Page 52 of The Endless Want

A sharp inhale. Then, softer, "Okay. Sweetheart. Okay."

“I don’t know what to do.” My back hits the wall, and I slide down to the floor, knees pulled up, phone pressed to my ear like a lifeline. Tears burn hot down my cheeks. “I don’t—I can’t even think. I can’t breathe. I don’t know what this means. For me, for him, for everything⁠—”

“Okay, okay,” she murmurs gently. “Slow down. Breathe. I’m here.”

Her calm only makes me cry harder. “I can’t tell anyone,” I choke out. “Not Liam, not Nadia, not Ronan—no one.”

“And Declan?” she asks carefully.

I squeeze my eyes shut. His face flashes in my mind—angry, exhausted, starving for something he wouldn’t let himself name. Then that kiss in the office. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world capable of destroying him. The way he vanished afterward.

“He’s unstable,” I whisper. “He’s furious all the time. Self-destructive. Bitter. Dangerous. And he’s shutting me out.”

“He’s always had a temper,” she reminds me gently.

“This is different,” I whisper. “He’s spiraling. He’s drinking more. He’s reckless. Conor said he’s pacing like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. Mack, if I tell him—if he finds out right now—he’ll explode.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then softly: “I think you’re right.”

A sob slips from my throat. “I don’t want to keep it from him forever, I just—I need time. I need a moment to think. For the new businesses to stabilize. For Liam to stop watching me like I’m going to break. For the Russians to stop—God, for everything to calm down enough that I can breathe.”

“And your head needs to clear,” she adds.

“Yes.” The word cracks. “I can’t even think straight. I’m so scared, Mackenzie.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But listen to me—you’re not alone. You tell me what you need, when you need it. Until then, I won’t breathe a word. Not to Liam, not to Nadia, not to anyone.”

My chest shakes with relief and terror all at once. “Thank you. Please—just don’t tell him. Not yet.”

“I won’t,” she promises, fierceness threading her voice. “But Ailish… you need to prepare yourself for something.”

“What?”

“When he eventually finds out—whenever that is—Declan may not react well.”

A flash of heat spikes through my chest. Fear, mixed with something more fragile. “I know.”

“I’m serious,” she presses. “He’s intense on a normal day. But lately? He’s volatile. Add this? He might panic. Or rage. Or lose control.”

“I know,” I whisper again, voice raw. “That’s why I can’t tell him now. He’d either disappear or demand I let him handle me like I’m property. Or he’d pick a fight with Liam and tear the entire syndicate apart. He’d be… Declan.”

“And you’re not ready for that version of him,” she says gently.

“No. Not when I’m barely holding it together myself.”

We sit in silence for a moment—her breathing steady on the other end, mine jagged and sharp. Finally, she says, “Okay. I’ll keep your secret. But when the time is right, you have to tell him. Whether you’re afraid or not.”

I nod even though she can’t see me. “I will.”

“Good. Now drink some water. Lie down. And call me if the spiral gets bad.”

“I will,” I whisper.

We hang up, and the apartment is silent again. Too silent. I’m still sitting on the floor when my phone buzzes with another call.

Gianna.

Of course. One more person who genuinely cares. One more person I can’t tell.