Chapter 24: What’s going on?

The gardai pushed Cian forward and nodded toward Eoin. "Here he is. These are the bail papers. Sign here, please."

Eoin nodded, picked up the pen, and signed. He looked cold and distant.

Cian stood to one side with his hands in his pockets and spoke first. "Why are you here?"

Even if someone was going to bail me out, it shouldn’t have been you.

Eoin’s pen paused. The office was freezing, with no heating, so he had put a thick wool coat over his suit and tucked his hands into the sleeves. Cian didn’t notice.

Eoin kept signing, his eyes fixed on the paper as if it were worth a billion. "Your uncle asked me to bail you out."

"Fergal?" Cian was surprised, then laughed. "He’s got some conscience left after all. I thought he wouldn’t care."

After that, they were both quiet.

Eoin was dressed warmly. Cian wasn’t. A cold draught swept through the hall, and Cian couldn’t help shivering.

Eoin closed the file at once, his face unchanged. "Let’s get in the car."

His car was parked right outside. It was a Bentley saloon with crown-shaped LED headlights, a big chrome grille, and a fully loaded interior, just as expensive as Cian’s own car.

Cian climbed into the passenger seat, pulled on his seatbelt, and sighed. "How things have changed. Now it’s my turn to ride in your car."

He held out his hand. "It’s been a while."

It was a polite handshake.

Eoin looked at the outstretched hand. There was a bloody cut on it, from when Cian had punched Rory and scraped a metal button. It had stopped bleeding, but the skin was split and swollen, and it still looked nasty.

Cian followed his eyes and saw the cut. He guessed Eoin wouldn’t want to shake hands, so he pulled his hand back and smiled. "Let’s start again. What should I call you now? Mr. Brennan? Chairman Brennan? CEO Brennan?"

Cian had heard at the dinner that Eoin was a rising star in Dublin with a listed company under his name. But he didn’t know his exact job, whether it was president, chairman, or CEO. The original novel was a steamy romance and never went into details like that.

Eoin lowered his eyes, turned the key with a click, and said flatly, "...Whatever."

None of those three titles suited him.

Cian used to call him "Mr. Brennan, the Teaching Assistant." Back then Eoin was just a young, inexperienced guy with nothing to his name but the glow of a famous university. Cian had said it with a mix of teasing and mischief, in a lazy voice that annoyed him. Every time Eoin heard that playful name, he frowned inside.

But now Cian was saying "Mr. Brennan," "Chairman Brennan," and "CEO Brennan" in a cold, distant voice, as if Eoin were a business contact, polite but not close. Eoin frowned again.

On all those nights when Cian had held him close, he had never spoken to him like this. Now he was so formal, and Eoin had come all this way only to be met with coldness.

Eoin pushed down the strange feeling, and his face grew colder. "It’s late. I’ll take you back."

Before Cian could say anything, the System screamed, "Ahhh! Why is he taking you back? Where’s my psychiatric hospital? Where’s my finger-breaking?!"

Cian calmed it down. "Relax. Look where we are, right outside the Garda station. No matter how bold Eoin is, he can’t try anything here. He must be taking me back first to see how things go."

He had a point, but the System’s bad feeling only grew. "I hope so."

Please don’t cause any more trouble. Even an electronic heart can’t take it.

While the System was on edge, Cian was quite relaxed. He sprawled in his seat and stole glances at Eoin. Eoin had clearly learned to drive at some point, and he drove smoothly and carefully. From where Cian sat, he could only see the lovely line of Eoin’s profile.

Cian sighed and thought, He’s grown up and changed so much.

Then he saw Eoin turn the wheel onto the main road and ask flatly, "Where are you staying?"

"A little guesthouse in Ballybough," Cian said.

Ballybough was that run-down inner-city area with tangled streets and wires overhead. After the heavy snow, the snowploughs couldn’t get in, so the residents had shovelled it themselves, leaving muddy slush.

Eoin paused.

He was surprised that Cian could live so calmly in a place like that.

Cian was the young master of the Fitzgerald family. He had never lacked food or clothes, always bought the most expensive things, and only ever stayed in top luxury suites. Now he was staying in a cheap guesthouse for a few euro a night, and he wasn’t complaining.

Cian was being considerate. "It’s a hassle to drive there, Mr. Brennan. Just drop me at the entrance of the street and I’ll walk."

There he goes with "Mr. Brennan" again.

Eoin’s fingers tightened on the wheel. He said nothing for a long time, then suddenly laughed. "That’s too far out of the way. I’m not driving there."

Cian didn’t push it. "Then just pull over. I’ll get a taxi."

