Page 139 of Unrequited
“No,” he says at last. “Of course I don’t. Zoya, I wish I could tell you more, but I’m working on this. Every second. I promise.”
“I don’t belong here,” I say, the words painful to even say. “I don’t belong with the Irish. I’m a fish out of water. A square peg in a round hole.”
He reaches for me, but I pull away. I can’t stay. Not right now.
I leave the room before I break down because the one thing I can’t say out loud is the one thing I can’t stop thinking:
What if he dies because of me?
What if they turn on him, and it’s my fault?
That night, I fall asleep long before he does. He paces on the balcony, phone in his hand, fingers flying across the screen, sending texts like he's trying to fight a war with words.
I think about the moments he made me believe in us. Every kiss, every whispered promise. Every time he held me, like I was his anchor. The months that kept us apart.
But now… what if love isn’t enough to survive a war?
Chapter 25
SEAMUS
I knewI was being watched. That wasn’t paranoia, it was instinct. It's why I kept Zoya right beside me, as close as I could without chaining her to me.
Because I don’t trust Branson. Not for a goddamn second.
He’s been my boss since before I was of age. A kingmaker in a crumbling empire, hiding behind my father’s trust. And I was too young back then to see what he was doing. Too loyal. But the veil dropped in recent years. I finally saw the power play for what it was—he’s been usurping the throne under my father's nose. And now, he knows. He knows I married her. That Zoya’s not just mine, she’s family now.
He’s coming. I felt it in my bones before he called. Before that burner phone lit up at midnight with a single word:
Come.
To my father's office.
I went downstairs, barefoot and boiling. Zoya stirred as I moved, lifting her head from the pillow, hair spilling everywhere.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice soft, heavy with sleep.
“It will be,” I tell her, kissing her cheek. “Sleep, love.”
I wanted to believe that. God, I did. But I knew what I was about to do would rip her apart. I only hoped the foundation we’d built, stone by stone, was strong enough to hold.
Now I’m here, sitting across from Branson in my father’s office. The man’s draped across the leather like he owns the place, swirling his drink with that same smirk he always wears when he thinks he has the upper hand. His red hair’s gone gray with age, but his eyes are as sharp and conniving as ever.
“Tell me something, Seamus,” he says lazily, like we’re old friends. “How long’ve you been keeping secrets from me?”
I don’t move. Don’t blink. Don’t let him see me breathe. I have secrets he’s yet to unearth, so I need to play it safe.
I smile and shrug. “’Bout as long as you’ve been betraying my father,” I reply coldly.
He just laughs, shaking his head like I’m a child he’s amused by.
“You say that,” he muses, “but you’ve got no proof.”
That’s what he thinks.
He doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“She’s pretty, that Russian girl, isn’t she? The Kopolov girl.” His tone is mocking. “Sweet voice. Pretty little mouth. I bet you put that to good use, don’t you?”
