Chapter 13 #3
Roman’s expression didn’t change. Not an ounce of sympathy.
"Ay! Y’all get the fuck on somewhere with all that recording shit!
" he barked, his voice cutting through the air like a gunshot. A small crowd of bystanders, phones out and frozen in place, suddenly scattered like roaches. They knew better. Roman’s name alone carried enough weight to send entire blocks into silence.
Ariel’s heart dropped. Her one hope of witnesses—gone. Now it was just her, this man, and the sharp edge of danger in his eyes.
"I don’t give a fuck about that lil’ bean in your fucking stomach," he said, stepping in close, so close she could see the gold in his tooth glint under the sun.
"But I don’t play about that one," he said, jerking his thumb back toward the Lamborghini, where Dorian sat stewing in the passenger seat.
"So if you wanna wake up tomorrow, I suggest you act like this whole thing never happened. "
“You don’t scare me,” Ariel spat, blood hitting the side of Roman’s face as she tried to summon some shred of courage. “Do you even know who my father is?!”
Roman grinned.
He wiped the blood from his cheek with his thumb, slow and delib erate, then stepped in—close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off him. In one swift motion, his hand wrapped around her throat, tight.
Her breath caught. Eyes bulged. He leaned in, voice low, lethal.
“Do you know who I am?” he whispered coldly, the pressure tightening. “'Cause if you did… you’d know better than to talk slick with my hand around your fuckin’ neck.”
Ariel clawed at his wrist, gasping for air, her vision blurring. The sirens were closer now, but they might as well have been a mile away. She looked around—no one. Nowhere to run. No help.
He stared into her eyes, seeing every ounce of panic, every drop of fear. He wanted her to feel that. To never forget it.
Finally, he let go.
Ariel dropped forward, coughing and choking, gripping her knees as she tried to suck in oxygen.
“Go the fuck home,” Roman said, voice like stone. “Before I change my mind.”
She glanced up at him, face twisted in horror. Roman just smiled— slow, cold, and terrifying.
“Be smart, sweetheart.”
With that, he turned around and strolled back to his car like nothing happened. Doors slammed. Engine roared.
And just like that, Roman was gone. But Ariel?
She'd never forget the day she looked a monster in the eye and realized—she was lucky to walk away breathing.
As they sped down the highway, Dorian glanced over at Roman, taking in the sharp set of his jaw, the steady grip he kept on the wheel, and the eerie calm he wore like armor.
He had just saved her from catching an assault charge and damn near choked a woman out in broad daylight—without even asking for the full story.
Any normal woman would be terrified of a man like him.
But Dorian wasn’t normal, and Roman? He wasn’t just some hood nigga with a temper.
He was lethal, controlled, and unpredictable in a way that made her pulse skip.
She and Sevyn might’ve grown up in the suburbs, but their parents didn’t shelter them from the real world.
Public school taught her more than textbooks ever could.
Dorian had always been drawn to rough dudes—but none of them came close to the raw, dangerous energy Roman carried in his silence.
And the way he protected her? Without question? That shit did something to her.
"You keep staring at me like that, you gon’ make me crash," Roman said finally, eyes flicking over to hers. They weren’t cold like before —like when he was threatening Ariel. They were soft now. Too soft for a man like him. And that’s what had her heat rising.
Dorian looked out the windshield for a second, trying to calm the fire sitting in her chest. “You really choked that girl out in front of security cameras.”
“She still breathing, ain’t she?” Roman replied with a shrug, not even a drop of guilt in his tone. “I could’ve done worse.”
Dorian couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Yeah, and ended up with a damn murder charge.”
He just smirked. “Nah.”
The way he said it, so sure of himself, like the law never applied to him. Like consequences were beneath him. It should’ve made her nervous. Instead, it made her clench her thighs.
“You crazy as hell,” she muttered, her voice full of disbelief, but the twitch of her lips gave her away.
Roman leaned back a little, one arm resting lazily on the steering wheel, the other now resting on her thigh like it belonged there. “You already knew that.”
Their eyes locked. Dorian should’ve been angry. She should’ve been worried about her business, about jail time, about how they’d just left a bleeding woman in a bank parking lot. But none of that was on her mind.
All she could think about was the man next to her—the one who just proved he’d raise hell behind her without hesitation.
And her heart? It wasn’t thumping from fear. It was thumping from him.
The way Roman yanked her off Ariel without a second thought.
The way he checked her first—made sure she was good—before stepping to Ariel like she was nothing more than dirt under his shoe.
That kind of protectiveness? That kind of danger?
It didn’t scare Dorian. It stirred something in her.
Something hot. Something deep. Now, as they sped down the freeway, Roman’s hand rested on her thigh like it belonged there.
Dorian glanced down at it but didn’t move.
