When Kings Fall (The O’Sullivan’s Brides #3)

CHAPTER FOURTEENSelene

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Selene

BEN HASN’T SAID much since we left the alley, and I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, sure, the quiet gives me time to think, but it also lets my mind spiral. And when Ben does speak, there’s that strange familiarity in his voice, like he’s trying too hard to pretend we’re still friends. But we’re not.

Wolfe made it clear he wasn’t my friend—obvious with the kidnapping, the rope burns still fresh on my wrists. But Ben? He’s playing a different game. Smiling, like we are friends, like someone who has my back.

My stomach twists, but not from hunger. I already tried the door earlier when he wasn’t looking, fingers brushing the cold metal handle, knowing full well it would be locked. I’m trapped. But I’ve been in worse situations, right? Play the part, Selene. Act like you haven’t pieced together the truth yet.

Ben glances at me, his smile casual, disarming, but there’s something underneath it. Something I’m not supposed to see. “You hungry?” he asks.

I can feel the weight of his gaze, trying to measure me, calculate my next move. I’m no stranger to people who think they’re in control. It’s how you let them feel secure, let them think you’re playing along, before pulling the rug out from under their feet.

I smile, maybe a little too eagerly, and nod. “Starving.” My voice is light, almost teasing. If I’m going to make my next move, I need to be in a public place. Somewhere with witnesses.

His eyes linger on me for a second too long, like he’s assessing whether he should trust my sudden enthusiasm, but then he shrugs and turns the car toward the main road. “I know a spot,” he says.

Perfect.

The city passes in a blur outside the window, neon lights flickering, people moving about like nothing in the world is wrong. If only they knew. We end up at one of those all-night diners that smells like burnt coffee and syrup, a place where exhaustion and anonymity blend together.

We slide into a booth, and I catch the way Ben sits—back straight, eyes scanning the room. His hands wrap around the black coffee he ordered as if it’s an old habit. Everything about him screams danger—the same kind of danger as Diarmuid.

I try not to show it on my face, but inside, I’m cataloging everything. The way he’s positioned himself to watch the exits. How his fingers tap lightly against the cup, an almost imperceptible rhythm, like he’s counting seconds or measuring something only he understands.

A waitress comes by, too tired to care about our conversation, and I order hot tea. It’s a choice that instantly makes me think of my grandparents. Of their quiet mornings, doing crossword puzzles, a place so far removed from this mess. Shame pulls at me, but I shove it down. I can’t afford to think about them now—not when I keep throwing myself into danger like this.

“So,” Ben says, once the waitress is gone, “what were you doing at Tyrone’s place?” His voice is smooth, too smooth, like this is just casual small talk. Like he isn’t testing me. I’m ready for it.

I offer a quick laugh, waving off his question as if it’s nothing. “It’s a stupid political thing,” I say. “I’ve been trying to get involved in this cause, you know, something I care about. And Tyrone, well, I thought if I could just get a minute with the Prime Minister... I didn’t think it through.”

Ben’s eyes don’t leave me, and that unnerving quiet settles over the table again. He knows I’m lying. I can feel it in the way his lips curl slightly at the edges, almost as if he’s amused by my attempt.

“You really expect me to believe that?” he says, leaning forward slightly. “Selene, I’m here to help you. You don’t need to lie to me.”

Help me. Sure. I know exactly where this is going. He’s not my friend. And yet, I can’t help but feel that familiar pull of recklessness rising in me. He’s going to betray me, sure—but maybe, just maybe, I can use him before he does.

I pause for a moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Fine. If we’re playing this game, I’m going to see how far it can go. “Okay,” I say, leaning in a little, lowering my voice. “It’s not about a cause. It’s about Sophia Hughes. She was a Bride.” I glance at him, measuring his reaction. Nothing.

“A Bride?” he repeats, like it’s the first time he’s heard the term. Maybe it is.

“Yeah, it’s… complicated. But to put it simply, it means she was tied to something bigger. A system. A power. She didn’t choose it, but it chose her.” I pause, watching the flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “And I think Tyrone Lynch had something to do with her murder. He’s connected to the Hands of Kings, and that connection is being covered up.”

Ben doesn’t say anything for a long time. Too long. He just sits there, sipping his coffee, his expression unreadable. Maybe I’ve gone too far. Maybe he thinks I’m crazy.

My tea arrives, steam curling up from the cup, but I don’t touch it. I wait for him to say something, anything. But he stays silent, and it’s unnerving.

Finally, he places the cup back down on the table and leans a little closer.

“You’re wasting your time with Tyrone,” he says, voice low. His eyes flick around the space like he’s waiting for a treat or for Diarmuid to appear. “If you want answers, you’re aiming too low. We need to go higher. We need to go after the president.”

