Page 62 of Claiming Pretty

Reaching the room I’d scouted earlier, I slipped inside, the cool air from the partially open window cutting through the heat in my veins.

I climbed out through the window, the scent of damp earth and distant rain filling my nose, my heart still pounding as my feet hit the gravel outside. But it wasn’t the fear of being caught that consumed me—it was the sight of Ava in Ty’s arms, her lips on his.

She’d done it to protect me. I knew that. But knowing didn’t erase the way her kiss lingered in my mind, how Ty’s hands on her made my blood boil.

The line had been crossed, and my blood burned with a fury I could barely contain. I didn’t know who I was angrier at—Ty or Ava.

Ty? I expected it from him. Of course, I did. I knew he’d use the married couple ruse as an excuse to push boundaries, to test how far he could go.

I couldn’t even blame him, not entirely. If our roles were reversed, if it were me pretending Ava was mine, I’d do the same damn thing without hesitation.

But Ava? I trusted her. I believed her. When she kissed me and whispered,“Scáth, my kisses and my heart are only for you,”I’d let myself hope that it was true.

That it would always be true. That no matter how close Ty got to her, no matter how much he tempted her, she’d keep him at arm’s length.

Now, that trust felt cracked. Fragile. The way she’d leaned into him, the softness in her expression—it wasn’t just acting.

I got into my sleek black sedan, and before I could question my actions, I drove off without waiting for them. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew that if I saw them right now, I’d probably kill them both.

As the Dublin streets blurred past my window, fear twisted in my gut, sharp and suffocating.

Had something shifted between them? Had that kiss, however much of a performance she might claim it was, awakened something between them that I couldn’t stop?

The thought was like poison, spreading through my veins.

I’m losing her.

AVA

Two days. Two fucking days since we infiltrated the adoption agency, and Ciaran was still gone. Still not answering his phone.

I at least knew he was alive. My messages had all been read, the small “seen” indicator glaring back at me like a taunt. But no response. Nothing.

The professor’s voice filled the Nevermore lecture hall, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the air as he launched into the intricacies of Investigative Journalism and Ethical Boundaries.

I sat in one of the back rows of the vintage wooden desks. The ornate gothic chandeliers above cast a warm glow over the lecture hall, their intricate ironwork dripping with tiny lights.

My gaze wandered past the charcoal walls to the tall arched windows overlooking the green.

Last term, I’d looked out those same windows and spotted my stalker against that giant oak—Scáth.

Or at least, I’dthoughtit was him.

The memory of that moment felt sharp and raw now, like a wound I’d only half acknowledged.

I yearned to see my Scáth there again, his figure blending into the shadows, watching me with those piercing blue eyes.

I wanted to explain. To tell him the kiss at the agency had been nothing. A ruse. A way to save him from being seen.

But even as the thought crossed my mind, something deep inside me whispered a bitter truth: the kiss hadn’t entirely been a lie.

But Scáth wasn’t there now.

I remembered how I’d thought Scáth had left me when Lisa and I were in Paris, only to discover he’d been there all along, hidden completely out of sight. Was he doing the same now? Watching from the shadows, just beyond reach?

A nudge broke my thoughts. Lisa, sitting to my left, leaned in, her long red hair falling over her face, her nose wrinkling. “Isheactually studying journalism now?”

I followed her pointed glance.

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