The Best Season Has Already Passed

"Ciara, we're not done talking…"

I turned back, my expression a mask of confusion. "Talk about what? Aren't your 'affairs' all settled?"

Did he really expect me to be the same girl as before? To fret over him, to have everything waiting for him, no matter what?

Cradling the baby, I glanced over my shoulder. "Oh, right. If you're tired, the guest room is ready. You know the way."

The newborn fell asleep quickly. After settling her in her crib, a message came from my father.

Ciara, you've turned me down so many times, but I'm getting older. Can't you take over the Family for me? Please, do this for your Papa.

I know you don't want Ronan to feel like he's been kept in the dark, that the very organization he works for is backed by our family. But you're my only child. If you don't take over, who will?

A dull ache bloomed in my chest. My parents had sacrificed so much for me. And for Ronan, I had nearly let it all go to waste.

I took a deep breath and typed my reply. Dad, I'm ready. I want to come home.

The O'Connell family's enterprises spanned North America, from shipping to entertainment. My parents had often said they hoped I would take over when they retired.

But I had always refused—all for the sake of Ronan's pathetic pride.

I met Ronan on a rainy night. He was just a Soldato in a small-time street crew, clawing his way up with sheer ruthlessness.

He was a born fighter, and his vicious streak earned him a name on the streets.

But he never knew that every step of his rise was meticulously orchestrated by me. A man who clawed his way up from the gutter could never have survived the bloody underworld on his own.

On my birthday, Ronan stood in the rain for three hours.

The moment he saw me, he dropped to one knee.

"Ciara! Will you marry me?"

Ronan's black hair was plastered to his forehead, rain clinging to his eyelashes and glistening under the streetlight.

In that moment, his fierce, wolfish eyes reflected only me.

My heart pounded as I nervously clutched the hem of my dress, at a total loss.

Then, he rose and walked toward me. He pressed a cold kiss to my cheek, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered.

"Ciara, be my wife, please?"