Ican still taste her on my tongue—taste myself, the echo of what we just did—and I keep wanting to reach for her like a drowning man reaches for air. But her need for space was crystal clear when she stumbled away, not stopping until the backs of her knees hit the bed.
She sits on the edge, knees pulled to her chest, hair tangled over one shoulder, as she studies me. In this quiet aftermath, it’s like she’s trying to figure me out, weighing pros and cons, drawing conclusions that I’m terrified to ask her about.
Kneeling for her had been surprisingly easy. Maybe it shouldn’t have been that shocking, maybe the floor is the only place my shame can stay put. Shame for the hell I put her through. For every moment she should’ve felt safe enough toturn to me and didn’t because my actions taught her, over and over, that I wouldn’t choose her first.
Christ. That thought guts me. How did I manage to fuck everything up so spectacularly,even beforethey cast her out?
Watching her is pain dressed as need. I spent the last year perfecting silence, and yet tonight I traded it for something worse, a confession without absolution. Laying my soul bare for her to judge and praying she finds something in me worthy of hearing out. Breaking whatever pride I have left into tiny pieces and handing it to her as an offering might not fix everything; hell, it might not fixanything. But every fucked-up, bruised, bloody piece of me is hers all the same.
Every breath she takes is a reminder of how breakable she is, how easily the horrors of our world could swallow her whole if I don’t move fast enough.
The wordassetwon’t stop echoing between my ears, a drumbeat counting down to something I can’t see yet, only feel.
She’s innocent.
The truth locks in with every heartbeat, driving the doubt out for good, leaving only one thing behind—the need to clear her name, no matter the cost.
“You two better be decent.”
Cora’s voice cuts through the quiet a split-second before the knock hits the door. She might still be new to this life, to her birthright, but since Lily’s exile, she’s been stepping into her dad’s shoes more and more, and the tone she uses now is pure O’Neill—hard enough to slice, steady enough to follow.
I’m already on my feet before I realise it, movement automatic, old reflexes snapping me into protector-mode.
The second the door opens, Cora is halfway across the room, coat thrown off, shoes still wet as Abbie comes in behind her, phone clutched like a weapon, eyes cataloguing every minor detail. Liam and Aidan sweep the room before taking positions at the door and window.
Cora’s gaze lands on Lily, and for a second, I want to step in front of her, put my body between that look and the woman who still owns me. But Lily is already standing, smoothing her dress down, making herself smaller in the way she always does when she feels like she's on the defensive.
“Are you all right?” Cora asks, too soft, and too intimate for this room. A tone that would have men like my Da questioning her ability to lead us, but maybe that gentleness is exactly what we need after all the horrors lately.
Lily’s voice is small but steady beside me. “I’m fine.”
“Fine isn’t good enough,” Abbie mutters, stepping closer and wrapping Lily in a hug, leaving a cloud of vanilla body spray and faint leftover tequila in her wake. She pulls back, narrowing her gaze on me. “Matt, what the hell is going on?”
I can feel every eye in the room shift toward me, weighing, judging. But the only gaze that matters is Lily’s—those hazel eyes bruised with hurt, already bracing for disappointment. Seeing the resignation settling in her expression, the quiet certainty that I’ll hesitate when it counts, does something to me. My spine straightens. I lift my head and meet the room without flinching before turning back to her.
“I fucked up,” I admit, voice low but steady, each word carrying the weight of every mistake I’ve made. “But I’m on your side now. I know she’s innocent, and we’re going to prove it.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavier than any promise I’ve ever made. And in that moment, I see it—Lily’seyes soften. For a heartbeat, it’s just us, balanced on the edge of something fragile. Not desire. Not heat. But the thin, trembling hope that maybe this time I won’t fail her.
I’ve spent my life hiding behind control, behind silence and calculation. Now I’m stripped bare in front of everyone, not to prove strength, but to make a choice. To make sure everyone in this room knows that, above all else, I’m choosing her.
Even if it costs me everything.
And the unspoken understanding that maybe, just maybe, what’s been broken can be rebuilt. Not just her place in the Points. Not just the trust.
Butus.
Cora lets out a sound that might be a laugh. “And how do you propose we do that, Matt?Weknow she’s innocent, but word on the street is she knew exactly who her dad was, and that she helped Jen recruit girls for the ring. It’s an absolute shit show of doubt and broken trust back home.”
“She had no idea,” I snap, teeth clenched. “She didn’t recruit anyone, didn’t receive a single payout, didn’t know the extent of what they were doing. She’s a pawn in their narrative, not a player.” I glance at Lily, and for the briefest second, our eyes meet—her jaw tight, and her pulse visible at her throat. I want her to know I see her. That I understand.
“About time,” Abbie mutters. “But… how the hell are we supposed to clear her name when nobody wants to hear reason?”
Aidan’s dark eyes meet mine, brow cocked.Are we really doing this? Are we really going against Jonathan’s orders?
I give a single nod.
He pushes off the doorframe, but my gaze drifts back to Lily, to the way she’s holding herself, taut with resolve, unbowed.
