Chapter 21
ROAN
Anger tears through me like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus, and I let it take over, let it burn through the numbness because it’s better than the helplessness. Better than the fucking grief that’s clawing at my insides, just waiting for the moment I let my guard down so it can devour me whole.
I can’t afford to feel that right now. Not when everything is falling apart. Not when my father’s body is in the main house and the oppressive silence blanketing the entire estate is louder than it’s ever been. It’s like even the air itself has gone thick and heavy with collective sadness.
Jonas examined Ate after I laid him down on his bed. He has no marks anywhere on his body. No bruises. No signs of struggle or foul play. Just another heart attack. Sudden and clean.
But clean doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
And the CCTV footage—fuck.
The camera positioned outside his office showed it clear as day.
He was already gone before Katie even walked in.
She didn’t touch him before he died. Couldn’t have.
But because of everything we’ve recently discovered about her, because of the lies and her calculated deception, Dhimiter has every reason to be suspicious.
He has all the same information I do, except for her real name—hell if I know why I’m still holding that back from him.
So yeah, I can’t blame him. It makes sense from his perspective. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to break his fucking jaw for putting her in that freezer without my permission.
Meanwhile, I’m no better. I should’ve listened to my gut and forced Ate to install a camera inside his office too.
But I let it slide when he refused, when he insisted he deserved privacy, that his every action didn’t need to be recorded and monitored.
Said anyone who wanted to kill him would have to do it to his face.
Turns out death didn’t wait for an enemy to show up. It just fucking took him.
And I was right down the fucking hallway the entire time.
I shove open the door to my house with my shoulder and walk in, Katie still shaking in my arms like a goddamn leaf caught in a storm, and it makes my stomach knot because I know what that cold does to a person.
A presence behind me pulls my attention—Dhimiter, planted in the doorway, watching like he doesn’t trust me to handle this, like he’s waiting for a reason to intervene.
My jaw locks hard. “Don’t follow us,” I snap.
“Go attend to the men. Make sure they keep the news contained inside the estate for now. No one outside these walls hears a damn thing until I say so.”
He stares at me for a long second, eyes sharp with unspoken questions and warnings he wants to voice. But finally, he nods and steps back. Good.
Because right now, if he says one more fucking word questioning my judgment, I won’t be able to stop myself from doing something I’ll regret. I’m already hanging on by a thread as it is.
I wait until he’s fully gone and the door closes behind him before I continue moving.
I walk down the hallway, carrying Katie up the stairs and past her room without even consciously thinking about it.
My body moves on pure instinct, my arms tightening around her every time she shivers, though I notice with some relief that the shivers are gradually getting less violent and farther apart.
Still, I don’t stop until we’re in my room. Not sure why. Maybe because it’s the only place in this entire estate that doesn’t feel completely fucking wrong right now. The only place that doesn’t feel like a waking nightmare I can’t escape from.
I head straight into the bathroom, set her down gently on the closed toilet lid, and immediately start running the water in the tub, making it as hot as it’ll go without being dangerous.
Steam rises almost instantly, filling the bathroom with thick moisture, and I test it with my hand before turning my attention back to her.
She’s barely holding herself upright, still shaking uncontrollably. There’s no way she’s going to be able to undress herself in this condition.
Dispassionately, I lift her to her feet and help her undo the buttons of her shirt, peeling the damp fabric away to reveal a pretty pink bra.
But the goosebumps on her skin distract me from any appreciation of what I’m seeing, and I work faster, removing the rest of her clothes until she’s standing completely naked in front of me.
Cradling her carefully, I carry her over to the hot bath and ease her into the water. She shudders at the sudden warmth, her eyes sliding shut, and I take it as a sign it must feel good. “Get warm,” I say quietly, my voice rough from holding too much in.
I don’t wait for her answer. I can’t.
I walk out and leave her there, closing the door behind me.
The room hits me with too much quiet, too much fucking darkness as I cross to the bed and drop onto the edge. I yank the tie from my hair and let the strands fall loose, then drag my fingers through my scalp like I’m trying to claw the unbearable tension straight out of my skull.
A list of everything I’ll have to do now crowds in all at once, stacking pressure in my head until it’s hard to breathe. But one thing outweighs anything else.
I fold forward with my fists tangled in my hair, elbows biting into my knees, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I need to call Elira. Fuck.
No. Absolutely not. I’m not doing that over the phone. I’ll go to her tomorrow, tell her in person, and pray to whatever higher power might be listening that I can be strong enough for both of us. Thank God she has Maximo now. He’ll be able to hold her together when I can’t.
After breaking the news to my sister, I’ll have to start making arrangements for the funeral. Talk with the men. Contact the priest. Work on the fucking guest list.
Goddamn it.
I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly stars burst behind my lids.
