Page 21 of His Possession

Rory’s eyes narrowed as he brought up another set of photos—this time of crates being unloaded at a warehouse near the docks. The containers bore no markings, but the men working them were unmistakably Kelleher muscle.

“We traced some shipments back to Foster’s connections in London,” Cormac continued. “Art dealers, auction houses—legitimate fronts for laundering. He’s been feeding the Kellehers everything they need to chip away at our operations.”

Rory exhaled slowly, his temper simmering just below the surface. Foster’s betrayal wasn’t just personal; it was strategic. Foster deliberately chose every piece of information he gave to exploit vulnerabilities, and Rory hated that he hadn’t foreseen it.

“There’s more,” Cormac said, his tone dipping slightly. He clicked one last photo, and Rory’s gut tightened as he saw it: a still frame of Foster shaking hands with a man Rory recognized instantly—Michael O’Connell.

“That bastard,” Rory growled, his voice low. “He’s working both sides.”

Cormac nodded. “And Maeve is at the center. Michael wants her back, and Foster’s connections are helping him stay one step ahead of us. If we don’t shut this down quickly, it’s only a matter of time before he makes his move.”

The tension in Rory’s chest coiled tighter, his panther snarling at the idea of anyone threatening Maeve. He didn’t just want to protect her—he needed to. But the possessiveness he felt went deeper than logic, deeper than strategy. It was primal.

Rory closed the laptop, his fingers resting on the smooth surface as he forced himself to speak. “What’s the best move?”

“Cut Foster loose,” Cormac said without hesitation. “Make it clear we know what he’s done and make an example of him. It’ll send a message to the Kellehers and to Michael.”

Rory nodded, though the decision felt hollow. Ending Foster’s game was necessary, but it didn’t solve the deeper problem. Michael O’Connell was still out there, still pulling strings, still coming for Maeve. And Rory couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running out of time.

“Set it up,” he said finally. “I want Foster dealt with by tomorrow.”

Cormac rose, giving a small nod before leaving the room. When the door clicked shut, Rory leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the city skyline outside the window.

His thoughts, as always, circled back to Maeve. She was the one constant, the one piece of his peace he couldn’t let go. But that connection—the fire between them—came with its own dangers. His panther’s possessiveness only grew stronger everytime he saw her, every time he touched her. It wasn’t just a want; it was a need, fierce and unrelenting.

And that was the part that terrified him.

Rory had spent his entire life fighting to be better than his father. He’d clawed his way out of the shadows of violence and dominance, carving a path that was his own. But with Maeve, the line felt blurred. His instincts told him to protect her, to claim her as his, but he couldn’t ignore the echoes of his father’s voice in the back of his mind.

Control. Power. Possession.

Rory slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound sharp in the silence. He wasn’t his father. He wouldn’t let himself become that man, no matter how strong the pull of his instincts.

But when it came to Maeve, restraint felt like a losing battle.

He pushed back from the desk, pacing the room as his thoughts churned. Every instinct he had told him to go to her, to hold her, to make her see that he wasn’t the monster he feared he might become. But would that be enough? Or would his world drag her under, leaving her broken in the process?

Rory stopped, his hands braced on the windowsill as he stared out at the city. He couldn’t let that happen. Not to Maeve.

The door opened behind him, and Cormac’s voice cut through the silence. “Foster’s already running. We’ll catch him.”

Rory didn’t turn. “Good. Make sure he doesn’t get far.”

There was a pause, and then Cormac’s tone softened. “She’s safe, Rory. For now.”

“For now isn’t enough,” Rory said, his voice quiet but firm. “I need to end this. All of it.”

“And you will,” Cormac said. “But don’t lose yourself in the process.”

Rory didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because as much as he wanted to believe he could keep Maeve safe, part of him feared the truth.

He was losing himself. And the question that haunted him most was simple: would Maeve save him from it, or would she be the reason he fell?

The moonlight spilled through the expansive windows of Rory’s penthouse, casting a soft silver glow over the room. Rory sat in the armchair by the bed, his gaze fixed on Maeve as she slept. Her dark curls fanned out across the pillow, her chest rising and falling with the deep, steady rhythm of rest. The tension that so often lined her face was absent now, leaving her peaceful and breathtakingly vulnerable.

He’d never been the type to watch someone sleep—wanted no one close enough to see him at his weakest. But with Maeve, it was different. The beast inside him, restless and dangerous, calmed in her presence. For the first time in years, he felt like there was something worth holding on to. Something worth protecting.

And yet, the darkness in him still loomed. His panther prowled beneath his skin, its instincts sharp and unrelenting. It wanted her—needed her. But the desire to claim her, to make her his in every way, warred with his fear of what that would mean. Would he keep her safe, or would he pull her deeper into the shadows of his world?

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