiral staircase, clearly stillveryirritated. “I said everything I needed to say earlier.”

“Yeah, my fat lip and this black eye are both well aware of your stance,” Enzo sarcastically quips with a smirk, not bothering to hide his bitterness.

“Stop it. Both of you.” My voice trembles, and I struggle to sound calm. I turn slightly to see each of their faces, and it takes everything in me to keep from backing down. I need them to listen. Both of them. “Please.”

Cillian stands motionless with his hand resting on the railing, his posture tense and eyes flicking between the two of us. There’s a fierce battle raging behind his eyes. He lets out a heavy sigh and grumbles as he takes a seat at the opposite end of the large sectional. He’s far enough away that it’s obvious he still wants to distance himself, but at least he’s willing to listen.

He glares at the two of us, and the anger is simmering beneath the surface of his usually calm exterior—the weight of his disapproval hard to ignore. “How long have you been sneaking around behind my back?” he asks a little too calmly, like he’s holding on to some thread of control.

Without hesitation, Enzo answers firmly, “Since you went to visit the Armenian.”

Cillian’s eyes narrow, a vein in his temple pulsing with irritation. “Did either of you plan on having the decency to tell me?”

The question hits me harder than I expect, and my chest tightens. My gaze flicks to Enzo, and I can see the slight shift in his expression—guilt. “Out of respect for your sister,” Enzo confesses, his tone low but steady, “I promised her I wouldn’t.”

Cillian scoffs, the sound laced with disbelief and frustration. “So you’reherdirty little secret?”

“No,” I snap, louder and more sternly than I intend. Slipping my legs from Enzo’s lap, I pull from his comforting hold to face Cillian head-on. I refuse to let him make me feel small or treat me like some naïve little girl any longer. “You were dealing with enough, Cian. I didn’t want to put this on your plate, too.”

His eyes darken, and he shakes his head. “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“Actually,” I respond slowly, fighting the anger rising inmychest and taking a breath to calm myself, “whoIsleep withand whoIdecide to tell about it are both very much my decision to make. The fact that you didn’t let Father give me to the Armenians tells me you understand that, too. Even if you aren’t willing to admit it right now.”

The words hit him like a punch, and I can see his jaw tighten, the realization settling in that, while he has a right to be upset over our secrecy, he doesn’t over our relationship. His posture shifts, and his shoulders tighten. “I don’t like this,” he mutters, the words filled with a kind of resignation that makes my chest ache.

“I’ve had an O’Brien man telling me what I can and cannot do my entire life,” I continue, each word more daring than the last. “So, I’ll be honest, I don’t care if you like it, because I’m not asking you if it’s okay.”

Enzo shifts beside me, his hand resting on my knee, and his thumb brushing reassuringly across my skin. His voice is steady as he stares at Cillian. “It’s happening. It’s going tokeephappening. She means something to me, Cian.Everythingto me.”

His words are a promise. To Cillian. And to me. I place my hand over his on my thigh and give it a light squeeze, silently echoing his sentiment.

Cillian looks between us, his anger still simmering but also tinged with something else—hurt, betrayal, maybe even a little bit of understanding.It’s hard to read him sometimes.“On the bright side, you can have your bed back,” I half-heartedly jest, trying to ease the discomfort between the three of us.

Cillian’s eyes flick to me, but they don’t soften. Instead, his lips curl into a cynical smirk. “After what I walked in on earlier? If it happened in my bed, too… No thanks. I’ll stay on the couch.”

“Yeah, about that…” An uncontrolled, quiet laugh, low and just a little bit mocking, rattles from Enzo. “We’ve done it here, too. Truth be told, there probably isn’t a place in this apartment besides Nik’s room that’s safe.”

Cillian runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to suppress the surge of anger building inside him at the thought of his best friend fucking me enough to have tainted most of this apartment. He leans back on the couch, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flick to me again. “I just don’t get it,” he mutters. “Do you know what kind of man he is?”

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