Page 72 of The Hunter's Empire

For a moment, she simply looks at me. Silent. Listening. I can practically see the conflict in her eyes. Years of obedience battling against something she has buried for a very long time.

"You need to stop accepting whatever everyone else decides for you." I tell her gently. "I know it's easier said than done. I know standing up to people like Fergus and Darragh and Conall feels impossible. But if you keep surrendering every decision to them, they will keep taking pieces of you until there's nothing left."

A shaky breath escapes her.

"You have to fight for yourself, Roisin. Because the truth is that nobody else in this family is going to do it for you."

That finally breaks her. She lowers her head, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes as another wave of tears overtakes her. For several seconds, the only sound in the room is the uneven rhythm of her breathing as she fights for control she no longer seems capable of holding onto.

When she finally speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper. "Nobody has ever said that to me before."

My chest tightens.

Roisin lets out a small, broken laugh that holds absolutely no humor. "Nobody has ever taken my side before either."

The words settle heavily between us. For a moment, she says nothing else. Her gaze remains fixed somewhere near the floor, as though looking at me while saying any of this would somehow make it more real.

"I spent years convincing myself that maybe I was overreacting." She says eventually. "That maybe I was imagining things that weren't there."

Her fingers twist tightly in the fabric of her dress.

"Everyone always talks about monsters like they're obvious. Like you'll recognize them immediately." Another humorless laugh escapes her. "Nobody tells you what happens when they look like family."

A cold feeling settles low in my stomach. "Roisin..."

"It started when I was thirteen."

The room seems to stop around us.

She doesn't look at me.

"My uncle used to find excuses to get me alone. Family gatherings. Holidays. Weekends here at the manor." Her voice grows quieter with every sentence. "At first it was easy to explain away. A hand on my shoulder that stayed too long. Standing too close. Touching my hair."

Her fingers tighten further around the sleeve of her dress. "Then it stopped being things I could explain away."

My jaw clenches.

"It went on for years." She laughs again, and somehow that hurts more than the tears. "I became very good at avoiding rooms he was in. Very good at making sure there were always other people nearby."

Her gaze drifts toward the window. "I stopped wearing short sleeves when I was fifteen."

The words hit me harder than they should. I think about the high necklines. The long sleeves. The layers of fabric despite the heat. They were not fashion. They were her armor.

"I finally stopped him when I was twenty-three."

My eyes return to her immediately.

Roisin nods once.

"I fought back." Her voice shakes slightly. "I threatened to tell everyone if he ever touched me like that again."

"He stopped?"

"The worst of it stopped."

The distinction makes my stomach turn.

"He still finds excuses." She says quietly. "A hand on my back when nobody is looking. My waist when he walks past me. My arm if we're standing too close together." She swallows hard. "Just enough to remind me he can."