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“What the fuck, Sienna?” he finally said, breaking the peace. “How long have you been taking pills? And downing them with alcohol? Do you have a death wish?”

“Sometimes.” I smiled sadly. “I’m not really trying to kill myself, though.”

“You could have fooled me.” He let out a sardonic breath. “Taking sleeping pills with alcohol is a sure way to find death.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.”

“You will stop.” I rolled my eyes at his overreaction and he added, “I mean it. I’ve tossed every pill bottle into the trash and the alcohol is hidden now.”

I resumed walking and he followed, although his grip on my hand tightened.

A crunch of fallen leaves echoed beneath our feet as we walked, each step stirring shades of amber, gold, and deep red. The wind whispered through the bare branches, making them sway against the cool autumn sky.

Fall in Ireland was cold enough to find its way through our coats, but there was something undeniably beautiful about it.

The familiar green of the Irish landscape remained, softened and deepened by the changing season, blending effortlessly with the warm canvas of autumn colors. Emerald fields stretched alongside trees dressed in copper and rust, creating a landscape that felt both wild and peaceful. The air smelled of rain, earth, and fallen leaves.

“It helps me get some rest,” I finally said.

“How often do you take them?”

“Every few days.” He stared at my profile, and I added in a whisper, “Sometimes every day.”

“How many?”

“Usually two do the trick with some alcohol."

“Jesus, baby. That’s bad.”

“I can’t sleep without them,” I admitted. Shame colored my cheeks. Did this mean I was an addict? I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t sure. “And if I don’t get sleep, then I can’t concentrate to get any work done.”

“How long?” he asked. I opened my mouth to say it had only started when he demanded, “I want the truth.”

I swallowed. “A few years.”

His blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Before or after you sent me to prison?”

I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them. He was still watching me.

“Before.”

He nodded somberly. “So after your kidnapping?”

My lips thinned, but I was certain my expression was an answer enough.

“Those things are slowly killing you,” he said.

“I have to die one day,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Funny.”

“Why do you care?” I snapped, coming to a stop and turning to glare at him. I tried to yank my hand out of his grip, but he wouldn’t let me. “I sent you to prison, remember? You want to make me pay for betraying you.”

His face tightened with anger in the moonlight.

“And how in the fuck will you pay if you kill yourself!” he said.

“I’m not trying to kill myself.”