Page 2 of Claiming Pretty

Could I really blame him?

I watched Ava as she moved gracefully through the laboratory, her steps light, almost floating, like she was dancing between the shadows.

Her delicate fingers trailed along the shelves, brushing over the dark bottles haphazardly stacked there, her touch reverent and curious.

Her hair fell over those sharp, intelligent eyes, veiling them just enough to make me crave their full focus, as she tilted her head to read the peeling labels written in Latin, her plump lips moving silently around the ingredients, her mouth forming shapes I couldn’t look away from.

Was it any wonder he’d fallen for her?

All you had to do was watch herbe.

Her movements were like music, fluid and captivating,while her very presence was a song that lodged itself in your soul, demanding you listen.

Ava didn’t just exist; shecommandedattention, effortlessly, unknowingly, like gravity itself bent toward her.

And I couldn’t blame Ciaran for wanting her. But I wouldn’t forgive him for taking what was mine.

A surge of aching, broken need almost overwhelmed me as I fell in love with her all over again.

I never stopped. Not since the day I watched her step out of the car and lift her face to stare at Blackthorn Hall.

“Ava…” I murmured, reaching for her, my hand brushing against her arm.

Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and in them, I saw everything—desire, conflict, and a guilt so deep that almost made me look away. Almost.

She pulled back, her movement sharp, as if my touch had burned her.

The sting of rejection hit me harder than I wanted to admit, a twisting ache in my chest.

Rising fears clawed at the edges of my thoughts—had I gone too fast? Misread her? By reaching for her, had I only pushed her further away?

The thought settled like ice in my stomach.I was losing her.Again.

She cleared her throat. “There’s got to be something here… answers.”

Her shoulders tensed as she avoided my gaze, feigning interest in the rows of journals stacked on the heavy mahogany desk at the far end of the lab.

I wanted to speak, to pull her back from whatever edgeshe was teetering on, but every step I took closer to her, she seemed to pull farther away.

I clenched my jaw, letting my eyes scan the room as I wrestled with my tangled emotions, layering them with ice until I felt calm once again.

On the rows of cluttered workbenches stretched out before me were glass beakers and vials, some filled with strange, dusty substances, others stained with the remnants of experiments long evaporated, crowded every surface. The hollow clink of glass echoed faintly as my sleeve brushed against a bench, the sound sharp enough to make me flinch.

“This…” Ava’s voice broke the brittle silence. “I’ve seen this before.”

I followed her to the desk, my pulse quickening.

Her gaze was locked on a journal, her hand brushing over the crest embossed on the worn cover, snakes twisted in a circular Celtic knot.

“Dr. Vale,” she murmured, her voice distant. “He had this emblem engraved on his signet ring.”

A chill ran down my spine as the pieces began to fall into place. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard.

“And… and Mr. Byrne,” she continued, her voice shaking now. “Liath’s father—he had a ring on his finger, just like this. The same crest.”

I stared over her shoulder as she opened the journal to the first page.

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