Page 119 of Unholy Obsession

And why wouldn’t she leave? People don’t stay for me. They stay for what I can offer them—power, status, security, money. Notme. Never me.

And now Moira. Moira, who was never meant to stay. Moira, who flits through life like fire, who belongs to no one, least of all me.

I sit heavily on the couch, rubbing a hand over my face. The idea of Moira gone—Moira slipping through my fingers like she was never mine to begin with—unravels something ugly inside me.

She never told anyone about our marriage. I didn’t push her. Was that a warning sign? Was she already half out the door?

Did I just notwantto see it?

My stomach clenches. My fingers tighten around my phone.

I try calling again.

Straight to voicemail.

The walls close in. My breath comes sharp.Fuck this.

I grab my keys.

I don’t even remember parking the car. One moment, I’m gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles ache, and the next, I’m throwing open the doors toCarnaland stalking inside like a man possessed.

The music is loud, too loud, pulsing through my bones as I scan the room. But something’s off. The lighting isn’t as dim as usual, the atmosphere not dripping in sin and desire the way it normally is. Instead, there are fuckingballoonstied to chairs. A massive cake sits untouched on a long table. Women are gathered in small clusters, some laughing, some holding up tiny onesies and pastel gift bags.

A baby shower.

Fuck.

It barely registers because I’m already zeroing in on the person I need. Quinn, standing at the bar, laughing at something Isaak just said. My voice cuts through the chatter like a blade.

“Where’s Moira?” I demand.

The roomfreezes.

Every single person turns to look at me. Glasses hover mid-air, conversations cut off, music still throbbing in the background like a heartbeat.

Domhnall stands up, glaring. “What’s it matter to you, anyway? You lose my sister in the middle of role-play again?”

“He’s a real priest, you idiot,” Quinn interjects.

I keep my scowl locked on Domhnall. “It matters because Moira’s mywife.”

Quinn blinks. Slowly. As if she must have misheard me.

“Yourwhat?”

“My wife,” I bite out again. My voice is too low, too sharp.

Isaak leans back against the bar, exhaling. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

Domhnall has gone rigid, fingers curling around his drink like he’s about to snap the glass in half. And he’s looking at me like he wants to take my head off my shoulders. As if he has any right to. He’s been a total shit brother to Moira. I’m the only fucking one who’s been there for her the last six months.

It’s Kira who steps forward.

“Moira?” she says carefully, her brows knitting together. “I had lunch with her earlier.”

Something inside melurches.

My pulse thunders in my ears. “When did you see her?”

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