12. Roman
ROMAN
T he sun barely filters through the blackout curtains, but I feel it. The shift in the air. The ache in my body. The heaviness of having her—finally having her—lying next to me, soft and pliant in sleep, is the closest thing to peace I’ve ever known.
But peace is a lie.
Because I don’t trust peace.
Not when I’ve bled to earn it.
I turn my head, careful not to wake her, and stare.
She’s still here.
I half-expected her to disappear like a mirage.
Like something my mind conjured to comfort me through another night of wanting.
But she’s here. Curled against me in that oversized shirt I made her wear after tearing through her clothes to claim her.
My shirt. Her leg’s slung over mine like she belongs there.
Like she’s claimed me back without even meaning to.
My fingers twitch, aching to touch her. Not like last night—not with heat and hunger—but softly. Reverently. I want to memorize this version of her. Calm. Unaware. Trusting me enough to sleep like this.
God, I could die like this.
I brush a strand of hair off her cheek and study her features. The delicate curve of her jaw. The freckle under her eye. The small part of her lips like she’s about to whisper something into the quiet. I wonder if she’ll say my name the way I want to hear it if I ask her.
Mine.
My chest clenches.
She came back.
She chose me.
But what if it was a moment of weakness?
What if this morning, she changes her mind?
I can’t let that happen.
When I came back to the house, hoping she’d choose to stay and found her gone, my vision went black with rage. I destroyed anything and everything I could get my hands on.
I shift slightly, resting on my side to face her fully. My hand lingers just above her ribs, not touching—barely breathing. I whisper, “Mine,” because saying it out loud makes it harder for the universe to take it back.
Her eyelashes flutter. A soft inhale. And then… her eyes open. Bleary. Confused. Beautiful.
“Hey,” she murmurs, voice rough from sleep. “You’re staring.”
I smile, slow and dangerous. “Always.”
She stretches, and the movement pulls the collar of the shirt off one shoulder.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” she asks, shifting to her back.
“Couldn’t. Needed to make sure you stayed.”
She blinks, trying to decide if that’s romantic or terrifying.
“Are you… okay?” she asks cautiously.
“Perfect,” I answer.
She doesn’t believe me. But she doesn’t argue either.
We lie in silence for a moment, both pretending it’s normal. That this isn’t a cage she’s still trying to pretend is a palace. That I’m not the man who took her life and bent it into a shape he could hold.
“Ivy,” I say, voice low.
She looks at me.
“You’re not leaving me again. I’ll make you stay. With me.”
Her throat works like she wants to swallow words she’s not ready to say.
“I told you.” She says quietly. “I’m yours as long as you want me.”
I don’t push her for more. Not yet.
Because I already have her body.
And soon, I’ll have the rest. I just need to be patient for a little bit longer.
She finally looks away, her eyes going to the bathroom door. “I need a shower.”
“Or a bath,” I offer, thinking of how soft her skin felt under my fingers.
With a nod, she slips away, but not before she presses her lips to mine. “Yours.” She whispers against my mouth.
I’m still watching the bathroom door a half hour later while Ivy’s enjoying herself in the bath.
I can hear the water lapping against porcelain, the occasional slosh as she moves. I picture her sunk beneath the surface, neck exposed, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and trust. She let me take care of her this morning. She let me touch her without flinching.
It’s fucking with my head.
My phone buzzes.
Ezra.
Of course.
I swipe to answer, already regretting it. “What?”
“You sound pissed. You still in your happy little love nest?” Ezra’s voice is pure mockery, laced with his usual brand of venomous amusement.
“What do you want?”
“Thought you’d like to know,” he drawls, “I have a problem. A slippery little blonde one. Thought she was fun. Turns out she thinks she can’t trust me. Now she’s talking about ultimatums and demanding that I release her or she’s going to rip my balls off. Isn’t that cute?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re interrupting my morning for this ?”
“I need a cleanup.” A pause. “Not that kind, though. Emotional cleanup. I need a suggestion, a gesture, a move that doesn’t involve disposing of her body.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jesus, Ezra?—”
Then I hear it.
A voice. Soft. Female.
Ivy’s voice.
Faint, but unmistakable, in the background.
Every muscle in my body goes still.
“What the fuck did you do?” I snarl.
“Relax,” Ezra says lazily. “I swung by your place early this morning. Thought I’d check in. Didn’t realize you were busy. Your pet answered the door.”
I stop breathing. “What did you say?”
“She was cute,” he says, infuriatingly casual.
“Fiery too. Didn’t let me in. Gave me one hell of a death glare.
Said you were asleep and she wasn’t waking you up for any of my bullshit after the day you two had yesterday.
I told her she had good instincts.” He laughs, light and cruel. “You didn’t tell me she bites.”
“I didn’t tell you because you don’t go near her,” I growl, turning toward the security screen mounted in the hallway. I rewind the feed—there he is. Ezra on my front porch. Ivy stepping into frame. Her arms crossed. That defensive tilt of her chin. Brave and small and mine.