I stare at Ben, my mind spinning. What does he know that I don’t?

My thoughts flicker back to Diarmuid, to the way he always seemed ten steps ahead of everyone else. Ben reminds me of him—too much, maybe. Except Diarmuid didn’t have to play games to get under my skin. Ben? He’s a master at it. Every word out of his mouth is a trap, every glance designed to make me question myself.

I can’t let him win. Not this time.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “You really think we should go after the president?”

Ben doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his hands wrapped around his mug, and his gaze scans the diner. When he releases his mug, one hand rests casually on the table, the other tapping lightly against his leg. It’s a controlled rhythm, one that keeps time with the thoughts I can almost hear spinning in his head.

“It’s not what I think that matters, Selene. It’s what you want.”

There it is. The bait. He knows what I want—answers, closure, a way to make sense of this mess. But he’s flipping it back on me, making me question if my desires are even valid. It’s a subtle power play, one that leaves me unsettled.

I force a laugh, trying to keep it light, even though I’m beginning to feel the weight of his game pressing down on me. “What I want? I think we both know what I want, Ben.”

He tilts his head, eyebrows raising just slightly. “Do we? Because I’m not sure you’ve really figured that out yet.”

The way he says it makes my stomach drop. How much does he know about me? About my weaknesses? My insecurities? I’ve always been the one to take control of the situation, to act before anyone else has the chance. But Ben? He’s a different breed. He’s watching, waiting for me to slip up. And I hate that he might be right—that I’m still figuring out what I want. What I need.

I can feel the recklessness in me rising again, that urge to push him, to test the limits of whatever game he’s playing. But somewhere, deep down, there’s a part of me screaming to stop. To be smarter. To think about the consequences this time.

Because this can’t just be about me anymore.

Diarmuid’s face flashes through my mind—his sharp eyes, the weight of his presence, the way he’d looked at me when I told him I didn’t need anyone. God, I’d been so wrong. I’ve spent my whole life pushing people away, convincing myself I was fine on my own. But if something happens to me now, if I keep throwing myself into the fire… what would it do to him?

I clench my fists in my lap, trying to shake off the growing unease. Focus, Selene. You need to stay in control. You need to be smarter than this.

“Alright,” I say, forcing myself to sound confident. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say we go after the president. How exactly do you plan to do that? Because last I checked, he’s a little out of our reach.”

Ben’s lips curl into a small smile, and I instantly regret giving him that opening. “You’d be surprised what’s within reach, Selene. You just have to know how to play the game.”

He says it so casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s already figured out all the angles, all the ways to manipulate the board. And maybe he has.

I lean back in my seat, trying to appear nonchalant, but my mind is racing. What’s his endgame here? He knows I’m suspicious of him. He knows I’m not stupid. And yet, he’s still trying to get me to trust him—or at least, to trust the idea that we’re on the same side.

But we’re not. We never were.

“Play the game, huh?” I say, feigning amusement. “And what’s your role in this little game, Ben? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve been playing me from the start.”

He doesn’t react the way I expect him to. No defensive posturing, no irritation. Instead, he gives me this knowing look, one that sends a chill down my spine. “I’m not playing you, Selene. I’m helping you. You’re just too stubborn to realize it.”

There it is again—that subtle twist. He’s trying to make me doubt myself, to make me question everything I’ve done up until now. And the worst part? It’s working. Because for all my suspicions, for all the red flags screaming at me to be careful, there’s still a part of me that wonders if he’s right. If I’m the one sabotaging myself, getting in my own way.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “You don’t know anything about me,” I say, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Ben’s smile doesn’t waver. “I know enough.”

He stops tapping his leg and leans back in his seat, his eyes locked on mine. “You don’t have to do this alone, Selene. You’ve been running headfirst into danger because you think it’s the only way to get what you want. But it’s not.”

His words hit harder than I expect them to. Because deep down, I know he’s right. I’ve been reckless, throwing myself into this mess without thinking about the consequences. But it’s not just about me anymore. There’s more at stake now, and I can’t keep pretending like I’m invincible.

I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care.

“I don’t need your help,” I say, but the words feel hollow. I’m trying to convince myself as much as him.

Ben tilts his head slightly, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Maybe not. But you could use it.”

The way he says it, so calm and collected, makes me want to scream. He’s too smooth, too in control, and it’s making me feel like I’m the one slipping. I hate it. But more than that, I hate that I’m starting to believe him. Because for all my bravado, for all my attempts to stay one step ahead, I’m starting to realize just how much I’ve been playing with fire.

And how close I am to getting burned.