Oh to be loved

4

Amara lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling once again. The faint flicker of the fire was the only light in the room, casting shadows that danced across the walls. Sleep had eluded her since her encounter with Cillian in the library. She kept replaying their conversation, the intensity of his gaze, and the strange undercurrent of tension that had passed between them.

Cillian O'Rourke was playing a game, and she was the unwilling participant. But the rules were unclear, and she didn't know how to win—or if there was a way to win at all.

She turned over in the bed, frustration bubbling up inside her. She hated feeling this powerless, hated that her life—and Malik's—was in the hands of a man she couldn't read. One minute, he was cold and distant, the next he was almost... intrigued by her. It was disorienting, and it made her feel like she was constantly on edge.

With a sigh, she threw off the covers and sat up, rubbing her hands over her face. Maybe she just needed to clear her head. Staying in the room wasn't helping, and she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this place than Cillian was letting on.

A glance at the clock told her it was well past midnight. The house was silent, the kind of silence that seemed to stretch on forever, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. She slipped out of bed, pulling on a sweater to guard against the cold, and quietly opened the door.

The hallway was empty, as she expected. Even Declan, who seemed to always be nearby, was nowhere in sight. Amara hesitated for a moment, then stepped out, her footsteps soft on the polished wood floors. She had no destination in mind, but something pulled her forward, a need to explore the house that had become her prison.

As she wandered through the hallways, she passed rooms that were closed and locked, as they had been before. But this time, the house felt different—like it was holding secrets just out of her reach. There was a tension in the air, something she couldn't quite name.

She found herself back in the library before she realized it, drawn to the warmth of the fireplace and the quiet solitude of the space. The air smelled faintly of old leather and wood, the scent soothing in a way she hadn't expected. Amara stepped inside, her eyes scanning the shelves once again, this time more intentionally.

She couldn't stop thinking about the photograph she had found earlier. That image of a young Cillian had stayed with her, haunting her thoughts. Who was the man beside him? His father? A mentor? There was a story there, buried in the past, and she had the sense that understanding Cillian's history might help her survive the present.

Her fingers grazed the spines of the books, searching for the one she had found the photograph in. After a few moments, she located it and pulled it from the shelf. Carefully, she flipped through the pages again, her heart racing as she looked for the photograph.

But it was gone.

She frowned, her pulse quickening. Had someone taken it? Had Cillian found it after their encounter earlier? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. If he knew she had seen it, he hadn't said anything, but the idea that he might be aware of her curiosity unsettled her.

She closed the book and returned it to the shelf, her mind spinning with possibilities. What was Cillian hiding? What was he trying to protect?

Suddenly, a noise broke the silence—a faint sound, like footsteps in the distance. Amara tensed, her heart hammering in her chest. She quickly moved to the edge of the library, pressing herself against the wall as the sound grew louder. Someone was coming.

The footsteps approached, slow and measured, echoing down the hallway. Amara held her breath, fear crawling up her spine as she waited. Was it Cillian? Declan? Or someone else entirely?

The door to the library creaked open, and Amara's pulse spiked. She didn't dare move, hoping the shadows would conceal her. But then, the figure stepped inside, and the flicker of the firelight revealed a familiar face.

It was Cillian.

He didn't see her at first, his attention focused on the bookshelves. He was dressed in a simple black shirt and dark trousers, looking more relaxed than she had ever seen him, but still radiating that same cold control. His eyes scanned the room, as if he were looking for something—or someone.

Amara stayed perfectly still, watching him. His movements were careful, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. She wondered if he knew she was there, hiding in the shadows, or if he had come for another reason.

He stopped in front of the same bookshelf where she had found the photograph. His hand hovered over the books for a moment before he pulled one out—a different book, this time. He flipped it open, but instead of reading it, he seemed to be checking for something.

Amara's breath caught in her throat. Was this some kind of hidden cache? A secret he was guarding?

Cillian's eyes flickered toward the fire, and for a brief second, she thought she saw something in his expression—something almost vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar mask of cold indifference.

He stood there for a moment longer, then closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the library, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Amara didn't move until she was sure he was gone. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped out from the shadows, her mind racing with questions. What had he been looking for? Why was he so drawn to this room? And more importantly, what had she stumbled into?

She moved to the bookshelf where Cillian had stood and pulled the same book he had taken out. It was thick, with a leather cover, and she flipped it open, searching for anything unusual. But it was just a book. There were no hidden notes, no photographs.

But as she was about to close it, something caught her eye—something written in the margins of one of the pages. It was faint, as if someone had scribbled it there hastily, but the words were in Gaelic.

Amara didn't speak Gaelic, but she recognized the language enough to know what it was. She frowned, running her fingers over the words, trying to make sense of them. But before she could dwell on it further, she heard another noise—the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Cillian was back.

Her heart raced as she quickly returned the book to the shelf and slipped out of the library, moving as quietly as she could. She made her way back through the hallways, her footsteps light, her breath shallow. She had to get back to her room before anyone noticed she was gone.

When she finally reached her door, she slipped inside, shutting it softly behind her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she leaned against the door, trying to calm herself.

Whatever Cillian was hiding in this house, it was dangerous. And if she wasn't careful, she might find herself caught in the middle of something far worse than she had anticipated.

But one thing was becoming clear: if she wanted to survive these thirty days, she needed to learn the truth about Cillian O'Rourke. And that meant breaking the rules—even if it cost her.