Page 18 of Claiming Pretty

I should have been home instead. Protecting Ava. Instead of sneaking into her bedroom at night after I got home. Offering her stolen comfort for her nightmares when I should have beenstoppingher nightmare all along.

I should have been there to protect her. To shield her from the monster in our house.

If I’d known, I would have killed our father myself.

But I hadn’t.

And because of that, Ava had been forced to act. To brew that tea, to poison. She’d had to deal with it herself because I hadn’t been there for her when it mattered most.

It was my fault. And so now I would pay.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes.

But now with me in prison—with me carrying out my penance—Icouldn’tprotect her. The thought of Ava out there, vulnerable, without me to shield her—it was unbearable.

I didn’t beg, least of all beg my brother, for anything. But for Ava I would.

“I know you don’t like her,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “But please, for me, Ci, promise me you’ll look out for her.”

“Ty!”

“Please,” I begged, cutting his protests off, my voice raw. “She’s got no one else. You don’t have to talk to her or even let her know you’re watching over her. Just… please, until they release me, you have to protect her… for me.”

He was silent for a moment, too long, and I felt something sharp twist in my chest.

“Okay.”

Relief flooded me, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“But swear,” I said, my voice cracking, “swear you won’t touch her.”

Ciaran’s voice was a mere whisper. “I promise I will never touch her. She’s yours, Ty.”

Ciaran had kept one promise.

And broken the other.

He hadn’t just protected her—he’d taken her. Stolen the one thing I couldn’t bear to lose.

In the car Ava turned away, her fingers reaching for the door handle. She was slipping through my fingers again, and I hated how helpless I felt. How powerless.

But I wasn’t done. Not yet. Ava could lie to herself, to me, even to Ciaran. But she couldn’t lie to her heart.

I wouldn’t give up. Not until she was mine again.

As Ava moved to step out of the car, my hand shot out, wrapping around her arm, stopping her.

Her eyes widened, startled, but I held firm.

“You’ve always belonged to me,” I said, my voice low and unyielding. “And I will prove it to you.”

Her expression faltered for just a moment—just long enough for me to catch the flicker of guilt in her eyes. But then she drew in a breath, steadying herself, and when she spoke, her voice was soft but unwavering.

“Maybe if I had fallen for you first,” she said quietly, the words landing like a blow, “things would be different. But… it’s always been him.”

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Her words hit harder than I thought anything could. Harder than all the abuse Isuffered in prison. Harder than learning my own flesh and blood had been abusing her.

It’s always beenhim.

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