Chapter 57
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHLOE
I unlock the front door, and when the delicious scent of Carol’s spaghetti Bolognese, which has quickly become Dad’s favorite meal, hits me, I can’t help but smile.
I pass the empty spot on the wall. It still feels strange not seeing his painting hanging there when I get home each day.
In the kitchen, Carol is shaking her booty in front of the stove while dad is on his phone.
When he hangs up, he turns to me, eyes bright. “The gallery called. Someone’s leased my painting, with an option to buy.”
Conflicting emotions flood me, happiness for Dad with a little bit of sadness for me. As wonderful as it is, this means I may have lost an important part of my history.
I shake my head and push away the thought, choosing to focus on the positive side. I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “That’s wonderful. How much are they leasing it for?”
“I’m not sure yet. They’re going to send me the details shortly. But the gallery owner says it’s a substantial amount.”
“Maybe we should celebrate with a delicious meal and a glass of wine, then.”
The news and the incredible dinner are almost enough to ease the dull ache in my chest for an hour or so.
After we’ve cleaned up, I retire to my room and set up a fresh canvas. Along with buying some of my own, I’ve replaced the two I took from Dad. He’s started sketching again, and with any luck, it won’t be long before he’s ready to paint.
My finished portraits are propped against the wall. I need to take the one of Christopher to Lola, but I’m not sure what to do with the one of Roman. It hurts to look at it, but at the same time, the happiness in his expression fills me with warmth.
What is he doing right now? Does he think of me as often as I think of him? How is the EcoTech acquisition going? I hope he’s smiling wherever he is and whatever he’s doing.
I squeeze out a selection of paints onto my palette and pick up my paintbrush. Rather than painting someone in particular, I’m focused on relaxing. For now, I want to lose myself in the passion I gave up so many years ago.
Swirls of silver and yellow, blush pink and light gray make their way onto the canvas. The longer I paint, the easier it becomes. As the image takes shape, my hand falters and my throat tightens.
I put my brush down and stare at the face in front of me. A child’s face, a boy’s. One with pale blond hair and eyes the color of a wolf’s. A combination of my face and Roman’s. A new dream, not to replace the old, but adding to it.
I sit on my bed, a tear welling up and trailing hot down my cheek. God, I want this new dream. Loving Roman and being loved in return. The joy of painting. One day, maybe even the joy of creating a new life, one whose days will be full of love and happiness and as much security as we could provide.
I pick up my phone and pull up Roman’s number. My thumb hovers over the green Call button, but as another tear trickles down my cheek, followed by another, I lock the screen and throw the phone on the bed.
Why does love have to be so painful? Why can’t I just reach out and close the gap between us?
I slump back on my bed, focusing on the face I’ve just painted. In this moment, it all becomes clear.
I don’t want a love that’s hidden in the shadows. And I’m not sure if Roman will ever be prepared to love me in the light.
It’s raining again. The umbrella helps, but halfway home from the bus stop, my shoes are soaked through.
As I approach our apartment block, a figure comes into view—someone sitting on the front steps. A man. I frown in confusion, and then my pulse leaps. Has Dad been locked out? I quicken my pace, but after only a few strides, I realize the person waiting is too big to be Dad.
The closer I get, the faster my heart races. Roman’s dark hair hangs wet over his eyes, his white shirt plastered to his chest, completely see-through. He sits with his legs bent, forearms resting on his knees, head bowed.
“Roman?”
At the sound of my voice, his head jerks up, and he stands. Having his eyes on me for the first time in four weeks sends the dormant butterflies in my stomach whirling around once more.
I take a hesitant step closer, unable to stop myself from drinking him in. “What are you doing here?”
He seems to be having the same problem, his gaze slowly tracing over my features as if he’s memorizing every detail. “I have something for you.”
With those words, the hope that he’s here to confess his undying love and beg me to come back dims.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “What is it?”
He picks up a plastic-wrapped package from the steps and approaches, holding it out to me. As I reach for it, his fingers ghost over mine and prickles of heat ripple up my arm.
“It’s my Forbes interview,” he says.
I finally look down at the package, finding a magazine beneath the clear plastic covering. I glance up at him, confused.
“I’d like you to read it.” Without waiting for my response, he moves past me.
I stop him with a hand on his arm, my fingers curling over damp fabric. His skin is hot, even through his wet shirt.
“How are you?” I ask softly.
“I hope I’ll be better soon.”
I thought he might tell me he’s been miserable without me, the way I’m miserable without him. But at his response, my heart drills into my stomach. Is this his way of letting me know he’s moving on?
Swallowing, I nod, doing my best to hide the hurt piercing through me. “That’s… good.”
He studies me for a beat, then brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek. The gesture is so familiar, so intimate, that warmth seeps beneath my skin.
“Read the interview, Chloe,” he says quietly. “I hope you’ll like it.”
And then, with the barest shadow of a smile, he’s gone, striding down the street toward his town car. Until now, I hadn’t noticed it parked there. He could have stayed inside, stayed warm and dry while waiting for me. Instead, he sat out here in the rain.
