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“Don’t want to,” he mutters, burying his face into his arms. “Hurts.”

My brows slam together as I frown. “Hurts? What hurts? Calling me by my name?”

“Mm.” With a nod, he wraps a blanket around himself, and I stand there, completely taken off guard.

“Why?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Cuz tomorrow, this won’t be real.”

That’s all he says. And honestly, I don’t ask him to clarify because I’m not sure I want to know. Instead, I let him sleep while I tidy up his room, finding a hamper in the closet to stuff his clothes into. His rat watches me from its cage with beady eyes, little whiskers twitching.

When there’s nothing left to do, I contemplate leaving. I really do. But the memory of Shilo’s body pressed into my back when he slept in my bed, combined with his little snores, has me sitting next to him. And try as I might, I can’t seem to come up with an excuse for why I lift his head onto my lap. I just do. It feels nice to have my fingers in his hair again. Peaceful. Relaxing.

Checking the time on my phone—and ignoring multiple missed calls from Declan and my dad—I realize it’s past midnight, which means…

“Merry Christmas, doll,” I whisper softly, leaning back to close my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I spent the holiday with anyone. Not since Mom died. This time isn’t any different; I’m not actually spending it with Shilo. I’ll be gone before he wakes.

But for now, in this quiet moment, it almost feels like we’re spending it together.

The elevator to my condo slides shut behind me, and I let out a long breath, rolling my shoulders to release some of the tension from leaning against Shilo’s headboard for hours. I’m exhausted, my mind still buzzing with the endless list of tasks I need to get through before the AVA launch and everything that happened tonight.

As I step into the living room, ready to collapse, I freeze. There, sprawled comfortably on my new couch like he owns the place, is my brother. One leg draped lazily over the armrest, flipping through a magazine.

Fuck. So much for avoiding him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I bark sharply.

Dec looks up, a grin spreading on his face. “Merry Christmas to you too, big brother. You missed Dad’s whole retirement announcement. How’s Shilo?”

“He’s asleep.” A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I rub my burning eyes. Asshole’s only two minutes younger. “Declan, it’s late. I’ve got a lot of work to do in the morning, and I’m tired. Can we shelve this conversation for another day?”

He swings his legs off the couch and stands, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “Yeah, I can tell. You look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

I don’t have the energy for this. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

My twin raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my bullshit. “Busy, huh? Or maybe overworking yourself to death?”

Walking past him, I head for the kitchen, ignoring his concerns. “I’ve got a lot riding on this, Declan. You know that.”

He follows close behind, leaning against the counter as I open the fridge and pull out a water bottle. “I’d say I get it, Ry, but I don’t. This is getting out of hand. You’re killing yourself over this AVA project, and for what? To prove something to Dad?”

I twist the cap off the bottle, avoiding his gaze as I take a swig. “It’s not about proving anything. This is important. If AVA fails, the whole company fails.”

As Ronin likes to remind me repeatedly.

Declan’s expression softens. “You know you don’t have to do everything alone, right? I’m here. You can ask me for help.”

Shaking my head, I scrub a hand down my face, scratching my stubbled cheek. “This is a project Dad entrusted to me. I’ve got it under control.”

“Yeah?” He crosses his arms, watching me closely. “Is that why you’re dating Olivia? Because you’ve got everything under control?”

My hand tightens around the bottle, making it crinkle, as my shoulders tense. “Olivia and I have an understanding. It’s nothing more than a business arrangement.”

“A business arrangement,” he repeats slowly, his tone laced with disbelief. “Seriously? You’re dating a woman you can’t possibly care about because Dad told you to. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

The weight of his words presses down on me, and I glance away. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then tell me,” he urges, stepping closer. “Talk to me, Ryann. I’m still your brother, remember?”