I lightly knock on the wooden door, listening out for permission before I enter.

"Come in!"

I quietly step inside, finding Eva asleep on the bed and Reaper lying next to her, eyes red raw. He goes to stand upon seeing me, immediately succumbing to his tears.

"Come here," I encourage, opening my arms for him.

He curls into me, sobbing into the crook of my neck.

"I'm so sorry," I say, lightly caressing his back.

He continues to cry for a further ten minutes before pulling back to wipe under his eyes.

"Why don't you take an hour to go shower and eat something," I suggest. "I'll stay with Eva."

He looks towards his girlfriend on the bed, hesitant to leave.

"You need to take care of yourself, Reap."

"Yeah, okay."

I smile.

"Come find me if she wakes up."

I nod and practically shove him out the door, climbing into bed with Eva shortly after. I simply stare at the ceiling for thirty minutes, interrupted when she stirs, voice thick with sleep.

"Where's Reaper?"

"I sent him away to shower and eat," I explain, removing the hairs sticking to her wet cheeks. "Do you need me to do anything?"

She shakes her head, resting her cheek on my shoulder.

"I have a confession," I state, gently stroking her hair.

"Hmm?"

"I slept with Torin last night."

She releases a small laugh.

"Sorry. I know he's your fiancé."

She looks up at me and smiles, genuinely amused. "Maybe now he won't be so grumpy all the time."

"I hardly think Torin's anger stems from not getting laid."

"I think that's exactly where it stems from," she argues, eyes brightening.

She goes to sit up and winces.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

She nods, holding her stomach. "Yeah. The doctor said it'll likely pass in a day."

I stare at her, in awe of her strength.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Eva."

She takes hold of my hand and squeezes, unable to respond vocally.

"If there's anything I can do..."

"Can you help me shower?" she asks. "And change into some fresh pyjamas."

I do exactly that, helping her walk towards the en suite bathroom. Once stripped, I sit myself on the edge of the bath and talk to her the entire time she washes. I then help her dry her hair and hold her when she breaks down, her sobs heart breaking.

"It doesn't feel real," she cries.

Somewhere amidst her distress, Reaper returns freshly showered with a bunch of flowers. Seeing this makes Eva cry even harder and I do my best to quietly slip out, giving the pair some much needed privacy. I'll check back in with them later. For now, I have responsibilities to uphold. A role to fulfil.

"Can you have Maeve for a few hours?" I ask, poking my head around Fiona's workstation.

She refuses to work in an actual office and insists the kitchen table does her just fine.

"Yeah, sure. Where are you going?"

I roll my eyes. "To play the devoted wife."

"How is Aidan?" she asks, mirroring my expression.

"Alive," I state, leaving it at that. "She's drawing in the living room. I've told her to come to you if she needs anything."

Fi nods, offering me a sympathetic smile. "Torin seems happy today."

"Oh, yeah?"

She smirks, throwing a balled-up piece of paper at my head. "Don't play dumb with me, bitch."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Imogen Murphy!"

"I'm leaving now!"

I quickly throw on some boots and head towards one of Torin's drivers, keen to escape Fiona's insinuating eye wiggle. I bribe Jason—my driver—with a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigars in exchange for keeping my whereabouts quiet from a certain someone. I doubt Torin would take too kindly to me spending time with Aidan in the aftermath of his injury. Hell, even I don't want to do this, but it's expected of me. Besides, I desperately want to talk to Frank. I want to know how he plans to retaliate.

"Where to?" asks Jason.

"The O'Neil resistance."

Jason—give him is due—doesn't protest.

"I'll come in with you," he offers, pulling away.

The tires crunch beneath the gravel.

"I don't trust the O'Neil family one bit."

"Thanks," I say, appreciating his assistance.

One thing I learned growing up is that any pivotal event in the mafia can change the order of things. For all I know, my deal with Frank is no longer on the table and walking into their house today may very well result in my death. Regardless, I need to at least try to negotiate a counterattack on Shane. There are endless women and children relying on this.

