"How was your weekend?" Brigid asked, handing Auden a coffee as she strolled into the office.

Auden leaned against Brigid's desk, warmth curling through her as flashes of the weekend with Cillian played in her mind — his touch, his teasing, the way he'd looked at her like she was something worth ruining for.

"Wonderful," she smiled, "How was yours?"

"Probably not half as exciting as yours." Brigid waggled her brows before taking a sip from her cup. "I stayed in and tried to find a sugar daddy on the endless stream of dating apps. How did you do it?"

"Brigid," Auden rolled her eyes, throwing a quick glance around the office for prying ears. "You know it's not like that."

Brigid just laughed, flipping her red hair over her shoulder. "I'm teasing, babe. Though I am hopping back on the dating scene. Does Cillian know any eligible bachelors?"

Auden opened her mouth to fire back a retort, but a voice behind her cut her off.

"Good morning, ladies," Charles exhaled dramatically, striding into the room. He barely paused before turning his attention to Auden. "I just came by to let you know we're meeting with Patrick Haynes this afternoon."

Auden went rigid. A slow, simmering irritation flared in her chest. "We're meeting him?"

Charles raised a bushy eyebrow. "Yes, Auden. We are meeting him. You are the head curator, correct?"

Her mouth opened, then shut, frustration tightening her throat. Charles was still growing on the idea of Auden and Cillian, and his treatment towards her was still tense. She understood it. Auden's name was plastered everywhere it seemed.

But the idea of being professional with Patrick, in any setting, made her stomach curl. She hadn't spoken to Patrick in a month. Hadn't seen him, hadn't wanted to. The last thing she needed was him showing up here unannounced, blindsiding her.

"Lovely," Charles continued when she did not answer, clearly unaffected by the turmoil now spiraling inside her. "I'll see you in my office around two." He turned to leave but hesitated, fixing her with a look that made her stomach twist. "And, Auden – please try to keep the peace when we meet him."

Heat surged up her neck. Was that jab really necessary?

Next to her, Brigid let out a low whistle the moment Charles disappeared down the hall. "Well, good luck with that."
Auden shot her a glare before storming off to her office, slamming the door shut behind her. The weekend high she'd been riding — the lightness, the warmth of being wrapped up in Cillian — had been completely shattered in less than a minute.

She knew Patrick. Knew how he operated. He wouldn't just leave it at the meeting. He'd try to talk to her afterward, try to smooth things over, as if she hadn't spent weeks seething over the fact that he'd lied to her. Auden could already feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. She needed to get ahead of this.

Digging through her purse, she fished out her phone and quickly dialed Cillian's number.

He answered on the first ring. "That's weird," he said, voice warm, teasing. "I was just thinking about you."

Despite everything, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. His voice alone had that effect. Since the night at the club, she'd felt giddy and light whenever she thought about him. It was a new feeling. A dangerous one.

"What are you up to?" she asked, booting up her computer, trying to ground herself.

"About to pick up Charlie for school," he said, "After that, I'm not sure."

Auden smiled. "Tell him I said hi."

"I will. What's up?"

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "I, uh... You might want to make other lunch plans today."

Silence. Then, "Why's that?"

Before she could answer, she heard muffled voices on the other end, followed by a woman's voice – Jenni.

"Hold on," Cillian muttered.

Auden bit the inside of her cheek, staring at the flood of unread emails on her screen but not seeing any of them. She could hear Charlie laughing in the background, and she knew exactly where Cillian was: at Jenni's house. The thought made her stomach twist, even though she knew it was irrational. They had a son together. Of course, he'd see her. Still, the quiet pang of jealousy settled deep in her chest.

"Alright," Cillian said after a moment, his voice slightly sharper than before. "What's going on?"

She exhaled. "Patrick's coming by the office today. I just... I think it would be better if you didn't come by."

The line went silent. Then, a sigh.

Auden's stomach sank. She knew he'd be upset, but what other choice did she have?

"I'm sorry," she added quickly, not wanting to start something over the phone.

"It's fine," he said, but the clipped edge in his voice told her otherwise. "I'll just see you tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah, alright," she murmured, her voice softer now.

After a brief goodbye, she hung up, dropping her head onto her desk with a groan.

