Saoirse’s POV

  The venue was breathtaking—a rooftop pub owned by GaelCorp, offering a stunning view of the city lights. The air was filled with the sound of music, ughter, and celebration.

  The moment we arrived, Cian and I separated into our own groups.

  He went off to his friends and girlfriend, Aoife, while I joined my own circle, drinks already flowing freely. The night was perfect—cheers, shots, and pyful dares.

  Everything felt alive.

  Until I noticed something.

  From my vantage point, I saw Aoife slip away from the crowd, heading toward the stairwell.

  At first, I didn’t think much of it—maybe she needed fresh air. But then, a few minutes ter, a guy followed her.

  No one noticed.

  Everyone was too busy getting drunk and celebrating.

  Then, I saw Cian start walking in that direction.

  My curiosity spiked.

  I quickly caught up to him, grabbing his arm. “Where are you going?”

  He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. Then he smirked. “I need to take a piss. Want to help me?”

  I rolled my eyes and smacked his bicep. “Shut up.”

  He chuckled, but I noticed something—his jaw was tight.

  Something was off.

  We reached the stairway. The door was slightly open.

  And that’s when we saw it.

  Aoife.

  Pinned between a guy and the wall.

  His hands were all over her. His pants were down.

  And Aoife?

  She wasn’t resisting.

  My heart pounded, but Cian… he was silent. Too calm.

  It pissed me off.

  Fury surged through me.

  I kicked the bastard aside so hard he tripped over his own damn pants and crashed face-first onto the ground.

  Then, I grabbed that bitch’s hair and spped her.

  Once. Twice. A third time.

  Her shriek echoed through the stairwell.

  “Fucking whore,” I spat, shaking with rage. “Cheating piece of trash.”

  She clutched her cheek, eyes wide, mouth opening to speak—

  But Cian grabbed my wrist and pulled me away.

  Firm. Wordless. Unshaken.

  He didn’t say a single thing.

  Not to her. Not to me.

  For the rest of the night, we sat in silence, drinking.

  I didn’t push him to talk.

  I let him digest what had happened.

  When he was ready to vent, I’d be there.

  But tonight?

  Tonight, I’d let the whiskey do the talking.