Page 104 of Ruthless Claim

He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re clearly exhausted, which is why you’re acting this way. Once you get some sleep, you’ll act more rationally.”

Okay, that enrages me and I take a step toward him. “Are you serious right now, Cillian? Are you seriously treating me like I’m some hysterical woman? Are you really treating me like I’m being unreasonable?” My hands are shaking and I ball them into fists. “You’ve been acting off for days. You take all your phone calls on the balcony. You sat in the dark watching me sleep and when I opened my eyes you looked—” I stop, reminding myself to breathe. “You looked guilty, Cillian. I saw your face before you fixed it. I know what I saw.”

Something moves quickly across his features before it’s gone and his face is of bored indifference again.

“You were half asleep,” he says.

“I was awake enough to know what I saw,” I snap, holding his gaze. “What is happening? Tell me right now.”

He closes his eyes in annoyance. “I already told you⁠—”

“You told me nothing!” The calm cracks. I feel it go, and the thing underneath it comes up hot and fast. I stop trying to hold it back. “You have given me nothing for days except the back of your head on a balcony and texts that say don’t wait up and I am done with it. I am done with the half-answers and the coldness and the—” I gesture at him, at the space between us, at everything the last several days have been. “You let me in. You actually let me in and now you’re doing this and I need to know why.”

“Nothing has changed, Valentina.”

“Everything has changed!” My voice cracks on the last word and I hate it, but I can’t get it back. “You’re not here. You’re physically here but emotionally you’re fucking checked out. I wake up sick nearly every morning and you’re not—” I stop, breathing hard. My eyes are stinging and I am furious about that too, furious at my own body for doing this right now. “You used to hold my hair back. Did you remember that? Did you notice that you stopped doing that?”

His jaw shifts and he looks away from me toward the window.

“The ginger tea,” I say shakily, my voice going quiet. I’ve moved past the hot part of the anger and hit despair. “The pregnancy book on your nightstand. The crackers on the counter every morning. You just…stopped. And you won’t tell me why and I’m trying to figure out if I did something or if you’re regretting the baby or if there’s someone⁠—”

“There is no one else.” He cuts across me fast and sharp, his eyes back on mine. His chest is heaving and there’s two bright spots on his cheeks. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” My voice breaks fully because I’m desperate to know. “I am going out of my mind here, Cillian, and you are treating me like I’m being hysterical and I am not hysterical! I am eight weeks pregnant and scared and you won’t talk to me!”

“I’m protecting you, dammit!” The words burst out of him, like he’s been holding them back. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m protecting you and the baby and if you could just trust me for five fucking minutes⁠—”

“Trust you?” I laugh nearly hysterically. “You want me to trust you while you go out to the balcony to take calls so I can’t hear them? While you’ve shut me out? That’s what trust looks like to you?”

He flushes. “That’s not—” He stops and drags a hand through his hair, the auburn strands going in all directions. “You don’t understand what’s happening⁠—”

“Because you won’t tell me!” I yell.

“Because I can’t!”

The words bounce off the walls. He’s breathing hard now, the control visibly fraying, his hands dropping to his sides with his fingers curled. The aloofness is completely gone and what’s underneath it is…fear. For a brief moment, his wild eyes are on mine and I can see it clearly.

He is terrified of something.

Then it closes back down.

“I can’t tell you,” he repeats, quieter, more controlled. “And as my wife, I need you to accept that.”

I stare at him.

“Accept it,” I repeat faintly. “You want me to accept that you’re keeping secrets from me and you won’t even tell me why and I’m just supposed to—what? Go to bed? Stop asking? Act as if none of this happened?”

“Yes.” His voice is flat. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

Something cold moves through me.

“Drop it, Valentina.” He holds my gaze. “I’ll handle it. Leave it alone.”

There it is. The wall. I can see it in the set of his mouth, the stillness of him, the way he’s looking at me like he’s already decided this conversation is finished and is waiting for me to catch up. This is the version of Cillian Brennan that Connor made. Closed, immovable, and absolutely certain that he knows best and everyone else should get in line.

I didn’t think he’d use it on me again. That was stupid of me.

“Don’t you dare,” I start shakily but the asshole interrupts me.