More warmth spreads through me. Clutching the damp plastic wrapping protecting the magazine, I head inside. The need to know why Roman insisted I read his Forbes interview is impossible to ignore. I was there when it was conducted; what could he possibly want me to learn?
After unlocking the door to the apartment, I call out for Dad or Carol, but there’s no answer.
I grab a paper towel to dry the dripping-wet plastic, then hurry to my bedroom. After changing out of my work clothes into yoga pants and a T-shirt, I sit cross-legged on my bed, heart racing as I pull out the magazine.
My chest tightens painfully as I study the close up of Roman’s face on the cover. God, he’s so incredibly gorgeous—those piercing eyes staring straight into the camera, the strong line of his jaw, the seductively masculine curve of his lips.
He’s so perfect it hurts.
Flipping through the pages, I find his interview. But when I take in the accompanying photo spread, my breath stalls.
There he is, standing with his back to the wall inside the foyer of King Plaza. With his hands resting casually in the pants pockets of his immaculately tailored charcoal suit, he exudes effortless confidence. And behind him, hanging in pride of place, is my father’s painting.
Dad’s vision of Manhattan waking up to a brand-new day.
With shaking hands, I start reading.
The article, Breaking the Mold: How Roman King is Redefining Success , begins with an overview of Roman’s rise to CEO and his father’s controversial legacy. I skim through the interview, already knowing the questions and answers.
But toward the end of the page, my eyes catch on an italicized note.
The next section of the interview was conducted at a later date following events that have significantly impacted Roman King and his leadership at the King Group. We revisited our conversation to capture his insights and reflections during this time.
My throat goes dry as I continue reading.
Interviewer : Thank you for speaking with us again, Roman. Following your father’s passing, how do you view the renewed scrutiny around his legacy and its impact on your leadership?
Roman : There’s no doubt my father’s legacy is a complicated one. It’s taught me valuable lessons—some through his successes, but mostly through his mistakes. Now, I’m focused on building something new: a company that values integrity and innovation as much as profits. We’re not erasing the past but using it to shape a better future.
I swallow hard, my fingers tightening on the magazine as the tension in my chest intensifies.
Interviewer : The media continues to draw parallels between you and your father. How do you respond to that?
Roman : Comparisons are unavoidable, but they miss the mark. I’ve learned from my father’s mistakes, and now I’m forging my own path. Transparency isn’t just about business—it’s about being honest in all areas of life. That’s how trust is built, and that’s what matters most to me. Success in business doesn’t have to come at the expense of personal values.
Interviewer : There’s been speculation about your personal life in the media recently. How do you respond to the scrutiny and balance personal matters with your leadership role?
Roman : Relationships, especially the meaningful ones, shape who we are. I’ve learned that trying to separate personal integrity from professional leadership is a mistake. The people we choose to have by our side influence our values and decisions in powerful ways. Yes, I’m in a relationship. While I prefer to keep the details private, for obvious reasons, I refuse to deny it—or its importance in my life. It’s a connection rooted in mutual respect and understanding, and it’s something I’m deeply grateful for.
A tremor runs through me. He didn’t just acknowledge our relationship—he claimed it publicly.
Interviewer : The painting behind you stands out. Why did you choose it as the backdrop for this interview?
Roman : It’s more than just a beautiful work of art. It symbolizes new beginnings and the possibilities they provide. Each new day is a chance to redefine ourselves, regardless of the mistakes and the challenges that have come before. This painting embodies the potential for transformation, a theme that I hope I, and the King Group, will continue to demonstrate.
Interviewer : So what does the future hold for you and the King Group?
Roman : Professionally, my goal is to steer our company into a future where we lead by example in sustainability and ethics. On a personal level, recent experiences have taught me the invaluable role of genuine human connections. Being true to myself and valuing those around me—I’d like to think that’s the truth of where my father and I differ.
Oh my God.
The magazine falls to my lap, and my heart almost bursts from my chest. He told the world about us—shining a light on our relationship for everyone to see. And he leased Dad’s painting, giving it pride of place in the King Group’s headquarters.
My head and heart are so full I can barely think. All I know is that I have to see him.
Right now.
I leap from my bed, pull on a pair of sneakers, and snatch up the magazine. The front door opens just as I leave my room, and Dad and Carol step in.
Dad’s face lights up when he sees me. “I found out who leased my painting today—well, he’s actually bought it now. You’ll never guess who it is.”
“It’s Roman.”
He blinks at me, and I can’t help the slightly hysterical laugh that bubbles up.
I thrust the magazine at him. “I have to go, but you should read this.” Wrapping a gleeful-looking Carol in a quick hug, I kiss her cheek. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t rush.” She winks knowingly.
Only when the rain hits my face do I realize I didn’t grab an umbrella. But I can’t bring myself to go back for it. My urge to see Roman, to touch him again, is too strong. I just hope I don’t miss the bus.