“And what if I already did?” Ezra taunts, baiting me now because he knows damn well I have cameras everywhere. “She’s tempting, Roman. You don’t have a monopoly on obsession.”
My blood turns to fire.
My grip tightens on the phone. “If you touch her, I’ll rip out your spine and mount it on my wall.”
Ezra snorts. “Relax, brother. She’s unharmed. Impressive, though. Not many people can talk me down. Most people just bleed. Besides, I’ve got the blonde tornado to deal with, remember?”
He says it like a compliment. Like he’s praising Ivy .
I’m already walking—through the hall, to the bedroom, yanking open the closet. Ivy’s towel hangs in the bathroom. I hear her humming. Oblivious to the sociopathic murder spree she’s almost inspired.
“Relax, Roman. Like I said, I need your help. Are you coming?”
“I’m bringing her with me,” I say, flat.
“To help fix my love life?” Ezra chuckles. “Adorable. Bring flowers.”
“I’m not joking.”
“You never are.” A pause. “See you soon.”
He hangs up.
I stand there for a moment, phone still in my hand, the quiet hum of Ivy’s voice like a thread tethering me to sanity.
Ezra thinks it’s funny.
But I know him. I know what he is because we’re the same. Two sides to the same murderous coin.
And if Ivy got under his skin even a little, it means she’s not safe.
Not from him.
Not from me.
She’s coming with me.
I’ll keep her close, where I can see her.
Where no one else ever gets the chance to get close to her.
By the time I slip the small black box I bought the first time I saw her in that coffee shop into my pocket, my mind is made up.
If Ezra even breathes near her in the wrong way, I’ll put a bullet in his head.
But I’m not about to rush her out of the bath, and Ezra should spend some time thinking about the mistake he made in talking to my Ivy.
It’s at least two hours before I finally manage to force myself to leave, carefully navigating Ivy through the mess I made of the house.
Once I get her seated in the front seat of the car, I shoot a text to Asher.
Roman: House is trashed. I’m taking her to the penthouse in the city. Make arrangements.
Asher: Done.
Ezra’s building is an old converted bank, all glass and stone—cold, brutal, unapologetically rich. I hate it. I hate that Ivy’s going to see it. But it was either this or let her out of my sight again, and that’s not happening. Not after this morning.
She sits beside me in the car, quiet but watchful. She hasn’t asked where we’re going. She hasn’t asked anything . Her fingers rest on her thigh, close enough for me to reach out and grasp, and I ache with the need to close the space between us.
“Where are we going?” she asks finally, voice soft and steady.
“My brother requested my help with something,” I answer. “I didn’t want to leave you behind.”
“Didn’t want to or couldn’t?”
“Yes.”
That earns me a sideways glance, but she doesn’t press. Not yet.
When the elevator doors open to Ezra’s penthouse, I step in front of her. My arm is protective. Possessive. She doesn’t resist, but I see the flicker of fire behind her eyes. Good. I want it lit.
The doors open again, and Ezra is waiting, lounging in a chair like a prince in his court.
“Well, well,” he says, eyes cutting to Ivy like a knife dipped in honey. “You brought her.”
Before she can speak, I turn to her, grip her chin gently but firmly between my fingers, and say it loud enough for him to hear.
“Don’t let him touch you.”
Her breath catches.
“I mean it, Ivy. If he lays a finger on you, I’ll break it off.”
Ezra grins like I just handed him a toy.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Roman. She didn’t seem so scared of me this morning.”
The rage coils in my gut again. I force it down.
“You’re annoying.” Ivy snaps at him. “I hope that girl is smart enough to make you work for it before she forgives you.”
“Why are we here?” I manage to ask without losing my temper.
He waves toward the side hallway. “There’s a woman in my bedroom refusing to speak to me. Says she doesn’t trust me.”
“Smart woman.”
“Exactly why I need you. You’re the more reasonable one, remember?”
I don’t reply. I turn to Ivy instead, pull the velvet box from my pocket, and pop it open.
A ring. Deep-cut blue diamond surrounded by black diamonds, glinting like sin and power.
She stares.
“Ivy—”
“Are you proposing?” she interrupts, eyes narrowing, voice half-laughing, half-terrified.
I slide it onto her ring finger without permission.
“You’re lucky I didn’t just make you my wife legally already,” I murmur. “This is me being generous. You’re not stepping foot on his property without my ring on your finger.”
She stares down at the ring like it’s burning her skin—but she doesn’t take it off.
Behind us, Ezra lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re really gone for her.”
I don’t look at him. I only look at her.
Because she’s not mine yet. Not fully.
But she will be.
“Mine.” I tell her, but it’s more of a question than anything else.
“Yours.” She nods, and then gifts me with the brightest fucking smile I’ve ever seen in my life. “As long as you want me.”