This day was already exhausting. Auden spent the rest of the morning trying, and failing, to distract herself. She flipped through art booklets, made calls to vendors, even skimmed some news articles. But nothing could stop the inevitable. When she checked her calendar, she was hit with another gut-punch. The ever looming anniversary of her father's death. A new wave of frustration and grief churned in her stomach, mixing with the irritation already bubbling inside her.

Patrick. Cillian. Jenni. Her father.

It was too much.

She stared at the large window in her office, seriously contemplating throwing it open and making a run for it. Maybe she could disappear into the city, start a new life somewhere in Spain. Instead, she marched over to the couch, yanked up a pillow, and let out a scream into it.

The door suddenly flew open.

"Auden?"

Brigid stood in the doorway, looking mildly concerned, mildly amused.

Auden slowly lowered the pillow, exhaling. "Sorry."

Brigid smirked. "No need to apologize. You just saved me the trouble of doing the same thing."

Auden huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "I just needed a moment."

Her friend walked in, plopping down on the chair across from her. "You're spiraling. Talk to me."

Auden sighed, tossing the pillow back onto the couch. "Patrick showing up out of nowhere. Charles treating me like I can't keep my professionalism together. Cillian getting all weird over the phone. And the anniversary of my dad's —" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "It's just a lot, all at once. I feel like I'm back in Chicago."

Brigid tilted her head, considering her. "And what do we do when life decides to throw all its shite at us in one go?"
Auden let out a weak chuckle. "Drink heavily?"

Brigid grinned. "Exactly."

Auden giggled, sinking back against the couch. Two o'clock couldn't come and go fast enough. When the meeting came, she had felt like she had been at work for over ten hours but had no work to show for it. With a notebook tucked tightly under her arm as she walked into the meeting, her heels clicked loudly against the polished floor, announcing her arrival despite sending a dull ache in her head.

She could do this. She had to.

Charles and Patrick were already seated across from each other at the circular table, mid-conversation. At the sound of her approach, Patrick looked up, locking eyes with her.
Auden immediately looked away, masking her face into a neutral expression. She pulled out a chair and sat between the two men, positioning herself like a physical barrier between them.

Charles cleared his throat. "Right," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Auden flipped open her notebook to a blank page, willing herself to focus. But as she picked up her pen, she noticed a slight tremor in her hand. She gripped it tighter, forcing the nerves away.

Patrick's voice cut through the space between them. "I wanted to meet because I think I have some good connections to help expand your collection."

Auden let out a quiet, sharp laugh. "Good connections?"

Charles, thankfully, didn't seem to notice her sarcasm. He nodded, intrigued. "What kind of connections?"

Patrick hesitated, shifting in his seat. "Well... you know Jenni Murphy. She's a big part of that. She always has been."

Auden's gaze snapped to him before she could stop herself. His face was flushed. His eyes were guilty. He wasn't looking at her, only at Charles, as if avoiding her reaction entirely. Of course, Jenni put him up to this.

"But I also know a lot of underground artists," Patrick added quickly, as if trying to steer the conversation away. "Ones who might be willing to collaborate with the gallery."

Charles nodded, jotting something down. "Good, good," he murmured.

Auden, however, was no longer listening. She could see it now. Jenni's fingerprints all over this plan, her calculated way of creeping into her space. She wasn't satisfied with ruining Auden's name in the press; now she wanted to infiltrate her work, her world, and dismantle it from the inside.

"Auden?"

Charles's voice yanked her out of her thoughts.

"How does that sound? Is that something you can do?"

Auden scrambled for an answer, her mind blank. She should have been paying attention. Heat crept up her cheeks, embarrassment prickling her skin. She couldn't admit she hadn't been listening — it would make her look unprofessional.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I can do that. No problem."

Charles gave her an odd look but simply shrugged before turning back to Patrick. "Alright then. Well, tell Jenni that Auden is happy to meet with her. I think it would do some good, considering Auden replaced her role here, anyway."

Auden's stomach plummeted.

What?

Did she just...did she just agree to meet with Jenni Murphy one-on-one?

