CHAPTER 4

RONAN CARTER

Lillian Calloway.

She was everywhere.

Billboards. Magazines spread.

Five years. Five goddamn years. And still, there she was. Wearing a name that wasn’t mine. Smiling like she hadn’t once ripped me open and left me bleeding. Broken. She looked me in the eyes with nothing but pure hatred after all the promises we made together.

My family thought I left because I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. But the truth is that I left because of her. Because I had no choice or reason to stay.

Staying would have killed me. Watching her slip that ring on? That would’ve been the final blow.

So I disappeared. Swore never to come back home. I spent most of my time burning my past through a lot of work. I convinced myself that the fire in my lungs was freedom—it wasn’t. It was her. Still stuck at the back of my mind like a sinful prayer that would ruin me.

Disappearing gave me space. Space to breathe, to think, to figure out who I was when I wasn’t attached to the weight of my family’s name. A name soaked in power and legacy, but also shadowed by choices that were never mine. I needed to be me. Just me. But more than that, I needed distance to admit what I genuinely wanted.

Her. Always her. And wanting her meant staying far away for both of our sakes.

Then I got a call from my father, who told me that her father called.

He had pitched out a deal between our families. Something strategic. And good. Too damn good. And in that moment, I realized it was an opportunity I couldn’t ignore.

Now, I’m back.

And that evening, at her father’s estate, I sat right across from her.

Before coming over for dinner, I’d made one request to her father—Invite everyone, do not leave any of your family members out. I wanted her to see me. I wanted to watch her world tilt.

And I got what I wanted when, her eyes met mine as I walked into the room and settled into my seat.

There was the flicker of disbelief. Horror. Maybe even guilt. I could see the way her spine went rigid, fingers tightened around her glass like it might keep her grounded. She tried to smile but failed. Her posture and the way she bit her lip every time I looked her way betrayed her.

She was squirming under my gaze. Pretending not to see me, but I know she could feel my presence like an itch on her skin. Even after all this time—

I still had an effect on her.

And God help me, I liked it.

And in that moment, a final realization settled in—I was here to stay.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of Luca’s voice.

“Ayo, Ronan,” Luca said, handing me a file. “I canceled all your appointments leading up to the next meeting in two weeks. Your calendar’s clear.”

He stood tall, his presence taking up the space in my study. His hair was now longer than I remembered.

We’d kept in touch, calls here and there. It wasn’t consistent, but it felt good to have someone back home checking up on me, and here he was standing by my side after all this time… yeah. It felt really good.

“Thanks, Luca,” I said, grabbing the file. “Is the car ready?”

“Yes. Where are we going?”

“To the warehouse. I have something big to deal with.”

LILIAN

The sketch pad beneath my palm is nearly full. Not with ideas, but with desperate strokes for me to escape the sudden turn of events in my life.

I pressed the pencil harder. As if every stroke would erase the memory of him standing at the end of the dining table. Silent and intact. Looking the same but yet different in so many ways.

Two days, forty-eight hours. And still I couldn’t get his eyes out of my head.

I wasn’t thinking about him. I was busy focusing on my work. That’s what I told myself as I flipped through the pages of my sketchbook and kept drawing another design I’d never use.

“Jesus, Lily. You look like you're about to stab that book to death.”

I looked up, startled. Vivian stood in front of my desk, hands on her hips, wearing that what’s going on with you face.

“How’s the collection for fashion week coming along?” She asked, giving my mess of fabric swatches and crumpled designs a side-eyed glance.

I forced a smile. “It’s going great.”

She wasn’t convinced by my answer. Not even close but she didn’t push for an actual answer. Not yet.

“So tell me, how was Saturday’s dinner? You never mentioned anything about it.”

“It was good and exciting.”

The corner of her eyes crinkled as she narrowed them at me. “You sure?”

I let my gaze linger on her for a second, weighing whether spilling everything would be better. But in the end, I settled on lying instead.

“Everything went fine, Vivian. You don’t have to be worried about me.” Before she could press further, I blurted. “Uh… coffee?”

“You only suggest coffee when you’re about to drop something that needs me to be calm. So, coffee it is. Let’s go.”

The café down the block was quiet. Warm lighting, the air was filled with cinnamon and latte, people murmuring over pastries with wide smiles on their faces, like the world wasn’t a ticking bomb about to explode.

We took our usual table in the corner—the one by the window with a clear view of Central Park. The soft velvet chair hugged us as we sat down, placed our orders, and settled in to wait.

I should’ve told her everything that night, when Joe and I got home—but I was still trying to process my mess.

“So?” She asked, eyes on me as she picked up the cup of latte the waiter just placed on the table. “What’s going on? You’ve been twitchy for the past few days.”

I stared at her, blank. My mind a mess, but the words wouldn’t just come out. Where the hell was I supposed to even start?

“Come on, Lily. Don’t give me that look. You haven’t called or messenged me in the past two day, of course I know you’re hiding something. So… like I said, spill.”

I let out a slow breath, then looked straight in her eyes.

“You won’t believe what happened.”