She didn’t want to. His touch was heavy, grounding—like a claim, but not the suffocating kind.
“You ain’t have to come like that,” she finally said, breaking the silence.
“Nah,” Roman replied, glancing her way, cool as ever. “But I wanted to.”
“You knew I had it handled.”
“I did. But that don’t mean I ain’t gon’ pull up behind you… clean up the mess—or make it worse, depending on how I’m feelin’.”
Dorian smirked. “So what, you my personal hitman now?”
He leaned back, his voice dropping a notch, deeper… smoother .
“Nah. I’m whatever the fuck you need me to be.” That shut her up.
Her chest rose a little quicker, a little higher. She looked away, tried to focus on the road ahead, but his words played on loop in her mind. That kind of promise? It was dangerous. Addictive.
A few blocks passed in silence before he spoke again, tone sharper now. “Next time? Call me first.”
She arched a brow. “What, you tryna be my emergency contact now too?”
“No. Just don’t like the thought of you out here swinging on bitches without backup.”
That pulled a laugh from her—soft, real, and unexpected. She leaned back in her seat, finally relaxing for the first time all damn day. “Thanks, Roman.”
He glanced at her, and for a moment, the playfulness dropped from his face. He was serious now. Intent.
“You mine now?” he asked.
Dorian turned to him slowly, lips curling. “No. I bet you ask all your other bitches that too.”
Roman let out a deep chuckle that vibrated off the doors. “Nah, them hoes can’t fight like you.”
“Oh, so that’s why you want me? ‘Cause I throw hands?” she teased.
“Hell nah. That’s just a bonus,” he said, his eyes back on the road, but his grin deepening. “You fine as fuck, you match my fire, and you got your own bag. And that pussy heaven!”
Dorian laughed out loud, shaking her head. One thing about Roman—he didn’t fake shit. He said what he meant and meant what he said, no matter how raw it sounded.
“So you mine now?” he asked again, cocky and calm. “Ask me again when my adrenaline ain’t still spiked.”
Roman grinned, turning the corner a little too sharp, just to see if she’d flinch. She didn’t. Her body tilted toward him, but before she could brace herself, his hand slid tighter around her thigh, locking her in place.
“Aight,” he said, voice low, smile lethal. “I’ll wait.”
And Dorian? She didn’t know whether to run from him—or run straight into the flames. But one thing she knew for sure?
She wasn’t walking away.
"I need to call my cousin since you left my car at the bank," Dorian said, trying to reclaim some control in the thick, charged air inside the car.
But Roman? He stayed cool behind the wheel, punching in a gate code as they rolled up to a private neighborhood lined with mansions that screamed money and power .
"I already have your shit being delivered here," Roman said casually, not even looking her way.
Dorian blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”
He smirked. “Yeah, baby. I own a fucking dealership. You think I don’t got pull?”
Dorian couldn’t help it—her face lit up like he’d just told her she won the lottery. “Okay, stunt on me then.”
Roman chuckled, his knuckles casually gripping the wheel as they rolled through the gate and up the long, winding driveway to a mansion that made Dorian’s mouth part just slightly.
"Still calling my cousin though," she said, regaining her focus with a grin. "She needs to know I finally got that bitch."
She dialed Sevyn’s number, her voice already laced with excitement as Roman parked outside the massive estate.
He stepped out like he owned the city—because in his world, he might as well have.
And as Dorian chatted on the phone, her heels hitting the pavement, Roman watched her with a grin tugging at his lips.
He loved a woman who could throw hands and walk like royalty right after.
Across town, Ariel stood frozen in the bank parking lot, still trying to piece together what the hell had just happened.
The wail of approaching sirens filled the air, but it didn’t matter—Roman and Dorian were long gone, leaving behind nothing but tire tracks, stunned bystanders, and the blood dripping from her lip.
Her hands trembled as she climbed into her car, her heart pounding as she replayed every hit.
The look in that man’s eyes—cold, merciless—stuck with her.
She knew when someone meant what they said, and Roman?
He didn’t make threats. He promised outcomes.
And she wasn’t about to stick around and call his bluff.
Her face was a disaster—swollen, bruised, smeared with blood and humiliation. She reached up to touch her cheek and winced. Tears clouded her vision, and for the first time in a long time, she felt helpless. Vulnerable. Alone.
With shaking fingers, she called Braxton. Again. Straight to voicemail. Just like the last two weeks.
She let out a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. She couldn’t show up back at work like this. Hell, she couldn’t show her face anywhere like this. She’d have to lie. Say she got jumped. Maybe claim she was in an accident.
But no matter how much money her daddy had—or how many surgeons she found—nothing was going to erase the humiliation Dorian carved into her face today.
Ariel finally pulled off, swallowing the lump in her throat as the tears streamed freely now .
This wasn’t over.
But deep down… she knew she’d already lost.