All Chapters of The Heiress & Her Scottish Mafia Twins: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Eilidh POVThe moment I said the words...I’m not going anywhere...the twins looked at me like I’d just walked out of the clouds in a halo and a fuckin’ wedding dress. Keiran’s jaw clenched like he was holding back a damn sob, and Callum blinked like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like I was a goddess who’d just forgiven their bloody sins and handed them a second chance.And I had. Maybe it was dumb. Maybe it was reckless. But goddamn it, it felt right. I didn't give a fuck what anyone else thought anymore. This is my fucking life. These two walked into my life like a hurricane and never once hesitated to rip the roof off if it meant keeping me safe. They didn’t flinch when Cole showed up screaming in the streets like a rejected soap opera villain. They stood their ground and made it very clear that I wasn’t someone to fuck with anymore.They were upfront. Raw. Brutal with the truth. They had told me everything and kept no secrets. And fuck, I needed that. No more walking on eggshells

Eilidh POVLater That Night I didn’t even realize I was nodding off on the couch until warm arms lifted me like I weighed nothing. Callum’s scent hit me first, leather, clove, and something sharp like steel. Keiran was beside us instantly, his hand brushing the hair off my forehead as he guided me down the hall. “We’ve got ye, bonnie,” Keiran whispered. “Let us take care of ye now.”They carried me like I was precious. I wasn’t used to that. Wasn’t used to any of this. The bedroom was dim and warm, the sheets were pulled back like they’d already prepped the space for us. For me. Callum laid me down gently, like I might break. Keiran sat beside me, brushing his thumb along my cheek, the softest goddamn look in his eyes. “I don’t deserve this,” I whispered, blinking up at them.“Neither do we,” Callum said roughly, his voice cracking around the edges. “But ye gave it to us anyway.” I reached for their hands and found them instantly. One in each of mine. Strong, callused and steady. “I

Callum POVWe were loungin’ in the bloody penthouse, post news chaos, feelin’ like kings with crowns made of karma, when Eilidh’s phone lit up on the table. Blocked number. We all paused, our instincts pricked sharp like a wolf catching wind of a weak, desperate bastard.It rang again. She raised a brow and slid it toward me. “Answer it, love. Let’s see what circus act’s next.” I hit the speaker button. “Ellie? Ellie, baby, please, let’s just talk.”My entire body went stiff at the sound of that slimy fuck’s voice. Cole fucking Harrington. He sounded wrecked. Desperate. Like a worm who just realized the pavement’s drying up around him and the crows are circling.“I heard what happened, I saw the news. Those men are dangerous, someone tried to kill you. You need to get away from them, come back to me, I can protect you. Please, I still love you, Ellie.”Eilidh burst into laughter. Not just a little snort, oh no, proper doubled over, fuck you..... you delusional toenail kind of laughter

Eilidh POVPacking to flee the country because your psycho ex tried to kill you wasn't exactly the dream aesthetic.....but damn if I wasn't going to do it in style.I'd hired The top rated luxury moving service in LA. Like, the kind of team who showed up in black polos with white gloves and whispered reverently when they wrapped my grand piano like it was a newborn. Each piece of furniture was getting the VIP treatment, custom crates, climate controlled trucks, and their own personal security tracker. My wine fridge didn't even get that kind of attention."I swear tae God," Rory muttered as one of the movers polished the legs of my antique dining table before loading it, "if they handled me with that much care, I'd marry them.""You're not my type," the mover deadpanned without missing a beat.Cat and I sat curled up on the couch with our laptops, online shopping like possessed fashion demons while sipping espresso. Scotland was colder than LA, and our current wardrobes screamed 'Cali

Eilidh POVThe jet wheels touched down with a soft thrum on the private airstrip just outside the estate, and every single man on board pressed their faces to the windows like overgrown toddlers on Christmas.And fuck...I couldn’t blame them. Because just past the trees, misty and majestic, stood our castle. Not manor. Not estate. A whole ass, goddamn Scottish castle.Complete with a moat. An actual fucking moat. Who even has those anymore? Me, apparently. Me and fucking Dracula.As we disembarked and climbed into the black SUVs waiting on the tarmac, the chatter was a full symphony of holy shites and this cannae be real. Rory was filming like a tourist. Declan was already googling “how to get knighted.” The twins were unusually quiet… until we rounded the final curve.And there she was.A towering fortress of weathered stone and ivy covered turrets, with four wings that stretched like arms around a central cobbled courtyard. The reflection of the castle shimmered in a nearby private