“Four armed men came to reclaim a 130-pound Cane Corso from my pet store… but the moment his billionaire owner arrived, the dog refused to obey—and chose me instead.”

By 4:00 AM, the federal authorities and corporate investigators had cleared the scene. The broken windows were sealed with heavy-duty steel shutters, the debris was swept away, and the shop was quiet once more.

Roman sat at the small wooden table in my back office, signing a stack of legal documents that had been couriered over by his executive team.

I stood by the counter, pouring two cups of fresh coffee, watching him through the open office door. Titan was lying across my feet again, fast asleep, his breathing slow and peaceful for the first time since he had walked through my doors.

Roman walked out of the office, holding a single, crisp paper folder in his hand. He stopped in front of me, setting the folder down on the counter.

“What’s this?” I asked, looking down at it.

“Property transfer and endowment papers,” Roman said, his voice softer than it had been all night. “Calder Global’s legal department has officially acquired the entire industrial block surrounding your store. We’re rebuilding it into a state-of-the-art veterinary trauma and rehabilitation center. And I’m naming you its executive director.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping. “Roman, I run a small neighborhood pet store. I don’t run a multi-million-dollar medical facility.”

“You handled a one-hundred-and-thirty-pound traumatized war dog better than my entire team of professional handlers,” Roman replied, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. “You have empathy, Harper. And in my world, that’s the rarest asset of all.”

I looked down at the folder, then over at Titan, who let out a soft snore from his spot on the floor.

“And Titan?” I asked softly.