Chapter 4 - The Truth in the Dark
Maeve froze, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag. "I told you who I am. I'm a waitress, a cleaner, a student trying to keep my family afloat."
"You left out a chapter, Maeve," Ronan said, stepping toward her. He pulled an old, yellowed newspaper clipping from his pocket and laid it flat on the polished lid of the grand piano.
Maeve looked down. The headline was twenty years old: DUBLIN SYNDICATE SMASHED: CALLAHAN ENFORCERS SEIZE ASSETS OF ROGUE PROFESSOR. Below it was a photograph of a man with dark hair and tired eyes—her father.
The color drained completely from Maeve's face. She stumbled back against the piano bench, her breath catching in her throat. "Where... where did you get this?"
"My house," Ronan said quietly. "My family's archives."
"You knew," Maeve whispered, her voice trembling with a sudden, devastating fury as tears welled up in her eyes. "All this time, you watched me clean your floors, you watched me struggle, you brought me into this room... and you knew that your grandfather destroyed my family."
"I found out today," Ronan said, closing the distance between them, his voice raw. "Maeve, listen to me—"
"Don't touch me!" She jerked away, her eyes flashing with a wild, desperate pain. "Your family took everything from us! We lost our home, our dignity, my father's life's work. He died believing he was a criminal because men like your grandfather wrote the rules of this city in blood!"
She grabbed her coat, turning toward the double doors. "I'm quitting. You can keep your gala. You can keep your money. I'd rather starve in the streets than take another cent of Callahan blood-money."
"Maeve, wait!" Ronan caught her by the wrist, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop her flight.
She turned, swinging her free hand to strike him across the face. Ronan didn't duck. The slap echoed sharply through the cavernous music room, leaving a bright red mark across his cheekbone.
For a second, neither of them breathed.
"I didn't choose my grandfather's sins," Ronan said, his voice barely above a whisper, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made her stop fighting. "And you didn't choose mine. But for the first time in my life, Maeve... standing in a room with you didn't feel like running an empire. It felt like breathing."
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Maeve stared up at him, her chest heaving, the tears spilling over her lashes. "You're a monster, Ronan Callahan."
"Then let me be your monster," he murmured, his hand sliding from her wrist up to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing away a tear. "Just don't walk out that door."