"Are you sure about this?" asks Jason as we approach Frank's townhouse.

There's security everywhere.

"Nope," I reply, unbuckling my seatbelt. "But I'm doing it anyway."

Together we walk up the steps to Frank front door and are greeted by a rather large man with a particularly menacing look.

"Frank O'Neil isn't taking any visitors today."

"I'm here for Aidan," I tell him.

Jason squares up to this guy, asserting his dominance as far as masculinity goes.

"Who's askin'?"

"His fiancé."

He quickly lowers his sunglasses to regard me closely. "Fuck—Imogen Murphy."

I smile.

"You've changed a lot," he states. "You look more like your old man."

I have no idea who this man is, but can only assume he's been around long enough to know my father.

"Thanks."

"Head straight in. Aidan is resting in his bedroom."

I don't bother telling him that I have no idea where Aidan's bedroom is. I'm his fiancé and I suppose that's information I should know prior to marrying someone. Our relationship's chemistry already resembles a dead fish without me adding more rumours to the mix.

"I appreciate that," I tell him, making my way inside with Jason hot on my heels.

It takes us forever, but we eventually locate Aidan's bedroom and as we approach, I implore Jason to wait outside.

"I dunno, Imogen. I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone with him."

"He's bedbound," I insist. "I'll be fine."

He nods. "OK, fine. But shout if you need me."

I smile and quietly rasp my knuckles on the mahogany door, hearing Louisa's soft voice on the other side. "Come in."

I slowly enter, finding Aidan in bed exactly how I imagined.

"I hope you don't mind me stopping by."

Louisa practically launches herself at me, tears no longer hers to control. "Not at all. I'm glad you're here."

Aidan is awake and simply rolls his eyes at his mother's 'dramatic' display.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Peachy," he replies, voice heavy.

Despite the gaping hole in his stomach and—ya know—almost dying, Aidan still looks beautiful tucked up in bed. He truly has no business looking this good when I'm pretty sure he spawned from Lucifer himself.

"Mum—why don't you go take a shower or something?" he suggests, hardly hiding the fact he's trying to get rid of her. "It'll be nice to spend some time with my future wife without people breathing down our neck."

Louisa smiles, happy to oblige. "Of course. What a wonderful idea!"

I feel bad for Louisa. Honestly, Aidan doesn't deserve her kindness, nor her concern. It kills me that her son turned out to be a monster. I wonder—had my own mother still been alive—if she'd feel the same way about Shane.

"She's insufferable," he shares, once Louisa closes the door behind her.

"She's your mother. It's her job to worry," I counter.

There's a large armchair by the window and I take it, keen to situate myself as far away from him as possible.

"I'd be the same if Maeve was hurt."

"Maeve?"

"My daughter."

His face remains passive. "Right, I forgot you had a kid."

I don't comment.

"Why are you here?" he asks, flinching as he attempts to sit up.

I don't offer him any help.

"Keeping up appearances."

"Not worried about your fiancé then?" His smirk sickens me. "I almost died, Imogen."

"Yeah, and you fucking deserved it."

He snarls, unimpressed with my tone. "Whatever brought you to that conclusion?"

"You touched me without my consent."

"I don't need your consent," he argues. "We're engaged."

I almost gag.

"You promised me a child. How do you suppose we do that if I can't touch you?"

Silence.

"You're going to have to let me fuck you one day, Imogen."

"Today is not that day," I whisper, utterly defeated.

"Maybe not," he agrees. "But once I'm fully recovered, I will have you. Whether you consent or not."

I'm moments away from spilling the entire contents of my stomach when Aidan's bedroom door bursts open, revealing a rather angry looking Frank. Thankfully, his face mellows when he sees me sat on the armchair like a devoted wife-to-be.

"Imogen! I didn't know you were here!"

"Just wanted to swing by and check on my fiancé," I state, cheeks aching at the sheer force in which I'm smiling at.

Frank nods.

