Chapter 7

AIDEN

“I want the keys to your Aston Martin for the weekend,” Cillian said before he’d even closed the door, his voice cutting through the silence of my office. He skipped pleasantries; that wasn't his style. He was always direct, a battering ram of smug energy.

He waved the file before seating himself opposite me, making himself comfortable as if he owned the place. It didn't matter that it was my space—Cillian always commandeered any room. That was his charm, I supposed. I'd asked him to gather details on Freya and thoroughly investigate her boyfriend. Even the thought of another man with her left a bitter aftertaste, curdling in my stomach the longer I considered it.

“How about I run you over with it?” I offered dryly, anticipating his grin. It was there in his eyes—a mischievous glint that made him seem younger, though he was only a few years my junior.

He wasn't short of luxury cars. Cillian never lacked life's finer things. He didn't need my car. He asked for it solely to annoy me, to push my buttons. It was a limited-edition model, painstakingly acquired, and I'd never let anyone else drive it. That's why he used it as payment for his services.

“Nothing comes for free, brother.” He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head, the grin still fixed on his face. God, he was infuriating. But that was our dynamic: him pushing, me resisting—a constant tug-of-war.

“I agreed to the dinner, didn’t I?” Even mentioning it left a bad taste in my mouth, like biting into something spoiled. I avoided my family like the plague—the pretense, forced smiles, and small talk that danced around the chasm between us.

But then there was Cillian. He was hellbent on reuniting us at least twice a year, dragging me back into the fold like an overzealous shepherd. It made me want to kill him. But I couldn't. He was my only remaining family—the only family I cared about.

“Fair enough!” He nodded, finally relinquishing the file he’d been brandishing like a victory flag.

I stared at the cover before opening it.

Freya Wilson Thirty years old. Five years younger than me. Not bad. It explained her youthful vitality. Even through my jealousy, I could admit that.

Owns a bakery—Meringue.

I had to suppress a smile. I imagined her in a white apron, hair messily tied up, flour on her face as she decorated a cake. Her lips would purse in concentration, then she'd step back, admiring her creation with that small smile I'd seen her give when she thought no one was watching. The image was oddly domestic, far removed from my world, but it warmed something inside me I didn’t realize had grown cold.

But the amusement died, snuffed out like a candle flame, with the next piece of information:

Freya has a daughter.

I stared at the words, feeling a sudden weight in my stomach. Noah. That had to mean Noah was the father, right? My jaw tightened, my fingers gripping the file as if it could change the truth. If Noah was the father, this was over before it began. That would end all my plans, wouldn't it?

“Aww, big bro! Don’t cry. Judging by your face, you’ve reached that conclusion,” Cillian’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I glared at him; it only amused him more, his chuckle grating on my nerves. Siblings thrived on each other's distress.

“Noah’s not the father,” Cillian said after letting me stew for a few seconds.

My head snapped up. Did I hear that right? I scanned his expression, searching for a joke, but found none. He was serious.

“Then who is it?” I asked, my voice lower, more controlled now that hope had been rekindled.

Chapter 7 (continued)

Cillian shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that made me want to throttle him. “Didn’t find that. Didn’t dig too deep either. You told me not to.”

He was right. I had told him not to dig too deep. Freya was her own person, and there were lines I wasn’t willing to cross… yet.

But this… this I could live with. The father wasn’t important if he wasn’t actively involved. The hope that had been withering flared back to life, brighter than before.

I had the basics about her. The rest, I planned to find out from Freya herself. She wouldn’t make it easy—I sensed that already. But that was fine. I’d never backed down from a challenge. And this? This was one I intended to win. Noah didn’t stand a chance. Freya was miles out of his league, and deep down, I think she knew it too.

Seems like I’ll be visiting Meringue soon enough.