Panic clawed up her throat, but she forced herself to remain still. She couldn't backtrack now, not in front of Charles. But the realization hit her like a freight train. She was going to have to face Jenni. Alone. How the hell was she going to explain this to Cillian?

As Charles stood to shake Patrick's hand, Auden sat frozen, her fingers gripping the edges of her notebook so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Charles nodded at her. "Good work," he said before striding out of the room, leaving her alone with Patrick.

The air shifted instantly.

Patrick exhaled, as if relieved to finally be rid of Charles, and sank back down into his seat next to her. Auden took that as her cue to get the hell out of there. She shot up, gathering her things.

"Wait."

Patrick grabbed her wrist. Pain shot up her arm as he tightened his grip, yanking her back just as she tried to pull away. She fought every urge to clock him right there in the jaw.

"Let go of me, asshole," she hissed, twisting her wrist.

Patrick didn't loosen his hold. "Can we talk? Please?"

"About what?" Auden snapped. "About how you led me on? How you lied to me?"

He sighed, his grip loosening slightly. "Technically," he muttered, irritation seeping into his tone, "I didn't lie about anything."

Auden yanked her arm free, rubbing at the sore spot where his fingers had dug in. She let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"Right. You just conveniently forgot to mention that you were fucking Cillian Murphy's wife while trying to sleep with me."

Patrick's jaw clenched. His eyes darkened as he stood up from the chair, looming over her. "You don't know the half of it, Auden," he said slowly. "Cillian isn't a saint."

"And you have no room to talk," Auden retorted, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You played a part in breaking up a family."

Patrick swatted her hand away, nostrils flaring. "Like I said, you don't know the half of it." He let out a frustrated sigh, running his hands over his face as if he were trying to calm down.

"If you did, you sure as hell wouldn't be prancing around Dublin with that twat." His voice dropped, sharp with warning. "Do you even know what kind of reputation you're building for yourself? The man is double your age."

Her temper snapped. Fuck keeping the peace. It wasn't worth it – not with him.

"I don't give a shit about his age!" she said a little too loudly. "We're happy. That's all that matters."

Patrick's expression hardened. "I care about you. I just don't want to see you get hurt. Do you know what people are saying about you?"

His voice was quieter now, his eyes searching hers, almost desperate.

Auden didn't answer. She refused to give him that satisfaction. Patrick squared his shoulder, arrogance seeping off of him as he leaned in close.

"They're calling you a money-grabbing slut."

The words hit like a slap. Auden took a step back, every muscle in her body tensing as a burning wave of disgust and humiliation crawled up her spine. Her vision blurred, tears stinging behind her eyes. She wanted to slap him. God, she wanted to slap him.

But instead, she forced herself to breathe, to think.
And then it clicked. Her voice was eerily calm when she spoke. "And do you know who's feeding them that image?"

He knew the answer, he just didn't want to say it. Auden caught the way Patrick's entire body stiffened. His hands clenched at his sides as he looked past her, refusing to meet her eyes.

Auden let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "Jenni is doing this to me. And you know it." She crossed her arms, blinking back the tears she refused to shed. "If you actually gave a damn about me, Patrick, you'd get her to stop."

Silence.

Patrick didn't argue. He didn't deny it. Auden let out a slow, measured breath. She was done with this conversation.

Gathering her things, she stepped toward the door. "And you can tell Jenni I know exactly what she's up to." Auden squared her shoulders, lifting her chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid of a challenge. I never have been."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out, tears spilling over her cheeks as she left him behind.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Cillian was in a foul mood, though he was trying not to let it show. Seeing Jenni always soured his day, and he hated that his time with Charlie had been cut short by whatever plans she had deemed more important. But more than that, he could tell something was off with Auden.

He watched her in the kitchen, sitting at the dining table as she chopped carrots for a soup recipe. Her movements were careful, methodical — but too rigid. He leaned against the counter, beer in hand, while her cat, Beans, wove between his legs, meowing for attention. He wasn't a cat person, but for some reason, the little creature had decided he was worth loving. He was beginning to return the sentiment.

"How was work?" he asked casually, rubbing Beans' belly with the toe of his socked foot. It wasn't what he really wanted to ask, but he was trying to ease into it.

