Oh to be loved

2

The night was cold and silent as Amara stood outside the small flat she and Malik had shared since arriving in Dublin. The soft click of the door closing behind her brother felt like an exclamation mark on the decision she had just made. Malik hadn't said much on the way home, only muttering an apology that she half-heartedly accepted. His guilt weighed heavy on him, but Amara's thoughts were elsewhere—on the man she had just made a deal with.

*One month,* she reminded herself. *Thirty days, then it's over.*

But as she replayed the events at O'Malley's, something gnawed at her. Cillian O'Rourke was not the kind of man you could walk away from so easily. She had seen it in his eyes—those cold, calculating blue eyes that seemed to look right through her. He wasn't just dangerous. He was the kind of man who could ruin lives without blinking, and yet, for reasons she couldn't fully explain, she hadn't been scared of him. Not in the way she should have been.

"You're really going to do this?" Malik's voice broke through her thoughts. He stood in the doorway, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his dark eyes filled with regret and concern. "You don't have to, Amara. I'll figure something out. I got myself into this mess, I can get myself out."

Amara crossed her arms, giving him a look that said she didn't believe a word of it. "And how exactly do you plan to do that, Malik? You think O'Rourke's going to just let you walk away? This isn't the States. You're dealing with real criminals here."

"I know that!" Malik snapped, running a hand over his face in frustration. "I was trying to help us. Dublin's expensive, and I thought—"

"You thought getting involved with the Irish mob was a good idea?" Amara cut in, her voice rising. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Getting angry at Malik wouldn't solve anything now. "It's done. I'll go through with it, and when the month's over, we'll be free of this."

Malik looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and guilt. "But what about you? What if something happens?"

"I'll be fine." The lie rolled off her tongue easily, but even as she said it, Amara wasn't sure she believed it herself. Still, there was no turning back now. "I just need you to stay out of trouble, okay? Don't make this worse."

Malik nodded reluctantly. "I'll figure something out. Maybe we can leave Dublin, go back to the States."

Amara gave him a small, tired smile. "One thing at a time, Malik. Right now, I need to focus on getting through this."

They stood there for a moment, the weight of their situation settling between them like a stone. Malik finally turned and disappeared back into the flat, leaving Amara alone in the cold night.

She stared up at the dark sky, a sense of unease creeping over her. She had faced challenges before, but nothing like this. Nothing that felt so... dangerous. And yet, some part of her—some deep, buried part—was intrigued by the prospect of facing Cillian O'Rourke again.

---

The next evening, Amara found herself standing outside a large, intimidating stone house in the outskirts of Dublin. Cillian's home. It looked more like a fortress than a residence, with high walls and wrought iron gates. The cold wind whipped at her coat as she hesitated, clutching the small overnight bag she had packed.

A month. That was the deal. She had no idea what to expect, no idea what Cillian wanted from her, but she had no choice. For Malik's sake, she had to see this through.

Taking a deep breath, Amara pressed the intercom button by the gate. A few seconds later, the gates creaked open with an ominous slowness. She stepped through, walking up the gravel driveway toward the house, her heart thudding in her chest.

When she reached the front door, it opened before she could knock. A man—tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar running down the side of his face—stood in the doorway. His eyes were sharp, assessing her with a quick glance.

"You must be Amara," he said, his voice gruff. "I'm Declan. Mr. O'Rourke's expecting you."

She nodded, gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she stepped inside. The interior of the house was just as imposing as the exterior—dark wood paneling, high ceilings, and an air of cold detachment that seemed to seep into her bones. This was not a place where warmth lived.

Declan led her through a long hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Amara's mind raced with questions. What did Cillian want with her? Why had he agreed to this strange arrangement?

They finally reached a large study at the end of the hall. Declan opened the door, gesturing for her to enter.

Cillian was seated behind a massive oak desk, his pale blue eyes lifting to meet hers the moment she stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows over his sharp features. He looked as cold and untouchable as ever, his presence filling the room with an almost suffocating intensity.

"Miss Johnson," Cillian said, his voice low and smooth. "I'm glad you decided to honor our arrangement."

Amara set her bag down by the door, meeting his gaze with as much steadiness as she could muster. "I didn't have much of a choice."

Cillian's lips quirked into a slight smirk. "No, I suppose you didn't."

He stood, walking around the desk with a measured, almost predatory grace. "But let's make one thing clear, Amara. I don't tolerate disobedience. You're here because you made a deal. Thirty days. During that time, you'll do as I say."

Amara's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. "What exactly do you expect from me?"

Cillian tilted his head slightly, as if amused by her defiance. "For now, I expect you to stay out of trouble. I have business to attend to, and I don't have time to babysit. But there are rules, and you will follow them. Understand?"

Amara nodded, though every fiber of her being wanted to push back against the control he was trying to exert. But she couldn't afford to make things worse, not when Malik's life hung in the balance.

Cillian studied her for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on her with a strange intensity that made her skin prickle. Then he turned and walked back to his desk, sitting down as if the conversation was already over.

"You can make yourself at home," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Declan will show you to your room."

Amara hesitated for a moment, then turned to leave. As she reached the door, she glanced back at Cillian. He was already immersed in some paperwork, as if she was no more than a passing thought. But something about his presence lingered, a weight that pressed on her even after she left the room.

Declan was waiting for her outside the study, his expression unreadable as he led her up a grand staircase to the second floor. They walked in silence, the tension between them palpable.

Finally, Declan stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. He opened it, revealing a spacious bedroom that was far more luxurious than she had expected. A large bed with plush, white linens, a fireplace flickering in the corner, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the dark, windswept grounds.

"This will be your room," Declan said gruffly. "If you need anything, there's a phone on the desk. But don't wander the house without permission. Understood?"

Amara nodded, stepping inside. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving her alone in the large, unfamiliar space. She dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, her mind racing.

What had she gotten herself into?

As she stared out the window at the inky blackness beyond, she couldn't shake the feeling that this house—this man—was a trap. But it was too late to turn back now.

She was in the lion's den. And for the next thirty days, she had to figure out how to survive it.
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anywho that's chapter 2 let me know how you like it so far