My throat burns like I’ve swallowed fire, and everything inside my chest is twisting and breaking, but I can’t fall apart. Not yet.
A small, wet hand slides into my hair, lifting my head gently.
Blinking through a watery blur, I see Katie standing in front of me, wrapped in one of my towels.
Her skin is flushed a healthy pink from the heat of the bath.
Her eyes are softer than I expect, tired and red from crying, but so incredibly soft it makes my heart ache.
“You should’ve stayed in the bath at least ten minutes to get the cold out of your bones,” I murmur, my breathing still harsh and uneven.
She doesn’t answer, just stands there, dripping wet, her fingers threading through my hair like she’s trying to hold me together. Like she somehow knows I’m mere seconds away from falling apart and doesn’t want to let that happen. At least not without her presence.
Her other hand comes up, her thumb cool as it swipes over my cheek, brushing away tears I didn’t even realize had fallen.
The sensation of her skin against my face, combined with the tender, understanding way she’s watching me, makes something deep inside me finally crack wide open—like I’ve been trying to hold back a tidal wave with my bare hands and she just pressed whatever fucking button that opens the floodgates.
More tears fall helplessly from my eyes now as we stare at each other.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispers, her voice splintering with emotion, her chest rising and falling as tears of her own begin rolling down her face.
“Afrim was such a good man. I only knew him for a few weeks, but—but—” She breaks off with a sob, her shoulders shaking as she fights to get the rest out.
But I can’t speak. Can’t force a single fucking word past the raw, burning pain lodged in my throat, past the tightness compressing my chest and lungs.
My chest feels like it’s being crushed repeatedly under an impossibly heavy fist, and I don’t have space left inside me to comfort anyone else right now. Don’t have the emotional tools or resources to process this loss. All I know is that Ate’s gone. My father’s gone forever.
My last anchor to this world is fucking gone, and I didn’t get to say goodbye even though I was just down the fucking hallway. Just steps away. Was he aware of what was happening? Did he feel fear when his heart started failing? Pain? The thought makes my throat constrict even tighter.
I stare at her tear-stained face, focusing on her genuine grief, on the way she’s openly crying for a man she barely knew—her supposed enemy. And it hits me differently somehow, makes me wonder if maybe not everything about her has been an elaborate lie. Maybe some of it was real.
Or maybe I just need something to hold on to so I don’t lose my goddamn mind.
Her face twists with guilt and grief and something else she doesn’t want me to see, and her voice shakes like it’s taking everything in her not to fall apart in front of me.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she repeats brokenly.
“I know my words are useless against your pain, but I want you to know… you’re not alone. I’m here. I’m here and I—”
The last word catches in her throat, and her whole body shudders with the sob she’s trying to swallow down. Tears roll down her cheeks rapidly now, and something sharp stabs into my chest, heavy and deep and impossible to ignore.
I don’t move at first. Just continue staring up at her, jaw clenched, throat burning, every part of me wound tight with the things I want to scream but can’t allow myself to release.
Then I grab her.
I hook my fingers into the edge of the towel and yank her body into me. The knot holding the towel gives and the fabric drops fast, slipping right off her damp skin like it wanted to fall. She gasps sharply as she suddenly stands there bare and trembling in front of me.
I don’t look away. I can’t.
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I lean forward, slowly, waiting for her to step back or tell me to stop, but she doesn’t move. When I rest my head between her breasts, everything chaotic inside me goes quiet for half a precious second, and I close my eyes in relief.
Her skin is damp and wonderfully warm. She smells like my soap mixed with that flushed feminine warmth, and her heart is thudding so frantically I can feel every beat pulsing against my cheek.
But she doesn’t pull back.
She lets out a shaky breath, wraps her arms around my shoulders, and holds me there against her, her fingers threading through my hair in slow, soft strokes.
The gesture should calm me, but it doesn’t—instead it lights something volatile in my chest, something hot and dangerous that shoots straight through me and sends blood rushing straight to my cock.
The way her body is pressed so tightly against mine—her damp, bare skin against my still-clothed body—makes my clothes stick to me where they touch her, the fabric going wet and clingy.
Warmth permeates through every layer, raising my awareness of her to unbearable levels.
Her breath brushing my neck. The curve of her waist under my palm.
The incredible softness of her breasts pressed against my face.
My cock hardens, straining urgently against my pants, and I don’t even try to hide it.
I’m not thinking straight.
There’s grief in my chest, yeah. Guilt, too.
But underneath it all, hotter and much closer to the surface, is this consuming hunger that won’t quit.
The tension in the room thickens, clinging to us, twisting everything up into something I can’t quite name.
I should push her away. I should say something to break this moment.
But I stay exactly where I am, breathing her in like she’s the only barrier between me and the void waiting to pull me under.
Something inside me caves. And I hold her even tighter.