Page 35 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

It felt like something was there, something unsaid. I saw the moment Maeve understood that I hadn’t reacted emotionally or defensively.

I was just assessing the situation, reading her words and filtering the information. My gaze dropped briefly to the files in her hands again. She gripped the files tighter, as if my look could take them from her.

“You’re framing this like you’re being punished,” I finally said.

“Because it’s true. I’m being contained.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I watched her carefully. My gaze shifted slightly as I thought about what she wanted from this.

I already knew that Maeve wasn’t telling me everything. The question was how much she was hiding, and why. Maeve lifted her chin a bit.

She looked defiant now, angry, and tired. “Then tell me,” she said.

“Tell you what?”

Her laugh was sharp and unamused. “You know what.” I stayed quiet, and Maeve shook her head. “No. I’m serious,” she said. She held up the files. “What’s happening here, Sean?”

I looked at her in silence. She took a step closer to me. For most people it would have looked brave, but for Maeve it was frustration finally boiling over.

“I don’t care about guards following me around anymore. I don’t care about whatever game everybody keeps pretending isn’t happening around me.” Her voice cracked a bit before getting harder. “I want answers for why I’m part of it.”

The room was silent. Rain tapped softly against the windows. Maeve’s eyes locked onto mine, determined to never let go of this. She looked like she was searching for something in my soul.

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect you,” she said quietly. Her words were surprisingly honest. “I wasn’t trying to undermine you. I was trying to understand why I’m being treated like a prisoner.”

Something twisted in my chest, but I ignored it, and Maeve kept talking.

“You keep saying it’s for my safety,” she said.

“Because it is,” I responded automatically.

She laughed again, short and bitter. “That’s all I’ll ever get from you, isn’t it?” I didn’t respond. “It’s for your safety,” she said, her voice dropping into an imitation of mine. “Don’t ask questions. Don’t leave. Don’t worry about it.” Her eyes flashed. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

I did know what it felt like. That was part of the problem.

“You expect me to take your word for it, but trust doesn’t work like that.”

My jaw tightened. “Maeve—”

“No.” The word cut through the room. “No. You don’t get to shut this down.” The fire in her expression surprised me. Most people folded under pressure, but Maeve pushed harder. “If you want me here, then explain what you’re doing.”

I stared at her. She didn’t look away. “If you expect me to stay in this penthouse, follow your rules, and let your men watch every move I make, then explain what the hell is happening.”

A dangerous silence settled between us. Maeve ignored it. “Because if you don’t tell me…” She swallowed. “Then you lose the right…”

My eyes narrowed a bit. “The right to what?”

“To keep me here.” she said. The words landed heavily between us. Neither of us moved or looked way. “You don’t own me, Sean.” Her voice had become quieter. “You don’t get to make decisions for me.”

The anger had started to fade from her eyes, and something else sat underneath it—fear, loneliness, and exhaustion.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be afraid of,” she said. For the first time since I’d entered the room, I saw genuine hurt in her eyes. “And if nobody is willing to tell me the truth,” she continued softly, “then maybe I don’t care anymore.” A knot formed low in my stomach. Maeve looked away briefly before meeting my gaze. The words were reckless, but I knew she meant them. “Maybe I don’t care what happens to my dad.”

My entire body went still. “Maeve…”

“And maybe,” she continued, her voice trembling now, “I don’t care what happens to me.”

That got my attention immediately. Every instinct I possessed focused on her at once.