After His Love Betrayal

I stood in the marble foyer of the Bryant estate, smoothing down the silk dress I'd chosen for today. Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of waiting, of hope, of letters written but never sent. My fingers traced the pendant at my throat—the one Cillian had given me before he left.

"He promised," I whispered to myself, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "When I return alive, I'll marry you in glory, never to part."

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed twice. Two o'clock. He was due home any minute.

I heard the crunch of tires on gravel, then the murmur of voices at the front door. My heart leaped as I turned toward the sound.

"Dad's assistant will show them in," I said to Elena, who stood beside me, her attorney's sharp eyes missing nothing. "I want to surprise him."

But the surprise was all mine.

The heavy oak doors swung open, and there he was—Cillian Scott. My Cillian. But not the man I remembered.

His once-immaculate appearance was gone. His suit hung loosely on his frame, wrinkled and stained. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a jagged scar ran along his jawline—a souvenir from places I couldn't imagine. But worse than his physical transformation was the look in his eyes. The warmth, the love I'd seen there for a decade—gone, replaced by something hollow and ashamed.

"Mira," he said, his voice rougher than I remembered.

I took a step forward, then froze.

A woman clung to his arm. She was young, perhaps twenty-five, with glossy black hair and wide, doe-like eyes. But what struck me most was her swollen belly, straining against the fabric of her simple dress.

"This is Daniella," Cillian said, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder. "She needs our protection."

---

Days blurred together as I pieced together the magnitude of Cillian's fall from grace.

"He's in debt to some very dangerous people," my father's assistant confided in me over coffee. "The FBI has cut all ties with him. His handler says the mission was a complete disaster."

I watched from the library window as Cillian escorted Daniella to the guest house. His hand rested protectively on her lower back as she waddled inside, one arm wrapped around her belly.

"Security concerns," he'd explained when he requested she stay on our property. "The people after her won't hesitate to use violence."

I found him in the rose garden three days later, staring at nothing.

"Ten years," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Ten years, Cillian. Did any of it mean anything?"

He turned slowly, his face a mask of exhaustion. "What we had was a fantasy, Mira. The mission showed me reality."

"And what's your reality now?" I demanded, gesturing toward the guest house where Daniella was visible through a window, arranging flowers in a vase.

"I can't abandon her and the baby," he said, his voice flat. "That would make me the monster everyone thinks