Chapter 27 I stare at the calendar, the app on my phone that tracks my cycles. Not pregnant. My heart sinks, heavy and low. Why did I think it would happen the first month? That I could just will a baby into existence, manifest it, like it was magic, and everything would neatly fall into place. That somehow, this chaos could alchemize into something whole and new. No. That's not how this works. Life doesn't bend to dreams. It's not a fairy tale. But I don't cry. I don't even feel the sting of tears. I just sit on the edge of the bed, staring down at my phone like it's a verdict. A sentence. Another month of trying. Another month of hope unraveled. Another month of trying to be perfect. Another month of trying to keep the peace with my own body, trying to soothe the ache of being too much and not enough at once. I shake my head, the motion small, bitter. I can almost hear Yana in my head, her voice dry and sharp. "Stop trying to be the one who holds everything together. Just let it go. Things will sort themselves out." But I can't. I don't. Because I let myself hope. I let the dream in, for just a breath, that maybe... maybe I could be more than the burden. Little Zoya, whom everyone had to shield and protect and manage. Maybe this time, I could be the one who changed things for the better, rather than serving a cup of tea and a hot biscuit. Maybe this centuries-old war between our families could end... with me. I walk to the bathroom, my steps slow and silent. I feel Seamus behind me. I pick up my toothbrush and begin to brush my teeth, trying to ignore the weight of his presence. But I see his eyes flicker to my phone, to the mark on the app. He sees it. The little red drop. "Your period started?" I nod. He nods back, then turns away. Just like that. It's the silence that lands hardest. Have I let him down? He's been distant since yesterday. Cold. Not cruel, just... gone. He barely touched me. When I asked what was wrong, he wouldn't tell me. I don't like this. This not-knowing. This shift. He leaves the room without a word, and I feel it like a slap. The sting of failure, low in my belly. I'm not stupid. I know what pregnancy would've meant. It would've been a tether. A bridge. A reason. It would've proved this was more than obsession and madness and forced proximity. That there was something real, something secret and blooming beneath it all. Without it... what am I? A hostage. A complication too dangerous to set free. A liability. But then, why did he look almost relieved? Why did his shoulders sink, his jaw unclench, as if a burden had been lifted? He's relieved I'm not pregnant. Why? I wrap my arms around myself, aching. And I follow him. It's late afternoon. The sky's dipped in gold, the kind of light that clings to your skin and makes the world feel too sharp, too vivid. The cliffs stretch out wide before us, open and wild. My god, it's gorgeous. And I hate how much I love it here. It makes me feel like a traitor. Like I've traded in Moscow. Like this place has worked its way under my skin, and I've denied who I am. I hate that I love walking beside him, even when the silence between us feels heavy with all the things we're not saying. He glances over his shoulder at me, then reaches out a hand. And I take it. Quietly. We don't speak as we walk. Just the sound of gravel crunching beneath our boots and the distant cries of gulls overhead. "I'm sorry, little Zoya," he murmurs. "My sweet lass." I don't ask what he's sorry for. I already know. Sorry for the distance. Sorry for dragging me into this storm. Sorry it's all so tangled, so damn complicated. I feel eyes on me. Cold. Measuring. When I turn, I catch the flick of a curtain in the window behind us. Kyla. She's always watching. "She doesn't like me," I say softly. "Why?" He doesn't look at me. "I suspect she reports to Branson." My stomach twists. "And you let her?" "I don't have a choice," he bites out. "Not now that he's back. There are eyes and ears everywhere, Zoya. One wrong breath and it all goes back to him." "I don't understand," I whisper. "Why doesn't your father believe you, Seamus? After everything?" "I was close," he says, his eyes shadowed. "So bloody close. He was just beginning to trust me again." He pulls his hand from mine and shoves both into his coat pockets. The absence is sharp. It feels like rejection. "Taking you... they didn't understand. My family didn't. And maybe now, I don't either." He stops himself, then shakes his head and doesn't finish. I frown. "But why Branson? Why him?" "When I was a child," Seamus says, "he saved my father's life. He's earned my father's loyalty. And my father, he wants the easier truth. That Branson isn't a threat. That I'm just young and naive." It