Chapter 5 - Julian’s Desperation
By midnight, the rain over the Rhode Island coast had turned into a howling gale, thrashing against the dark glass windows of the grand cliffside estate overlooking the Atlantic.
Inside the house, the atmosphere was a sanctuary of warm amber light, polished wood, and quiet safety.
Norah sat in a deep armchair by the library fireplace, wrapped in a soft cashmere blanket. A cup of chamomile tea steamed on the table beside her. Her cheek was still tender where Selene had struck her, but the burning sting had faded under the soothing salve Roman’s private physician had applied earlier.
Roman walked into the library, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. He had spent the last two hours on encrypted conference calls with his legal and financial teams, dismantling the March family empire piece by piece.
He stopped when he saw her looking out toward the dark, stormy ocean.
“Are you still awake?” Roman asked softly, crossing the room to kneel beside her chair.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, Roman,” Norah confessed quietly, looking down into his pale, steady eyes. “For years, my life was built on walking on eggshells. If I spent five dollars too much, if Bridget needed something, if my father frowned... everything felt temporary. Now... this house, your name, the protection... it feels too big.”
Roman took her hand, pressing his warm lips against her palm.
“Nothing here is temporary, Norah,” he murmured, his voice fierce with a quiet, unshakeable conviction. “I spent ten years building walls around myself because I thought nobody in this world deserved to get close to the dark. Then you walked into that diner in the middle of a freezing rainstorm, ordered black coffee, and told the waitress you were trying to figure out how to start over.”
A faint, watery smile touched Norah’s lips. “I looked like a mess.”
“You looked like the only real thing in a room full of ghosts,” Roman corrected.
Before Norah could answer, a sharp, frantic hammering echoed from the heavy front doors of the estate.
Roman’s expression instantly hardened. The tenderness vanished, replaced by the lethal stillness of a predator whose territory had been breached. He stood up slowly.
“Stay here,” Roman commanded softly.
He walked out into the grand foyer just as Prescott swung the heavy oak front door open.
May you like
Standing on the porch, drenched to the bone, shivering violently in a ruined tuxedo, was Julian Vale.
“Let me in!” Julian screamed, trying to push past Prescott. “Norah! Norah, you have to help me! They’re freezing my accounts! The feds are coming! She has to talk to Roman—she has to make him stop!”
