Page 10 of His Temptation

Isolde.Siobhan swallowed hard, staring at the name she had scrawled at the top of the page.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She should have burned everything and disappeared. She had forty-eight hours to stay hidden before the ferry, and wasting time on goodbyes was a mistake. But the thought of leaving without a word—without at least trying to make Isolde understand—left an ache in her chest she couldn’t ignore.

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the page as she read the words she had written.

Isolde,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.

You were my only friend when I had no one, and you deserve better than the wreckage I would bring to your door.

If you ever cared for me, if I ever mattered, you’ll let this go. Do not come looking for me. Do not ask Callum to find me. I am not the same girl you knew, and I won’t be again.

I never wanted this life. But it’s the one I have.

She hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as she wrote the last line.

Goodbye,

Siobhan

The moment the words were down, she folded the letter and shoved it into an envelope. She would leave it in a dead drop, have it sent after she was across the Channel.

Once it was out of her hands, it was done.

Siobhan pushed to her feet, rolling her shoulders. Time to go.

She moved quickly, gathering what little evidence remained of her presence. The fake IDs and cash went into the pocket of her jacket. The burner phone got wiped and smashed under the heel of her boot before being tossed into a rusted barrel.

The letter stayed in her hand.

Finally, she struck a match, dropping it onto the pile of rags she had stuffed in the corner. Flames licked up the walls, smoke curling through the air as the last traces of her temporary shelter disappeared. When everything was ashes, she put out the fire with an extinguisher.

It was over.

She stepped toward the exit, heart steady, mind sharp. One last job. One last run. She just had to make it to the ferry.

Siobhan pushed the warehouse door open and stepped into the alley and stopped dead.

Daragh O’Neill stood against the wall, hands in his pockets, as calm and unreadable as ever.

She should have known.

Her breath stalled, every muscle in her body going tight. His eyes locked onto hers with that same dark certainty she had seen in him before.

She might be caught, but she wasn’t done.

Siobhan moved before he could speak. She dropped low, twisting to the side as she aimed a kick at his ribs. Daragh caught her ankle with infuriating ease.

His grip was iron, but she hadn’t given up. She used the leverage, twisting in mid-air to strike out with her other foot, aiming for his face.

He ducked, caught her wrist, and spun her with effortless precision until her back was against the brick wall, his body pinning her against the rough surface.

She snarled, trying to yank free, but he had her locked down tight.

His voice was low, even. “You done?”

Siobhan’s breath came fast and sharp.

---