Chapter 17: Can’t leave
I sit in the corner of the small room, my back pressed against the rough wooden wall, arms crossed tightly over my chest like that’ll somehow keep me grounded. The faint scent of pine and something earthy lingers in the air—a stark contrast to the sterile, metallic tang of my high-rise office or the familiar scent of city asphalt after rain.
But none of that matters right now.
Because I’m staring at a man who looks like he walked straight out of a goddamn fashion magazine.
Ronan.
Tall, annoyingly good-looking, with the kind of effortless charm that should probably come with a warning label. He leans casually against the doorframe, arms folded, his expression irritatingly calm, like he’s explaining tax deductions instead of what he’s actually saying.
Which is, apparently, that I’m... married.
To a woman I’ve met exactly once.
"Well, yes and no," Ronan replies, his tone infuriatingly casual, as if we’re discussing what to order for lunch. "It’s deeper than that. It’s like your souls are tied together. Literally."
I blink at him, my brain doing somersaults trying to process the insanity.
"Right," I say slowly, my voice flat, because sarcasm is the only thing holding me together right now. "So you’re saying the moon got me married to her?"
Ronan shrugs, like this is just another Tuesday. "Kinda."
Kinda.