Page 158 of Claiming Pretty

My gaze swept the room, desperate for a sign she’d been packing, preparing. Instead, it was pristine, untouched, as if she hadn’t even considered leaving.

My eyes landed on the single photo on her bedside table, framed in simple black. I stepped closer, the ache in my chest sharpening like a blade as I took it in.

Ciaran. Asleep in some hotel bed, his face soft with an unguarded peace I’d almost forgotten he was capable of. Behind him, the Eiffel Tower loomed through a window in the background, blurred but unmistakable.

I thought of all the photos I had of her—on my mantle,tucked into books, locked in the drawer of my nightstand back at Blackthorn.

Every snapshot I’d stolen, moments where she looked alive and happy, or even sad and distant. I had collected her like treasures, each one a reminder of why I couldn’t stop loving her.

But this?

She only had one. And it washim.

I set the photo down, the glass smudged with the faint outline of my thumb, and turned toward the hallway.

My heart was pounding, each beat a dull thud against my ribs as I walked to Ciaran’s door, slightly ajar.

I pushed it open, slower this time, bracing myself for what I might find.

The first thing that hit me was the scent. Faint but unmistakable: Ciaran. The woodsy undertone of his cologne lingered in the air, mixing with the stale, hollow atmosphere of a room left empty too soon.

And then I saw her.

Ava was curled up on Ciaran’s bed, her shoulders shaking as silent sobs racked her body. Her face was buried in his pillow, her fingers clutching it like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

She didn’t hear me—or maybe she didn’t care.

I stepped back, the door creaking slightly as it moved against my hand. My chest tightened, a vise squeezing every ounce of air from my lungs.

I sagged against the wall outside his room, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead as the weight of it all crushed me.

“You’ve always belonged to me,”I had told her,“and I will prove it to you.”

And I hadn’t listened when she replied.“Maybe if I had fallen for you first, things would be different. But… it’s always been him.”

She lovedhim.

She always had.

I clenched my fists as the memories hit me, cruel and relentless. Every moment that had given me hope now felt like a taunt, a mockery of my feelings.

Memories flooded my mind, unbidden and cruel in their clarity.

I saw her in the Blackthorn kitchen, sitting on the counter with that sly little smirk.

I saw her hand lingering on mine as she bandaged my bloodied knuckles, her touch light but her concern heavy.

I saw the look in her eyes when I gave her the engagement ring I’d secretly bought her.

Foolish.

Each memory felt like a dagger, driving deeper into the raw wound of my heart. Those moments—moments I had clung to, that had given me hope—now felt like silly dreams.

And yet I couldn’t hate her for it. I couldn’t even hate him. Ciaran. My brother, who had somehow stolen her heart even as I bled for her.

My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall, my back scraping against the plaster. The numbness came first, spreading like frost through my veins, followed by the burn of helpless anger.

A hollow, bitter laugh escaped me, too quiet for anyone to hear.

---