Auden shrugged, her gaze locked onto the cutting board. "Fine." The strap of her white tank top slipped down her shoulder as she moved, exposing a delicate line of skin. His eyes lingered — he couldn't help it. He spent too much time fighting the urge to pull her against him, to take her to bed and lose himself in her completely.

But he also knew her well enough by now to see that she was deflecting.

"And your meeting?"

Auden tensed, so slightly that most people wouldn't have noticed. But Cillian wasn't most people, not with her. He knew how guarded she could be, how much she hated letting anyone see her vulnerabilities. And it killed him sometimes, the way she held herself at arm's length, even from him.

She stood, turning her back to him as she dumped the carrots into the pot, stirring them into the creamy broth. "It was fine," she said, too even-toned, too dismissive. "It went as expected."

Cillian placed his beer down and pushed off the counter, stepping closer. Beans darted away in protest.
"And what was expected?"

She bit her bottom lip — another tell. She stirred slowly, carefully. "You know how he is," she said, still not looking at him. "He has an opinion on everything."

Not good enough.

He exhaled through his nose, patience thinning. Normally, he took his time with her, gave her space to open up. But not today. Not when Patrick was involved.

"What are you not telling me?"

Auden's hand tightened around the wooden spoon. Slowly, she set it down and turned to face him. Her face was unreadable, but her fingers were picking at the edge of her nail. Anxiety.

"Patrick brought up what the press has been saying about us." Her voice was soft, hesitant. "That's all."

Cillian arched a brow, waiting. He had a son, for Christ's sake — he knew when he was only getting half the truth.

Auden let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, arms folding over her chest like a shield. "Apparently, there's a rumor going around that I'm using you for your money." She dropped her gaze to the floor, hair slipping into her face like a curtain.

He already knew. His publicist had warned him, subtly suggesting he "be mindful" of the optics. But he didn't care. Auden had never asked him for a thing — if anything, she was stubbornly independent. Let people talk.

"I don't believe that," he said simply, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. Would it ever stop falling into her face? His fingertips brushed her cheek.

She caught his wrist before he could lower it, her small fingers curling around his skin. Finally, she looked up at him, her green eyes filled with something raw, unguarded.

"Will anyone ever be okay with this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The question knocked something loose in his chest.
Cillian had spent years learning not to care about public scrutiny, about rumors and headlines. He'd built a life around ignoring the noise. But Auden wasn't used to this kind of attention. She wasn't used to being dissected by strangers, reduced to whatever version of her fit the narrative of the day. And there was nothing he could do to fully protect her from it.

"Someone will always have an opinion," he murmured. "But their opinions don't matter."

Auden's breath hitched, then something changed. Her whole body tensed, her grip on his wrist tightening. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape.

Cillian frowned. "Auden?"

She let go of him suddenly, running a shaky hand through her hair, stepping back. Her breathing had turned shallow, uneven. Beans meowed at her feet, nudging against her legs, but Auden didn't seem to notice.

Cillian's stomach clenched. Something was wrong.
He moved toward her, closing the space between them, ignoring the way Beans shot away at the movement. He reached for her shoulders, feeling how rigid she was beneath his touch.

"What's wrong?"

Auden gasped, her breath stuttering, her hands trembling violently. Tears clung to her lashes, her pupils blown wide with panic.

Cillian's chest tightened with realization – she was having a panic attack.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. At first, she stiffened, resisting. But he didn't let go. He tucked her into his chest, his lips near her temple.

"Just breathe, Aud," he murmured. "You're alright."

More resistance. He said it again. He continued whispering it until steadily, her arms came around his waist, fingers clutching the fabric of his sweater as she buried her face into his collarbone. Her breathing was still erratic, but he could feel her trying to match the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"Slow breaths, yeah?" His hand traced calming circles over her back. "I've got you."

Auden shook her head, but her grip on him tightened.

Cillian held her closer, resting his chin atop her head. His own heart was pounding, a sick, helpless feeling twisting inside him. She was in pain, and there was nothing he could do to take it away.

They stood like that for a long time, long after her breathing had slowed, long after the tension had ebbed from her body.

But Cillian didn't let go. He didn't want to.

