Page 40 of Claiming Pretty

His gaze searched mine, hesitant and unsure. “What do you remember?”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay strong, to sound like the survivor I had become. “I remember the professor… used to drug me with my hot chocolate. And when I was under, he abused me.”

Ciaran flinched, his eyes clouding with anger and pain, but he stayed silent, letting me continue.

“One night, I got sick. I threw up my hot chocolate. And when he tried to touch me, I fought back.”

Ciaran nodded slowly, his hand brushing against my arm in a gesture of silent support.

“I remember that night too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Watching… when you said no. That’s when I realized…”

He trailed off, his eyes closing briefly as he grappled with the memory.

I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, giving him the strength as I took strength from him.

“He forced an abortion on me. And then… and then I killed him,” I said, my voice steady but hollow. “I put oleander in his tea. And… And Ty took the blame.”

Ciaran’s gaze bored into me, searching my face as if peeling back layers. “Is that it?”

I frowned, confusion twisting through me. “What else is there?”

He let out a sigh, heavy and full of something unspoken, his shoulders dropping under the weight of it. “There’s one more thing I need to admit. Something you don’t know…”

My heart stilled, the tension in the room tightening like a noose. I froze, unable to speak, barely able to breathe.

His next words sliced through the silence like a blade.

“You didn’t kill him…Idid.”

THE SHADOW

Ipaused in the doorway, my eyes narrowing as I took in Ava standing by the kitchen counter, her back to me, her long dark hair tumbling down her back in tantalizing waves, waves I wanted to touch to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Her hands shook as she worked, her shoulders tense like she was bracing for a blow. The sharp, bitter scent of tea and something else—something metallic—reached me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice cutting through the stillness.

She jumped, spinning around, her eyes wide with panic. Her hands were trembling, and I noticed the teapot on the counter, the faint wisp of steam curling in the air. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“I…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was just making tea… for the professor.”

My gaze slid past her to the pot. Something wasn’t right. My instincts were screaming at me.

Her nervousness, the way she kept glancing at the teapot, the way she stood like she was ready to bolt.

My chest tightened.

I stepped toward her, my movements slow and deliberate, as if I were approaching a skittish animal.

“Brownnosing little Ava,” I said, my voice dripping with mockery. “Trying to become the professor’s favorite, huh?”

“Go away,” she snapped.

I didn’t stop. I reached out, my hand landing on her shoulder, and shoved her gently aside.

She stumbled, her small frame unable to resist me.

“It’s not for you!” she cried, lunging toward the pot, her voice cracking. “It’s for the professor!”

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