FIVE

CIARA’S POV

The silence stretched too long. Eyes were on us, curious, prying, judging. My heart pounded in my chest, my wolf still reeling from the shock of the bond, the claim Darragh had just made in front of all these people.

I wanted to run. Not from him, but from the attention, from the way Ronan’s eyes darkened, from the sharp way his lips pressed together. My breathing felt unsteady, and I had no idea what to say or how to fix this before it spiraled into something worse.

Before I could gather myself, someone else took initiative. Brigid stepped forward.

“What is happening here?” Her voice carried across the room, calm but firm, the way it always did when she wanted control of a situation.

Darragh’s grip on my wrist tightened slightly before he let go. His voice was steady when he answered. “Do you mind telling your son to back away from my mate.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A few hushed voices. The weight of the room shifted. I felt it press against me, heavy with expectation.

My breath caught. I turned to Darragh, staring at him, searching for something—doubt, hesitation, a mistake.

I had been right? Of course I had been right, He felt it too.

The words barely left my lips. It was a whisper from my soul meant for him. Only him. He looked at me, the truth clear in his eyes. There was no mistake.

Ronan's expression didn’t change. His jaw was tight, his fingers curled at his sides, but there was something else. A flicker of something unreadable. He didn’t even look at me. Instead, his gaze flicked toward his mother.

Brigid’s face didn’t betray a thing. Not shock, not anger, not anything I expected. Instead, she smiled. Perhaps it was because I did not know better then. But it was clear to me now that every move she made was calculated and that was downright terrifying.

“This is wonderful news,” she said, voice warm, controlled. “What a blessing for the bond to bring fated mates together in our gathering.”

She stepped closer, her gown trailing behind her, elegant as much as new money tried to be. “My son is a young Alpha, and it is no surprise that he is searching for a strong woman to stand beside him. It is only natural. But I understand now. Fate has spoken. What can we do about it? But we women know,” she said, glancing at Darragh with an almost knowing look, “we know how you males can be.” She chuckled, a light sound that sent an uneasy chill down my spine. “They never back down until someone makes them. I apologize for my son’s behaviour.”

Then she turned to me. “Congratulations, dear.”

Something wasn’t right.

I knew it in my bones. The way she accepted this so easily, how quickly she turned it into something to be celebrated. This was the same woman who had let her son marry me for financial security and a title when his heart clearly resides elsewhere. But it was not like there was anything I could do. Not here or now at least.

I forced a small smile. “Thank you.”

Brigid nodded, then turned to the room, lifting her hands slightly. “This is a night for celebration! On my first ball as hostess, we witness a young Luna meeting her fated mate. How rare is that?”

My mother moved through the crowd before I could even turn to find her. “Goddess,” she breathed, wrapping me in her arms. She smelled of jasmine and honey, familiar and safe. Her hold was warm, comforting, but my body was still locked in shock.

Brigid clapped her hands together. “A toast!”

The energy in the room shifted again. Servants moved quickly, weaving through the crowd, handing out crystal glasses of wine. Darragh looked just as confused. A glass was placed in his hand before he had time to think about it regardless.

Brigid took two herself, turning toward my mother and me. “To the O’Callahans.”

She then handed my mother a glass, then me.

I lifted the glass, my fingers tight around the stem, the cold pressing against my skin.

The crowd raised their glasses. “Cheers!”

I was still caught in the moment, my mind racing through everything that had just happened, the bond, Darragh’s claim, Brigid’s reaction. None of it made sense.

I lifted the glass to my lips, ready to take a sip, when a warm hand gently wrapped around the wrist that had the flute.

I froze.

Darragh.

I blinked up at him, confused, but he didn’t say anything. His fingers didn’t tighten. He didn’t yank the glass away. Just a soft but firm hold, stopping me. His face was unreadable, but his attention wasn’t on me.

It was on Brigid.

I followed his gaze.

Her lips twitched, just barely. A single flicker.

I might have missed it if I weren’t looking.

My stomach clenched.

Darragh had noticed before I had.

I lowered the glass slowly, pulse pounding in my ears.

Brigid’s expression smoothed out, and she turned to the rest of the room, her lips pressing into a pleased smile.

I looked back at Darragh, my breath caught in my throat. The thought on his mind was horrible. I looked back into the fizzy champagne.

