And, in that moment, I see a shift. He finally knows that nothing he can say or do will change my mind.
“All right,” he says at last, voice tight, controlled but every syllable weighted like a blade. “Your Da is going to lose his bloody mind.”
“Let him,” I whisper, because I can’t bring myself to care. “He can explode later. I don’t have time to explain the last four years, I need your helpnow. Before it’s too late.”
Before he can speak, footsteps pad softly from the living room, and Helen appears in the doorway, curly hair mussed from sleep, tying her satin robe at the waist. She blinks against the light, gaze falling first on Jonathan, then on me, confusion knitting her brow.
“What is it?” she asks, voice thick and rough, still half-asleep. “What’s happened?”
Jonathan steps closer to her without thinking, like distance itself is a risk he refuses to take. Sometimes it feels like they’re still trying to make up for lost time, as if the fear of losing each other is always nipping at their heels.
“There’s been some… news.”
Helen straightens, alert now despite the remnants of sleep clinging to her.
“What kind of news?” she presses, her eyes moving between us.
“It’s Lily,” I choke out, my gaze catching hers and watching the implications hit her like a blow—a blow I’m all too familiarwith, one that has my throat burning as I continue. “She’s—she’s gone. Taken.”
Helen gasps, the sound quiet but devastating. Helen was always adamant, alongside Cora, that Lily should never have been cast out, that at the very least she should have guards on her.
“Lily…?” she repeats softly, as if saying the name might make it make sense. “I—are you sure?”
I nod once. “I’ve been in contact with her, she hasn’t checked in. Something’s wrong.”
“Oh God,” she whispers. Her voice softens, breaking for half a heartbeat as understanding hits, the kind only Helen could have. The trauma she endured may well be Lily’s if we don’t act fast enough. It erases any traces of sleep from her, eyes darkening with dread and determination in equal measure.
“All right,” she says, voice steadying, hardening into something unbreakable. “What do you need?”
Jonathan moves before I can take another breath. He pulls his phone from his pocket, voice low and lethal as he issues orders. “I need everyone at the penthouse. Now. No questions. Tell Liam to bring Owen and Cora, too.”
He ends the call without waiting for a reply.
The weight in the room shifts, thick and tense, like the calm before a storm. Even standing here, I can feel it—the anticipation, the unspoken knowledge that when the others arrive, there’s going to be an explosion.
Helen stays close, arms folded tight across her chest, her eyes flicking from Jonathan to me, worry etched into every line of her face.
Within minutes, the lift bursts open. Declan steps in first, all taut muscle and suspicion, scanning the room as though expecting bodies. Bren follows, expression tight as he keeps me pinned under his gaze, one eyebrow cocked in question. Jack strides in behind them, jaw set like he’s ready to start swinging.
Da storms into the room next, coat half-on, shirt untucked, fury simmering just beneath the surface. In the time since I’ve last seen him, he’s let his beard grow out, and it just adds to his frazzled appearance. His gaze sweeps the space, taking stock, landing on me last.
“What the hell is going on?” he snaps. “Johnny, why’ve you called the whole bloody inner circle out of bed? Has someone died? What’s Matt doing home?”
Jonathan doesn’t waste a second. “Lily Davis is missing.”
His words hits the room like a physical blow.
Bren mutters something sharp under his breath, running a hand through his short, cropped hair. Declan stiffens. Jack’s dark eyebrows shoot up. Seamus freezes in the doorway, stopping the lift doors from closing. But my Da, he just looks confused. Truly, deeply confused. Like he never imagined he’d hear her name again.
“Why,” he says slowly, dangerously, “areweinvolved in anything to do withher?”
His gaze cuts to me. Hard. Searching. And something in my stomach twists because I know what’s coming, but there’s no stopping it.
“Matt?” he pushes. “Why aren't you in Italy? Why would her—”
Jonathan tries to intercept, voice calm but firm. “Ciaran, there’s something we need to explain before—”
But I speak first.