stings, hearing him call himself young. He's nearly a generation older than me. "But wasn't your father your age when he took the throne?" "Aye," he says. "Because his father died." His gaze drifts out over the waves. "And I would've had it. I would've had his trust. But then Branson showed evidence, you and me. Moscow. Us sneaking around. And just like that, I lost every ounce of credibility I'd built." "Oh god," I breathe out, shaking my head. "Let's go. Please, Seamus. We can still run." I've been thinking about it for days. Obsessing. Whispering it into the dark when he's asleep beside me. "We can leave tonight," I say. "Take a car, drive away, just keep going. Disappear. Just you and me. We don't need this. We could become nothing, no names. Just... free." He stops walking and slowly turns. "Run where, Zoya?" "Anywhere." "There's nowhere he won't find me," he says. "You don't understand." "I do." "No." He cuts me off. "If I go now, I hand over every man who's ever followed me. I hand over my brothers and sisters. My father. Everyone. To that traitor." His jaw clenches. "If I run, it's over." He sighs. "I'm sorry." And I know he means it. "I wish we could," he says, his fingers lacing through mine. We walk until we reach the edge of the cliff. The drop is steep. The sea below, wild and endless. A thousand shades of blue and green and black. He sits. I follow, my knees pulled to my chest. The wind catches my hair and tangles it, but I don't care. "It's beautiful," I say, almost reverent. He pulls a bottle of Guinness from his coat and holds it out. "'Tis. Fancy a drink?" I arch a brow. "Now?" He winks, but there's sorrow behind it. "It's not drugged, lass." I snort. Then I take a sip... and grimace. He chuckles. "Too strong?" "No," I say. "I was raised on vodka." He gives me a crooked smile. "Fair." The silence stretches, but now it feels a little softer. "Do you ever swim down there?" I ask. "Aye. Even this time of year. It's cold but clear. Gorgeous." "You ever jump off the cliff?" "When we were lads. My father nearly murdered us when he found out. But the water's deep. You can make the jump if you know how." "I used to swim too," I tell him. "Back home. There was a lake near our summer house. I'd sneak out before dawn. Dive in while the world was still asleep." "Of course you did," he says, teasing. "Little brat." I laugh. "Like your father, Rafail wasn't too happy when he found out." His expression softens. And for a moment, there's something in his eyes I can't name. "I loved it," I whisper. "Being under the water. Quiet. Moving without thought. It felt free. Like I could be anyone. I used to pretend I was a mermaid." "Do you still swim?" he asks. I nod. "Not like I did when I was younger, but I can." He looks out at the water like it's whispering something to him that I can't hear. "I reached out to my family again," I say softly. "They haven't responded." I see his shoulders stiffen. "Not even Rodion," I add. "Not one word." "They think you're here against your will, love," he tells me softly. I look at him, my chest tightening. "Why doesn't anybody ever believe me?" I whisper. "It's frustrating... being the youngest." He sighs. "It's frustrating being the oldest." I glance away, and his voice follows. "Because you're the peacekeeper, Zoya," he says gently. Then even softer, "They think you're still the good girl, trying to make things right." "God, I know, but I'm not, and I can't." I swallow. "Just now, I was frustrated with myself for not being pregnant. Can you even imagine that?" I shake my head. "Being mad at yourself for something like that. Like children are puzzle pieces to fill a void." "They're not," he murmurs. "Don't be so hard on yourself." I swallow and lean back against him. The silence settles over us while he sips his drink, and I take a pass. He slips an arm around me, and when I shiver, he says nothing, just shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over me. It's warm and smells like him. "I just wish they would all understand. Listen." "It's more complicated than that, isn't it, love?" he says. "Way more complicated. I'm sorry you're stuck in the middle of all this. But I'm not sorry I married you. Goddammit, I'm not." I turn and meet his gaze. His blue eyes burn, cheeks flushed with heat and heartbreak. "I'm not either," I tell him honestly. He cups my cheek in his palm. "You're my good girl," he says. "And nobody's going to take that away. Do you understand me?" I nod, my throat tight. "Listen to me, lass. No matter what happens, no matter what, you need to trust me. You need to know that I love you. Do you understand?" "Yes," I say, my breath catching. "Yes, I do." I reach for him. "And I love you, Seamus. Please... tell