"How's things?" I ask, hoping for some insight into the Shane situation.

"Could be better," he admits, voice strained. "How's your daughter?"

His need to ask surprises me.

"She's... fine. Kid knows how to bounce back."

"And Torin?"

His question feels like a test. A test which—for my own sake—I'm hoping to pass.

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him today."

Frank smiles, seemingly happy with my answer.

"Any word on Shane?"

His smile turns sour. "Imogen, sweetheart, know your place."

Tears sting the backs of my eyes as his words register.

"The situation is being handled. That's all you need to know."

I have no way of responding. No way of appropriately articulating myself in this moment. I fear if I open my mouth to speak, I might accidently call Frank O'Neil a sexist prick.

"Okay."

He turns his attention towards Aidan, gaze softening. I tune him out as he proceeds to ask his son how he's feeling and when he thinks he'll be back in action. I mindlessly trace the pattern on the armchair as I contemplate things. Life. I've always lived by my own terms. Taken my own initiative. I realise that by marrying Aidan, I'm yielding a lot of power, but sometimes it doesn't feel that way at all. Sometimes, I feel inadequate. Invisible.

Eventually, Frank leaves without so much as sparing me a second glance. Aidan reaches for his phone, and I watch as he taps away on the screen, up to goodness knows what.

"Like what you see, princess?"

I scoff, truly hating him.

"You haven't kissed me yet," he goads, dropping his phone onto the bed. "It might make me feel better."

"Get fucked, Aidan."

"Well...  if you're offering?"

An insult is on the tip of my tongue when the door to Aidan's bedroom door swings open again. Torin emerges from the darkened hallway, expression murderous. He's dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, the material stretching over his torso in a way that leaves little to the imagination.

"O'Brien!" delights Aidan. "Have you come to offer me your well wishes too?"

Torin kicks the door closed with his foot and slowly—dangerously—stalks towards Aidan. He takes hold of his hand and for a moment, I'm convinced the pair are about to have a heart-to-heart.

"You touch her again and I'll break every goddamn bone in your body."

Oh, fuck!

Aidan's expression morphs from smug to pained within seconds.

"Am I making myself clear?"

"T, what are you doing?" I ask, leaping from the armchair.

Torin bends Aidan's fingers backwards, the sound of bones cracking forcing me to intervene.

"Torin!"

"She's mine," argues Aidan.

Torin snarls, disagreeing wholeheartedly.

"Wrong. She's mine."

I seize Torin by the shoulder, compelling him to stop.

"I'll have her screaming my name by the end of the month,' goads Aidan, surprisingly on top of his wit despite having his fingers broken.

Torin retaliates by snapping another.

"Fuck!"

"You're a pathetic, spoiled little boy who knows nothing about the things I'm capable of," warns Torin. "Cross me again and I'll end you."

Aidan smirks.

"And your boyfriend."

Aidan's amusement drops in an instant.

"I'll ask you again. Am I making myself clear?"

Another crack has Aidan nodding, finally admitting defeat.

"Get your coat, Imogen. We're leaving," instructs Torin, bending at the waist to drop a kiss on Aidan's head. "Get well soon, brother."

I follow Torin into the hallway and out the house, finding Jason stood by the car we arrived in.

"Head back to the compound. I'll drive Imogen home."

"But—"

"Don't fucking test me, angel."

I quickly climb into the passenger side of Torin's car, feeling like I'm in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

"Torin, what's wrong?"

"You spend the night with me and then go running to him not five hours later."

I can't believe I'm hearing this.

"I'm keeping up appearances!" I argue.

His slams his hands on the steering wheel. "I don't want you anywhere near him, Imogen!"

I huff my response, unable to look him in the eye any longer.

"I thought I made that perfectly clear."

"He's my fiancé," I say. "What do you suggest I do?"

"I suggest you prepare yourself," he counters, starting the car's engine.

I turn to him, utterly confused. "For what?"

He slams on the accelerator, speeding down Frank O'Neil's driveway.

"For your punishment."