Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I expected the drive to the McCarthy home to be longer. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought if it were this close, someone would’ve come for him sooner.
“Are we here already?” I ask as gravel crunches under the tires and the car stops.
Outside my window, the McCarthy estate looms, perched on a cliff that looks like something out of a dream. Craggy rocks jut from the shore below, seafoam-green waves crashing against them. It’s breathtaking. But my heart is pounding.
We’re here.
The mansion sprawls wide and proud, unapologetic in its wealth and weight. I wish I were coming here for different reasons. I wish he were proud to show me this place.
I wish I didn’t feel like a weapon. A trophy. A warning.
He claimed me.
We made love. Said things people like us don’t say without blood on our hands. Stay. Mine. Forever. I love you.
But as we cross the threshold, the air thickens, like it knows I don’t belong. Like it’s warning me.
His hand tightens on mine for just a moment before he lets go.
“We may be separated for a bit,” he murmurs, right before anyone else enters the hallway.
“What?” I ask, but then he’s here.
Keenan McCarthy.
I don’t need to be told who he is. I know. He looks like Seamus but with silver at his temples, a bearded jawline with hints of salt and pepper. The kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice.
His eyes narrow on Seamus.
Seamus pulls me a little closer.
“Whatever happens next,” he whispers, barely audible, “I will come for you. You’ll be safe. Hold your own, Zoya. I know you can.”
Then he looks at me, steady and clear.
“You were Zoya Kopolova when I met you. You’re Zoya McCarthy now. No one stands in your way, lass.”
Keenan plants his hands on his hips. “Zoya, my father. Keenan McCarthy. Dad—” Seamus starts, but Keenan cuts him off with a look.
“You brought a fucking Kopolov into my house,” Keenan says. Not loud. Just final.
Seamus stiffens. I see the tightness in his jaw, the fight he wants to wage. But he says nothing. This is still his father’s kingdom, and even the heir has to bow.
Keenan flicks his fingers at Seamus. “You. With me.” Then his eyes cut to me. “You. With the women.”
No goodbye. No kiss. No look back.
Seamus lets go of my hand and walks.
And I feel the echo of every lonely night I waited for him in that damn pub, when he didn’t show. The ache of wanting someone who might not want you back. But now I hear his voice like steel in my mind: You are Zoya McCarthy now.
And I know what that means.
“Come. This way, please, ma’am.”
A woman with bright eyes and a sharp ponytail leads me away without introducing herself. Hired help. Efficient. Cold.
She opens a door, and I step into a room with three women. They don’t look alike, not really, but for the eyes. Those are McCarthy eyes, just not Seamus’s.
“And you are?” one of them says, sizing me up.
She’s tall, though not as tall as Seamus, but commanding in her own way. I remember what he told me about his sisters. Bronwyn and Kyla. One sweet. One savage.
“Nice to meet you,” the tall one says, but her smile is pure venom. “How did you manage to trick my brother into marrying you?”
Well, that sorts out who’s sweet and who’s savage.
Bronwyn, the younger one with a rounder face, flushes pink as Kyla continues. “You fucked him, didn’t you? Smart girl. Use your body to get what you need, eh?”
I flinch, shocked. My mouth opens, but I can’t speak.
“That’s enough,” Bronwyn says quietly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But Kyla keeps circling.
I finally smile and find my voice. “Ah. You must be Kyla. Seamus spoke so highly of you.”
Her lips press together, and she doesn’t respond, not yet.
Her clothes scream money. Power. Precision. She’s thin, dressed in tailored designer from head to toe. And every inch of her says, You don’t belong here.
Meh. Not yet, I think.
But I sure as fuck will.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“What I’ve done?” I blink slowly, take a breath. “It seems to me, you and I have a very different take on what happened between me and Seamus.”
“Seamus?” She spits the name like it’s poison.
She turns and looks at her younger sister, Bronwyn.
“You call him Seamus? No one outside our family fucking calls him Seamus.”
“Well, apparently his wife does,” I say calmly, holding my ground, squaring my shoulders like I’ve been trained for this moment my whole life. I don’t flinch. I don’t blink.
Bronwyn just smiles, like she’s already decided how this is going to end. “Oooh,” she whispers.
“If you’d care to be kind enough to me,” I say, not flinching, not folding, “you might learn a thing or two. You don’t have to throw me a family welcome party, but why don’t you at least listen to the actual story?”