Page 51 of Claiming Pretty

But Ciaran didn’t let me go. His grip was firm, almost defiant, as though he wanted to prove a point.

To Ty.

To me.

To anyone who might dare to question that I washis.

I kissed him back, pouring everything I could into the moment, trying to drown out the unease rising in my chest.

His touch was familiar, grounding, and I wanted to lose myself in it. In him. In us.

But the thought of Ty standing mere feet away made it impossible to sink fully into the moment.

Ciaran pulled back just enough to brush his lips over my ear, his voice low and possessive. “Missed you.”

My breath hitched, and I nodded against him, unwilling to look over my shoulder at Ty.

“Missed you too,” I whispered, even as Ty’s gaze burned across the back of my neck.

Ciaran’s gaze flicked briefly over my shoulder before returning to mine, his expression softening just slightly. But his body remained tense, his arm still wrapped protectively around my waist as though he were daring Ty to challenge his claim.

I knew what this was. A declaration of war. Not with me, but over me.

Even as I leaned into him, I couldn’t ignore the knot of guilt tightening in my stomach. I’d made my choice, but I couldn’t deny the ache that came with the thought of hurting Ty, the man who had bared his soul to save me.

The man who, despite my best efforts, still held a piece of my heart.

Ty slammed the bowls onto the low table in the living room with more force than necessary, the sound rattling through the tense air. His expression was tight, his anger barely contained as he barked, “Dinner is served.”

I glanced at him, catching the way his jaw ticked, but before I could say anything, Ciaran cut in smoothly, taking control as always. “We can watch the footage while we eat.”

Without waiting for a response, Ciaran moved to his fancy wall-mounted TV—the one he wouldn’t let anyone else touch—and he plugged in a small USB drive.

He made a point of sitting down between Ty and me. He pulled me into his side, his entire leg firmly against mine as he settled in, his body language radiating possession.

Ty’s eyes flicked toward the movement, his mouth tightening, but he said nothing as he sat stiffly on the other side of the couch, his bowl untouched.

I shifted forward, holding my own bowl in my lap as the security footage began to play.

The screen flickered with grainy black-and-white video of The Vault’s dimly lit gothic dungeon-like interior, the bar where Liath was last seen.

My earlier swirl of conflicting emotions dulled, replaced by a sharp focus as I spotted Liath weaving through the dark tables dripping with ruby candles to the dark wood bar.

My heart tightened. This was the last that anyone saw her alive.

Liath sat at one of the high red velvet stools and ordered a drink from the guy behind the counter—I recognized him as the bartender I talked to when I went asking questions about Liath.

She seemed shaken. And she kept glancing around.

I remembered the voice message she left me that evening.

“I’m being followed. He’s stalking me. Ava!”

I tried to take a bite of the pasta, the rich aroma of garlic and herbs filling the room, but I could barely taste it. My stomach churned with unease, my appetite disappearing entirely as I leaned forward, my eyes scanning every corner of the screen.

Then something caught my attention.

“There!” I said sharply, my voice cutting through the quiet. “Pause it.”

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