Chapter 2 Chapter Two
The drive back to my apartment was a blur of neon lights and the frantic rhythm of my own pulse. I kept checking the rearview mirror, half expecting a black sedan to be tailing me, or worse, to see the ghost of Julia's expression when I'd dropped the bomb.
He hadn't just looked heartbroken, he looked small. And that was the problem with Julian. He was a man built for comfort, not for the storm unlike Roan.
I parked in the underground garage of my building, the tires screeching against the polished concrete, a sound too loud for the silence of the night. My phone sat on the passenger seat next to my bag, the screen now dark, but the message burned into my retina.
'I hear we are getting serious.'
But how? The dinner had ended less than an hour ago. My father was a gossip, but even he couldn't have spread the word that fast.
Could it be Mom? Verena? Julian?!
Fuck! I screamed as I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. Roan was more persuasive than the rumors suggested.
I took a deep breath and picked up my bag alongside my phone. I got down from my car and headed towards the elevator, muttering a prayer under my breath as I pushed the elevator button to the 14th floor.
My apartment which was usually my sanctuary now felt like a glass cage. I didn't turn on the lights, making the ambient flow of the city filter through the floor to the ceiling windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the hardwood.
I had five minutes left.
I walked to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water I knew I couldn't swallow. I needed a plan. A defense. You don't lie about Roan Vane and expect to get away with a slap on the wrist. He was a man who dealt in collateral and contracts. If I had used his name as currency, he would come to collect the debt.
A soft click echoed from the front door making my heart stop.
I hadn't even heard the elevator nor a knock on the door.
I watched, swallowing deep spit as the door swung open with a slow, deliberate grace. A silhouette stood framed against the hallway light, tall, broad shouldered and draped in a dark coat that seemed to absorb the very air around it. He didn't step inside immediately, he stood there, letting the silence do the work of intimidation.
"The locks on the building are surprisingly sentimental, Zia," a voice remarked. It was a deep baritone, smooth as aged bourbon but with an underlying edge of gravel. "They provide the illusion of safety without the burden of actually providing it."
Roan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn't look like a monster, he looked like an architect - precise, elegant, and entirely in control of the space he occupied. His eyes, even in the shadows, were a piercing, predatory grey.
"How did you get in here?" I managed to say, my voice sounding thinner than I wanted it to.
"I own the holding company that owns the management firm that oversees this building," he said, walking towards the window. He didn't look at me, he looked at the city, as if he were checking on his property. "Technically, I'm just visiting my own real estate." He suddenly turned, his gaze locking onto mine. The sheer gravity of his presence made the air feel thick.
"I was at a very boring board meeting when my phone began to melt," he continued, his tone conversational, which was somehow more terrifying than if he'd been shouting. "Apparently, I've skipped the dating phase and gone straight to a serious commitment with the West daughter. My father is somewhat delighted, my stepbrother is devastated and...I am curious," He moved closer, his footsteps silent. He stopped just inches away, close enough that I could smell woodsmoke and expensive tailoring. "Tell me, Zia," he leaned down, his face inches from mine, his voice dropping to a whisper that vibrated in my chest. "When did we have our first date? I'd hate to be caught off guard if someone asks about our anniversary."
I didn't back away. If I retreated now, I would be dead. Taking a deep breath, I channeled every ounce of spite I'd felt at that dinner table.
"It was four months ago," I said, my voice finding it's steel. "In London. A rainy night at a gallery opening you weren't actually at. We had dinner together because you found me interesting and refreshing."
He titled his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. It wasn't a kind smile, it was the smile of a cat watching a mouse trying to negotiate.
"Interesting and refreshing," he repeated. "Is that why you decided to use me as a shield against our siblings' wedding announcement? Or was I just the biggest hammer you could find to smash your father's expectations?"
"Both," I admitted. "You're the only name they fear more than they covet."
Roan reached out, his thumb grazing the line of my jaw. The contact felt like an electric shock. "You have put me in a difficult position, Zia. If I deny it, I look like I've been played by a girl nearly half my age. If I let the lie stand, I'm tethered to the West family - a group of people I've spent a decade trying to bankrupt,"
He moved his hand to the back of my neck, his grip firm but not painful, it was like a claim.
"So, here is the price for my silence," he said, his eyes darkening. "You wanted Roan Vane? You have him. But you don't get the name for free. From this moment on, you belong to my narrative. Every move you make, every word you speak, is mine to script."
My fear now shifted from if he was going to kill me to what he would make me do.
"What do you want?" I whispered.
Roan leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. "Your father has a contract I need. My brother has a pride I want to break. And you....you're going to help me do both," He leaned back, straightening up. "For now, get some rest. Tomorrow night, we have a late night gala to attend. It's time the world saw how serious we really are."
He stepped back, watching me with a cold, expectant brilliance. "And Zia?"
"Yes?"
"Try to look like you're in love. It's the only lie I won't forgive you for failing. Make a mistake, and you'd wish you never made a bet with my name."
