Page 21 of Declan

“Need help, Mrs. Callaghan?” he asks with a devilish smirk.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, the name turning my stomach.

He grabs my waist, but I shove him off, glaring. “I’m fine,” I say firmly.

He smirks wider, his gaze lingering as I step into the library. Throwing myself onto the couch, I bury my face in the soft black cushions. I hear his footsteps retreat, but just as I relax, the door clicks shut. I look up to see him locking it.

“What are you doing?” I demand though the answer is clear.

“I think you need some... attention, Mrs.—Viviana,” he sneers, closing the distance. He grabs my wrists so quickly I can barely react, pressing his lips to my neck. I wince and lift my knee, slamming it into his crotch.

“Fucking bitch,” he growls, doubling over but recovering faster than I expected.

I lunge for the door, but he slams me into it, my forehead hitting the wood with a thud. My head spins, but I clutch the door for balance.

He yanks me back, and I scream, but he covers my mouth. “Shh, quiet, bitch,” he spits.

Even through the haze of wine and dizziness, I fight—kicking, thrashing, doing whatever I can. My adrenaline surges as his hand cups my breast, bile rising in my throat. Through my tears, I spot a lamp on the nearby table. Stretching for it, I feel his grip tighten.

Desperation fuels me. I bite down hard on his hand. He yelps, pulling back, but raises his other hand to strike me.

The door crashes open, splinters flying everywhere.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Declan’s voice is a low, dangerous growl.

He yanks the guard off me, hurling him across the room like a rag doll. The guard hits the wall with a sickening thud, the windows rattling from the impact. Declan is on him in seconds, lifting him by the throat.

“No one touches her but me,” he snarls, punching the guard in the gut. “And anyone who does...” Another punch. “Won’t live to see another fucking day.”

One final blow to the face, and the guard slumps to the floor, unconscious.

I can’t breathe. My hands shake, and my face burns. When Declan turns to me, I flinch, curling into myself and shielding my head with my arms.

“Viv,” he whispers. He’s never called me that before.

I peek through my hands to see him standing there, worry etched on his face.

“I—” My voice trembles, barely audible.

He steps closer, gently lowering my arms. “I would never lay a hand on you. You know that, right?” His voice is soft, almost hurt.

Men like him—violent, aggressive—they’re usually wife-beaters, aren’t they? But his words and the way he looks at me leave me unsure.

“Did he—” his voice drops almost to a whisper.

I cut him off. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t have time.”

I stare into his eyes. They’ve softened for a moment before Connor bursts in. “What the hell happened?” he asks, staring at the guard lying in a pool of blood.

“He tried to touch what’s mine,” Declan bites out. “Get someone to take him out and clean this up.” He straightens his sleeves, cursing under his breath, when he notices blood drops on his cuffs.

He reaches for my hand, and I take it without hesitation. I need to get out of this room. As I stand, I stumble—not from the wine, but from the adrenaline crashing. Declan steadies me.

“What will happen to him?” I already know the answer, but I need to hear it.

“He’ll be swimming with the fishes tonight,” Declan chuckles as if it’s just part of his daily routine.

“I think he’s one of those fish-eating vegetarians,” Connor quips, amusement in his voice as he pulls out his phone to call someone to handle the mess. “So this will be right up his alley.”

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