Chapter 30 JOINED FORCES

Chapter 30 JOINED FORCES


RONAN POV

“Ronan… Ronan, wake up. Ronan!”

The voice comes from far away at first, floating through the haze of sleep like an echo. Warm. Soft. Familiar. Too familiar.

Annabelle?

I groan, half convinced I’m dreaming again because why else would her voice sound so close? Why would she sound as if she’s right beside me?

“Ronan!”
A hand grips my shoulder and shakes me hard.

My eyes fly open.

And I’m staring directly into Annabelle’s face. Her real face, not the dream version that smiles at me like she owns gravity. Her hazel eyes are wide with urgency, a few messy strands of hair falling over her forehead, her lips parted slightly.

Not a dream.

Hell.

I suck in a sharp breath and push upright immediately. “Annabelle…”

“You scared me!” she whispers harshly. “I’ve been calling you for the past minute. You weren’t moving.”

I blink a few times, trying to gather my thoughts. “I… I slept off.”

And then everything crashes back in a tidal wave.
My mother’s betrayal.
The board’s suspension.
The humiliation.
Annabelle pacing her living room last night while we strategized for hours.
Her voice guiding me through the chaos until exhaustion finally knocked me out.

I drag my gaze to my wristwatch.

Six a.m.

I slept for seven straight hours. Seven. I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time in months. The realization hits me harder than any attack the board could throw.

Annabelle is still staring at me with that mixture of concern and annoyance she does so well. “Ronan, you need to leave. Right now.” She lowers her voice even further. “The reporters might already be outside. I’m not in the mood for headlines with my name spelled wrong again.”

Despite everything, I almost smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pass out on your couch.”

“I know.” She crosses her arms, but her expression softens. “I figured you needed it. You looked… exhausted doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

I stand, picking up my suit jacket draped over the side of the sofa. She watches me closely, eyes tracing the creases my sleep added to the fabric. Then her gaze shifts back to my face.

Something in her look makes my chest tighten.

The silence stretches.

I clear my throat. “We can continue the plan later today. Just let me know whatever you and Miranda decide.”

“I will.” She nods, then steps back, creating distance, controlled, safe which grates on my nerves but I overlook it. 

The distance I shouldn’t cross.

My fingers twitch with the urge to touch her—her arm, her hand, anything at all but I shove the impulse down. The last thing we need is another complication, not when my life is already a wildfire.

I slide the jacket on and head toward the door. Annabelle walks behind me, one hand nervously toying with the hem of her sweatshirt.

When I reach the door, she hesitates.

“Ronan…” she begins softly.

I turn to face her. The early morning light frames her silhouette, and she looks far too beautiful for someone who’s about to walk into a storm with me.

“What is it?” I ask.

Her lips press into a thin line before she whispers, “Just… be careful today.”

My throat tightens unexpectedly. “I will.”

She gives a small nod, but something else flickers behind her eyes, fear, maybe. Or worry. Or something more dangerous, more personal. Something I shouldn’t recognize.

Because if I recognize it, I’ll want it.

And I have no business wanting my own sister right now.

I reach for the door, pause, and glance at her one last time. “Take care of yourself too, Annabelle. And… thanks for last night.”

Her cheeks flush slightly, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Anytime.”

I step out into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind me.

The second the lock clicks, the mask slides onto my face.

Ronan Blackthorne.
Strategist.
Enemy of anyone who dares think they can break me.

My mother has made the biggest mistake of her life.
She thinks she’s won.
She thinks the board’s suspension has crippled me.
She thinks stealing the company out from under me while pretending to be the supportive mother is enough to make me fall.

She’s about to learn a lesson.

Because in a few weeks maybe even days she’ll wish she never crossed me. She’ll wish she never touched my father’s company. She’ll wish she never betrayed her son.

And when her empire begins to crumble, she’ll know exactly which attack destroyed her first.

The cool morning air bites at my skin as I make my way toward the elevator. My footsteps echo through the quiet corridor. When the doors slide open, I step inside and lean back against the wall.

Annabelle’s scent still clings to my shirt.
Lavender. Clean. Calming.

It anchors me for a moment, a moment I shouldn’t allow.

As soon as I get to the ground floor, I hear voices outside. Reporters. Of course. They’re like vultures drawn to the scent of scandal.

Their voices bleed through the glass entrance.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fantastic.”

My phone buzzes. I check the screen.

Miranda: Don’t speak to the press. Back entrance. I’m waiting.

Good. At least one thing is going right this morning.

I slip out of the lobby, keeping my head low, and push through the service door into the alley behind the building. Miranda is already there, leaning against her black SUV, sunglasses on despite the early hour.

“You look like hell,” she says.

“I slept seven hours,” I reply dryly.

“So… still hell.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

She opens the car door. “Annabelle said we could trust you.  Get in. We have a long day ahead.”

As I slide into the back seat, I glance up at the window of Annabelle’s apartment. I’m not sure if she’s watching. I’m not sure why I hope she is.

But I do.

The engine starts. Miranda adjusts the mirror and gives me a sharp look.

“We’re going to win this, Ronan. But it’s going to get ugly.”

Good.
I want ugly.

Because the first attack is coming and my mother has no idea it’s aimed at her.

I sit back, eyes cold, heart steady.

“Let’s begin.”