MADELINE
The word hung there. Simple and direct.
My heart kicked against my ribs.
I kept my expression neutral. Kept my voice steady. "What about us?"
He stepped closer. Not too close but enough that I had to tilt my head slightly to maintain eye contact.
"I need to know something," he said. "And I need you to be honest with me."
"I am always honest with you, Cian."
"Are you?"
The question landed like a stone dropping into still water. The ripples spread out between us.
I felt something cold settle in my chest. "What are you asking me, Cian?"
"I am asking if there is anything you are not telling me." His eyes searched mine. "Anything I should know about why you are really here."
My throat tightened. "I am here because I helped your mother. Because I had nowhere else to go. You know this."
"I know what you have told me."
"And you think I am lying?"
"I think—" He stopped and he ran a hand through his hair. "I think there are things that do not add up."
"Like what?"
"Like how convenient it is that you got excommunicated right when staying here became complicated." His voice was still calm but there was an edge to it now. Sharp. Cutting. "Like how your father, who holds immense power, just let this happen without a fight."
My pulse hammered in my ears. "You think I orchestrated my own exile?"
"Did you?"
"No." The word came out firm. Clear. "I did not."
He watched me. His gaze was intense. Searching for cracks. For tells.
I held it. Did not look away. Did not blink.
"Cian." I kept my voice soft. "I understand your mother and Fia probably feel uncomfortable with me being here. I understand that this situation is complicated. But I did not plan for any of this to happen the way it did."
"Then help me understand." He took another step closer. "Help me understand why your coven would go this far. Why your father would allow it. Why any of this makes sense."
"Because magic has rules." I spread my hands slightly. "Because covens have laws that even the father supreme cannot break. Because I interfered in your pack business when I was told not to." My voice rose just a fraction. "Because I chose to help you and your family over my own people. That is why."
He was quiet.
The afternoon breeze picked up. It rustled through the trees nearby. Carried the scent of pine and earth.
"I want to believe you," he said finally.
"But you do not."
"I did not say that."
"You did not have to."
His jaw worked. Like he was chewing on words he was not ready to say yet.
I took a breath. Let it out slowly. "If you want me to leave, I will leave. You do not have to give me a place to stay. I will figure something out."
"That is not what I want."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want the truth."
"I gave you the truth."
"Did you?"
We were going in circles now. The same questions. The same answers. Neither of us backing down.
I felt tired suddenly. Bone deep tired.
"I cannot make you trust me, Cian." My voice came out quieter than I intended. "If you have already decided I am playing some kind of game then nothing I say will change your mind. I feel so disgusting right now even. What would even make you think this way of me? No wonder your mom had that sick thought of me. I am not that in love with you... You arrogant prick!"
I turned away from him.
Enough to signal that I was done standing there and letting his doubt sit on my skin like grime. My foot barely cleared the stone when his hand closed around my wrist.
I sucked in a sharp breath. "Let me go."
He did not.
"Madeline."
"I said let me go." I twisted, anger flaring hot and sudden, a spike through the exhaustion. "You do not get to hold me in place while you tear me apart."
His grip tightened. Like he was afraid that if he loosened it even a little I would disappear into the dark of the drive and never look back.
"I am sorry," he said, and his voice was low now, stripped of its edge. "If it sounds that way. I am not asking these questions because I still believe you are in love with me."
I laughed. "That is generous of you."
"That is not what I meant." He stepped closer, forcing me to face him, the foyer lights catching the planes of his face. "There is this belief. From everyone. That you still have something for me.That I still have something for you. And apparently, it makes me treat you like an enemy in my head. Like I need to stay clear of you to protect myself and protect my mate."
My chest ached when he said that. I hated the way I had been reduced.
I looked up at him, and I knew my eyes were glassy because the world had started to blur at the edges. "Maybe they are right."
The words tasted wrong the moment they left my mouth. Bitter even.
His hand fell away from my wrist as if I had burned him.
"No," he said immediately. Too fast. "They are not."
I folded my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the summer night. "You seem very confident for someone who has spent the last ten minutes interrogating me."
He did not rise to it. His gaze had gone distant, unfocused, like he was listening to something I could not hear.
"I know you," he said quietly. "I knew you. And I know what your magic smells like."
The words landed wrong.
My breath hitched. "What are you even talking about?"
His jaw tightened. His eyes flicked over my face, my hands, my throat, as if he was searching for something that refused to show itself.
Then he stepped back and fully let me go.
The space between us yawned open, heavy and charged.
"Maybe it is madness," he said, more to himself than to me. "Maybe Ronan was right. Maybe this is just cognitive dissonance."
My heart began to pound. "What are you talking about, Cian?"
"I was going to watch you," he admitted. His mouth curved in something like self-disgust. "Just watch you act. Let you exist here until you slipped. Until I could tell myself I was right to be wary."
My stomach twisted.
"But I cannot," he went on, lifting his gaze back to mine. There was something raw in it now. Something stripped bare. "Not on my honor. Or yours. You do not deserve this kind of suspicion."
Suspicion....
The word echoed in my skull.
My voice came out thin. "Suspicion?"
He hesitated.
For half a heartbeat, I thought he might lie. That he might soften it, reshape it into something easier to swallow.
He did not.
"You think I did something," I said slowly.
His silence was an answer all its own.
"You think I did something," I repeated, louder now, disbelief cracking through the exhaustion. "You dragged me here, questioned me, looked at me like I was something dirty under your boot, because you think I am capable of what, exactly?"
His eyes met mine.
"I thought you killed that witch."
The world tilted and cold spread through my veins, starting at my chest and radiating outward, like ice water poured directly into my blood. My fingers went numb. My mouth felt dry.
"What... are you taking about?"
"Mads, did you kill Ophelia?"