Destined

Chapter Two

Oisín

Beautiful.

God, she's so fucking beautiful. Obsession was an understatement for what I felt for her. I'd kill for her. I'd burn down the entire world for her if she ever asked me to. I wonder if she knew of her effortless beauty that had me falling so deep under her trance.

Such simple beauty, yet here I was, on my fucking knees. Her little ringlets swayed left and right with her movement, and her bangs were constantly in her face, which she brushed away a million times during the day. Her fingers were so dainty, so soft, so graceful.

God, so delicate.

Her lips were pinker than pink and sensual whenever she bit down on them—a tactic she did too much. I wanted to be the one biting her lips, the only one tasting her mouth and tongue. Infatuation wasn't my color, nor stalking, but this woman made it my color.

Her eyes sparkled like embers, bringing back memories of nights spent by the fire. They were a mixture of brown and green, and the way they looked underneath the sun was bewitching. I stayed watching from afar, always from afar.

Absentmindedly, I ran my fingers over my knuckles where her name was tattooed. On my right was Elena, and on my left hand was my daughter's name. I had gotten it inked from the very first moment I spotted her, from the very first day I fell into my maddening fixation with her.

She baked and worked in the little café, and usually, she had such spunk, joy shining in her eyes, and a glow over her face, but not lately. Lately, she lacked it all. I ached to know who hurt her, who upset her, and I craved to make her smile and laugh.

I wanted to kill whoever hurt her, whoever dared to bring her so down and make her so blue. I didn't like it. I hated seeing her so upset. It killed me. I sighed as I watched her place the pink cupcake in the box, tie it up, and place it in my daughter's hand.

She gave her a small, sweet smile that didn't reach her face, and then my little girl left the bakery. The beauty waved back, and then my daughter skipped toward me. I opened the door, and one of my men helped her inside.

I had Aofie when I was forty years old with my first wife. My six-year-old daughter was the only blessing from my first marriage, and my love for my girl could fill up oceans. She's my world and means everything to me.

It didn't matter that she was the spitting image of her mom. She was my girl, and I'd protect her with my life. Her dark hair was in two long braids with her bangs parted to the sides, and she was in one of her many, many, many dresses.

Her light brown eyes shined as she smiled at me. She had the same charming smile as her mother, but the only difference was that only Aofie's smile had me wrapped around her finger.

"Daid, look what I got." She flashed me her cupcake box.

"I saw, mo chailín milis. Did you see your friend?"

Her nose wrinkled as she set the box on her lap. "Elena?"

"Yes."

"I did. I like her. She's nice to me, but she wasn't happy today." She murmured.

"Why do you say that mo chailín milis?"

"She was crying when we walked in." She played with the box in her lap.

My heart cracked. "She was crying?"

"Yes."

I stayed quiet the rest of the ride home, but my entire being felt like it was wound up too tight. I didn't want to express my anger in front of my daughter. I never wanted her to see this part of me or any other scary or menacing part of me. I wanted to keep her innocent for the rest of her life. Once we reached the house, I helped her out of the car and kept my hand on her shoulder as I guided her inside.