Page 5 of Yours

“You’ll call him tonight?” she pressed.

“Yes,” I muttered, standing up and grabbing my phone from the coffee table. “Tonight. I promise.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Good. And Kiera?”

I turned to look at her.

“Don’t try to sugarcoat it,” she said, her voice firm again. “Just tell him the truth. He’ll figure it out anyway, and it’ll be better if it comes from you.”

I nodded, my throat tight, and made my way toward my room. As I shut the door behind me, I stared down at my phone and scrolled through my contacts to Ronan’s name. My finger hovered over it for a moment, my stomach twisting.

Later, I told myself, shoving the phone onto my desk. I’d call him later.

After I figured out how to ask for his help without getting dragged into something far worse.

CHAPTER 3

Kiera

My phone sat on the desk, Ronan’s name still glowing faintly on the screen where I’d left it. The sight of it made my stomach pitch forward and I quickly turned away. I shoved away from the door and crossed to the bed, flopping down face-first into the pillows.

The problem wasn’t Benedetti. Not really. Sure, the bastard had made a mess of my life, but this—this feeling crawling under my skin, burning at the edges of my thoughts—wasn’t about him. It was about Ronan.

It had always been about Ronan.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. For the thousandth time, I let myself remember the first time I met him.

It had been freshman year in Leena’s and my dorm room, just before the school year had started. I’d been making my bed on the top bunk when the door slammed open, and in he walked. The guy I’d heard about, but never seen in person.

Leena’s older brother, Ronan O’Malley.

He’d taken up all the space in the room without even trying. Dark hair, sharp jawline, the kind of easy, commanding swagger that made you sit up straighter without realizing it. His gaze had landed on me for a second too long—just long enough to make me feel like he saw everything about me, every secret, every insecurity, every thought I’d never voiced aloud.

And then he’d smiled. That slow, wicked, dangerous smile…

It was the kind of smile that said,I get what I want, and right now, I’m deciding if that’s you.

I’d hated him instantly. Or at least, I’d told myself I hated him. But I hadn’t looked away, either. And maybe he’d noticed, because over the years, there’d been moments—too many moments—where the air between us felt thick enough to drown in.

I bit my lip, squeezing my eyes shut against the memory of the last time I saw him. It had been last summer, at a family barbecue Leena had dragged me to. Ronan had been there, as usual, but this time he wasn’t the cocky player I’d met two years before.

He was different. Colder. Ruthless. Dangerous.

The death of his father had carved something new into him. He wasn’t just the golden boy with too much charm for his own good anymore; he was a man who carried the weight of an empire on his shoulders. And it showed. In the way he moved, like every step was some sort of chess play. In the way his voice cut through a crowd without ever raising a decibel.

In the way he looked at me.

That night, I’d caught him staring from across the yard, his dark eyes shadowed under the warm glow of the patio lights. There’d been no smile, no hint of playfulness. Just raw, unguarded intensity. I’d had to excuse myself to the bathroom to catch my breath, and by the time I’d come back, he was gone.

I hated him. God, I hated him. I hated how he could crawl under my skin without even trying. How he could make me feel small and hot and seen all at the same time. How part of me—some stupid, reckless idiot part of me—wanted him to see me that way. Wanted to know what it would feel like to let him get close.

I groaned and pressed my hands to my face. This wasn’t helping. Thinking about Ronan had never helped anything and now was no different. He was a complication I couldn’t afford. If I let myself get tangled up in his world, it would destroy me. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

Still, the thought of him wouldn’t let go. The way his voice could slide over you like silk one second and cut like a blade the next. The way he could make you feel safe and terrified all at once. The way he wanted me. Because I knew, deep down, he did.

And if I called him now, I’d be inviting all of that into my life.

I needed to cool off. Fast.

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