me what happens next." "I wish I could," he whispers. "Would you hurt me?" I ask quietly. He hesitates. "I'm afraid even the rocks have eyes and ears now that Branson's here. He's going to try to kill me, you know." "What?" "He'll make it look like an accident," Seamus says with weight. "That's how he works. He wouldn't dare kill me outright. My father would never forgive him, but an accident? That, he can do." "What are you going to do?" "I have a plan," he says softly. "Like I said. You have to trust me. Will you?" "Okay," I whisper. "I trust you. Let's head in. It's getting late." He kisses my cheek. "I love this dress on you, love." I smile. "You like everything you pick out for me?" He shrugs, even though his eyes are sad. "What can I say?" He tugs a lock of my hair. "I have good taste." The family's seated for a late dinner. Seamus pulls out my chair without looking at me. We eat in silence. I barely taste anything. Caitlin tries to speak, to make something of the stillness, but finally gives up. Seamus won't look at me. He's gone stone-cold. The man from outside, who held me, who asked me to trust him, feels like someone I imagined. He clears the dishes like a machine. I follow him. "What's wrong?" I ask. His jaw ticks. "I think you should go upstairs, Zoya. Go to bed. I don't want to talk right now." I blink. What? I linger, staring, hoping something in him will soften. Finally, I go upstairs. My chest is a knot. I try to read but can't stay focused. But I don't sleep. I wander the house, then slip out the back door. The sea air is bitter. Outside, the cliffside is slick with salt and spray. The ocean yawns black and endless below. And then, I see them. Branson, standing at the edge. Ashland, beside him. No Seamus. "You there," Branson barks. "What are you doing out here alone? Does your husband know?" I don't answer. Ashland's voice snaps like a whip. "Speak when you're spoken to, lass. Don't you fucking walk away." I hear heavy footsteps behind me. Seamus. He takes me in with one glance, then he looks to Branson and Ash. The setting sun throws shadows across his face. "Zoya." His voice is low, a warning. "Why do they hate me?" I whisper. "You know why," he says. "You shouldn't be here." I am over the coldness. "I'm not leaving." He steps closer. But the cold in the air shifts, becomes something else. It's in him. In his eyes. They're empty. Shuttered. Dead. "You disobeyed me," he says. His hand closes around my arm, tightly. It hurts. And he walks me toward them. Toward Branson. Toward Ashland. What the hell is he doing? "I told you to go inside," he says. "You disobeyed. So I can punish you right here." This isn't like before. This isn't play. This isn't him. "Seamus," I plead. "No, you can't⁠-" He doesn't stop. "Did you really think this was all about you? That you could do whatever you wanted?" He waits for me to answer. But I can't. I'm frozen. I can't speak. "You know why you're here," he says sharply. "You were convenient." His mouth twists, and he doesn't meet my eyes. "I don't need you anymore, Zoya. You can't even give me a child." The words are like a fist. I suck in a breath. "Seamus... you're lying. This isn't you. What are you doing?" He steps closer. Drops his voice. "No, Zoya. This is me. You just fell for a fantasy. You fell in love with what you wanted me to be." "Why are you saying this?" I whisper. "Seamus⁠-" But then I remember what he said. Trust me. No matter what happens. But I can't. I can't. "This is over," he says. "I must choose loyalty to my family." "What?" My voice breaks. "What are you⁠-?" We're at the edge of the cliff now. The wind howls. My feet slip on wet stone. "Your family doesn't want you anymore," he says, leaning in. "You betrayed them." His breath touches my cheek. "And I don't want you anymore either. I used you to get to them. Now that I have access, this is over. I'm a McCarthy... loyalty to blood comes first, regardless of what you think this charade was about, regardless of what you want or how you feel about me." Then his hands are on my shoulders. And suddenly, I'm teetering. I blink, trying to wake myself from this horrid dream, but it's real, and it's all happening too fast. For one wild second, when he leans in close to me, I think he's going to kiss me, that this is all some nightmare, and I'll blink and wake up. That he'll say sorry. But he doesn't. He pushes. And the world rushes by me as I plummet downward. Sky, sea, and screams blur together. The icy mouth of the dark Irish Sea swallows me whole. A Fated Encounter movie summary talks about Emma Brown who is forced by her father Henry to take her sister Bella's place and marry Tommy Anderson to save her business. Unlike the rumor Tommy turns ou...