Did Darragh really believe that she just tried to—?

No.

No, I couldn’t think about it here. Not in front of all these people. There was no way Brigid would try to poison me. No… That couldn’t be it. But Ronan had tried to give me a drink and his mother shortly just did the same thing. That could not be a coincidence. Especially when the scent of suspicion kept burning from Darragh right into my soul. He did not trust them. Not one bit.

Brigid’s voice carried across the room again, jarring me right out of my train of thoughts. “Let us all enjoy the rest of the night!”

The conversations started back up, music resuming as the tension in the air loosened, but my grip on the glass never did.

Darragh finally let go of my wrist, but his fingers lingered for just a second longer before he pulled away. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I suggest you do not drink that.”

I nodded, trying to swallow the nausea crawling up my throat. But I had to ask. “Why?”

Darragh exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking once more toward Brigid before settling back on me. “Because you are terrified of them.” His voice was too even, too calm, like he already knew the answer. “And if you tell me why, I’ll tell you why I don’t trust them either.”

My stomach twisted. I forced myself to breathe, to keep my face blank. I should walk away. I should end this conversation now.

Instead, I said, “I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

Darragh tilted his head, watching me like I was a puzzle he intended to solve. “Try me.”

A laugh escaped before I could stop it, soft and humorless. But it was the wrong move. The moment I let my guard slip, I felt it.

A stare.

I turned my head slightly, my fingers still curled around the untouched drink.

Ronan.

He stood near the entrance of the ballroom, his face unreadable, but his focus locked on me. Or rather, on the glass in my hand.

My heart picked up speed.

I knew that look. Calculating. Waiting.

I lifted the champagne flute slightly, letting the golden liquid catch the light, like I was toasting to something. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes tracked the motion.

A challenge.

My pulse pounded as an idea formed.

I turned back to Darragh, meeting his sharp blue gaze. “Dance with me.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t dance.”

I smirked. “O’Donoghue looks like he’ll take a chance with me.”

Then, before I could second-guess myself, I raised a hand and waved.

Straight at Ronan.

His eyes flashed with something dark.

Darragh inhaled sharply. “You are terrified of him.”

I turned back to Darragh and forced another small smile. “That’s the point.”

His jaw tightened.

“You seem like the protective type,” I continued, lifting the glass again, watching Ronan’s gaze track my every move. I tilted my head, lowering my voice just enough that only Darragh would hear me. “And I’m just a damsel in distress.”

Darragh exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You are different than I remember.”

I froze.

The room felt too loud all of a sudden, the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses all crashing around me like a wave.

I swallowed. “We’ve met before?”

Darragh’s gaze lingered on me, like he was debating what to say next.

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Then, finally, he said, “Yes.”

Sure. There was some truth to that. Even if he did not know in this life. But this timeline was before I met Alpha Darragh. I stared at Darragh, searching my mind for a memory that certainly didn’t exist. “We’ve met before?”

His expression didn’t shift, but there was something behind his eyes. Something he wasn’t saying.

“Yes,” he said simply.

My heart gave a small, uncertain thud. “You’re not the kind of person I’d forget.” My voice was quieter than I intended, but the words felt true. There was something about him, something steady and grounded. I would have remembered.

I lifted my chin. “When did we meet?”

Darragh didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached forward and took the champagne flute from my fingers, the warmth of his skin brushing against mine for a second too long. Then, without looking, without hesitating, he let the glass slip from his hand.

The delicate crystal shattered against the marble floor, the golden liquid pooling at our feet.

A few people turned at the sound, but Darragh didn’t care. His gaze stayed on me, unwavering.

“Ooops. Dance with me,” he said.

I flushed.

Everything was moving too fast. The bond. The attention. This shift in the night I had once thought I knew so well.

And yet, I didn’t pull away.

A part of me told me I should have. I should have told him no, should have walked away, should have done anything but what I did next.

Instead, I let out a small, breathless laugh, shaking my head at myself. What did it matter anymore? I had been given a second chance. A fresh start. Did it really matter if I let one dance change the course of everything?

A part of me still wondered if Darragh was actually a good man. I had never had a reason to doubt him before, but I had never had a reason to trust him either.

But what harm could a dance do?