The System reminded him kindly, "According to the script, you probably can’t afford a taxi right now."

Declan had cut off Cian’s money. According to the script, he had been broke through his studies and still was, so a taxi was out of the question.

Cian changed his answer. "Oh, then I’ll take the Luas."

Eoin said without expression, "Ballybough is seven kilometres from the nearest Luas stop. You’re really going to take the Luas?"

Cian asked carefully, "Then I’ll walk the rest of the way?"

Seven kilometres was over an hour’s walk, and it was freezing. Cian was in a thin suit and would catch a cold.

Eoin pressed his lips together, then quickly relaxed them and said stiffly, "Your uncle asked me to bail you out. If I let you walk home, I’d look like a jerk."

Fergal was a respected older figure in business, so the younger people called him Uncle.

Eoin’s words felt like a test. He had let Cian into the car and asked for the address. Then he’d refused to drive there, suggested the Luas, and then said Cian couldn’t walk. Cian couldn’t work out what he meant and felt a headache coming.

Cian: "System, what’s going on?"

The System: "Hmm? Maybe he thinks the Luas isn’t miserable enough for you?"

In his past life, Cian hadn’t been rich. He had taken public transport for years. It wasn’t that bad, and it was hardly worth complaining about.

Cian understood.

He sighed and reached for the door. "Fine, I’ll walk."

It was nearly twenty kilometres to Ballybough, a three-to-five-hour walk.

As Cian touched the handle, Eoin hit the lock. The Bentley sealed shut, and the handle did nothing. Cian tried the window, but it wouldn’t move. The car was a steel trap.

He was totally baffled. What on earth is going on? Is Eoin planning to fight me in the car? Beat me up to let off steam? He wouldn’t stand a chance anyway.

Cian turned his head. Eoin’s face was frozen in cold anger, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles went white, and his throat felt dry and bitter. A storm of feelings churned in his chest and finally came out as a sneer. "If I let you walk home, wouldn’t your uncle say I’m a bad host?"

Cian asked politely, "So what’s the plan?"

Eoin said flatly, "I’m done driving. There’s a hotel nearby. We’ll stay there."

Then, afraid Cian might get the wrong idea, he quickly added, "Money isn’t a problem."

Cian smiled and said casually, "Then I’ll take you up on that."

This was the upmarket part of Dublin, right beside the River Liffey, with beautiful views of the water. Many luxury hotels lined both banks. Cian had once booked a suite here.

Eoin drove on, and five minutes later he stopped in front of a tall hotel on the Liffey.

Cian looked up. Huh, this looks familiar.

The System was thrilled. "Here we go!"

Two streams of tears ran down its screen. "Thank heavens, the plot is back on track! We’re 65% done, so no matter how wild things got before, it can’t be that far off!"

A 65% completion rate meant Eoin had gone through at least 65% of the original suffering. Given what the original host did, 65% should be enough to make him hate Cian to the bone.

Cian seemed to understand. "So that’s why nothing worked before. It was all building up to this?"

In the original story, after Cian was taken from the dinner, he was brought to this hotel. This was where the original host had tortured and humiliated Eoin. The huge floor-to-ceiling window was Eoin’s lifelong nightmare. He had been pinned against it and stripped, while below lay Dublin’s busiest shopping district, with endless streams of people and cars. Anyone with a telescope could have seen his shame.

Even later, when Eoin rose to the top and became CEO, Chairman, and executive, the nightmare never left him. Countless times in the middle of the night, he remembered that huge window, the neon lights outside, and the fingerprints and bloodstains on the glass.

To end the nightmare, Eoin chose to bring the original host here, break his fingers one by one, and use his screams to wash away the old humiliation.

The System rubbed its hands together. "The pain-blocking system is ready to go!"

Cian gave it an OK sign.

He followed Eoin, swiped the card, rode the lift, walked to the top-floor suite, and stopped in front of the familiar oak door. Eoin swiped the key card smoothly, as if he’d done it a thousand times.

The moment the lights came on, Cian paused.

The room was clean but lived-in. The drinks cabinet and wardrobe showed signs of use, and a shirt was draped over the back of the sofa. It looked as if Eoin had been living here.

Cian paused again.

Would he? Live in a room that was practically a nightmare?

The System popped up and whispered, "Is he... forcing himself to put up with it for his goal?"

Cian stepped in, speechless. "Don’t misuse sayings."

Eoin was a step ahead. He calmly put the shirt away and said coldly, "I have work to do. I won’t disturb you any more."

With that, he really didn’t look at Cian again. He turned quickly and left the room.

Cian: "...What’s going on?"