With his nose buried in her hair, he felt the overwhelming urge to tell her everything — that he didn't care what the world thought, that he would fight for her, that he wanted her in his life in a way that terrified him. But something stopped the words from coming.

So instead, he just held her, selfishly grateful that for now, at least, she was his to hold.

For the first time since he met her, she felt small in his arms. Not physically — she was always delicate against him — but in a way that made his chest ache. Like she was folding into herself, bracing for something worse.

After a few more moments, she pulled back, just enough to look at him. Her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, her lashes wet. She inhaled shakily, as if steadying herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Cillian frowned. "What for?"

"For that." She gestured vaguely, blinking rapidly as if she could blink away the shame. "For — losing it. For being like this." Her voice wavered. "I—I don't know what happened. I was fine, and then—" She cut herself off, exhaling sharply, as if angry at herself. "I should be fine."

Cillian clenched his jaw, an unexpected wave of frustration washing over him. Not at her. It was hardly ever with her. But at whatever had made her feel like she had to apologize for this, for something so human, so unguarded.

He cupped the side of her face, brushing his thumb just beneath her eye. "Auden, don't do that."

She swallowed, eyes darting away. "Do what?"

"Apologize for how you feel." His voice was firm, but not unkind. "You don't have to be fine all the time. Not with me."

Her lips parted slightly, and for a brief moment, Cillian could see the weight of his words sinking in, the way they landed somewhere deep inside her. She didn't reply right away. Instead, she stood there, searching his face like she was trying to find the lie in it.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, cautious. Disbelieving.

"No one's ever told me that before."

Cillian's chest went tight.

Jesus Christ.

It gutted him, how she said it — like it was some foreign concept, like no one in her life had ever told her it was okay to not be okay. That she didn't have to bury everything, to carry it alone.

He wanted to ask who had made her feel this way. Who had taught her that breaking, however briefly, was something to be ashamed of. But now wasn't the time.

So instead, he let his hand fall from her cheek, only to lace his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. "Well," he murmured, "you've been told now."

Auden looked down at their joined hands, like she didn't quite know what to do with the tenderness he was offering her. Then, after a moment, she asked something else.

"Would it?" she asked suddenly.

Cillian frowned. "Would what?"

She inhaled deeply, like she was gathering the nerve to say it. When she looked up at him again, something raw and fearful was carved into her expression.

"If the press got bad enough – if the rumors got worse – would it change your mind about me?"

The question winded him. How the fuck could she think that?

Cillian stepped closer again, his fingers tightening around hers. "Aud," he said, his voice rough, "I'm not with you because of what people think. And I'm not not with you because of them, either."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "But —"

"There is no but." He shook his head. "I don't care what the press says. They don't know us. They don't know you. And they sure as hell don't get to decide what I feel."

Her breath hitched slightly at that last part. Cillian felt it, the weight of the moment hanging between them.

What I feel.

What I feel for you.

It was right there, lingering in the air, hanging on the edge of his tongue. He could say it, right now.

He could tell her he loved her.

Because fuck, of course he did.

He knew it now, with a kind of certainty that made him feel like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, about to jump.

But the words didn't come.

Because something inside him, some deep, cautious part of himself, told him the timing wasn't right. Told him that she wasn't ready. And maybe, selfishly, he was afraid.

Because what if she didn't feel the same? What if he told her he loved her, and she only looked back at him with that same unreadable expression, unsure, uncertain?

So he didn't say it.

Rather, he exhaled slowly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "The only thing that could ever change my mind about you," he said softly, "is you. Not them."

Auden stared at him, her expression remaining unreadable.

Then, finally, she gave the smallest nod.

And yet, Cillian could still feel the weight of that unspoken word between them. When she turned back to the stove, stirring the pot absently, he watched her, his chest heavy with all the words he hadn't said.

She has no idea, he thought.

No idea that he would take every headline, every rumor, every bit of public scrutiny—all of it. Just so he could have her. Auden had no idea that he was already so far gone for her, he wasn't sure there was a way back.

And fuck, if she never felt the same...He didn't let himself finish the thought. Instead, he grabbed his beer from the counter and took a long drink, letting the silence settle between them.

The kitchen wasn't cold, but for some reason, it suddenly felt like it was snowing around them.