Chapter 31 #2
“Fun?” My eyebrows shot up. “We clearly have very different definitions of that word.”
His lips twitched. “It’s fun for the Reapers.”
“Right. Of course.” I exhaled sharply. “Another question. Why all the secrecy around the Selection? And why does the Club encourage all the rumors?”
“Well,” he said, folding his hands loosely.
“If the public knew it was a wife hunt, we’d be flooded with opportunists, like gold diggers or social climbers desperate for status.
Women who’d lie, manipulate, pretend to be the perfect candidate around rumored Club members just long enough to get themselves Selected.
We don’t want that. We want genuine partners. ”
I nodded slowly. “Okay, I can almost see the logic there. But if what you’re really after is wives… why keep the women locked up here? It doesn’t exactly scream romance, does it?”
“It’s not captivity, it’s containment,” he said, though his tone softened as if realizing how bad that sounded.
“The girls are sequestered during their training to protect the Club’s secrets.
Because if they went home at night and called their friends or family…
how long do you think any of this would stay secret? ”
“That’s a fair point,” I said grudgingly. “But how do you explain the disappearances of these girls for months on end?”
“We have systems in place,” he said. “Families are told different stories depending on the situation. An intensive three-month scholarship to Oxford, perhaps. A humanitarian internship overseas. A cultural exchange in Europe. It varies.”
“And the girls just have to give up their studies at BHU?” I asked, shaking my head. “Just drop their own life and ambitions to slide into a Reaper’s life?”
“No, of course not.” Roman frowned. “They continue their studies via distance learning, and they’re encouraged to pursue their career goals.
After all, it’s important for the wives of powerful men to be seen as successful in their own right.
Look at the president, for example. His wife was a human rights lawyer before he took office.
That’s part of what got him elected in the first place. Voters loved her.”
I gave a hollow laugh. “So these marriages aren’t really about love. They’re about optics.”
Roman met my eyes. “In this world, optics is an important part of love for a lot of people,” he said. “But not for me. I loved your sister for who she was. I couldn’t have cared less about optics.”
I held his gaze, unblinking. “Tell me about her, Roman,” I said in a low voice. “Tell me what happened, starting from the very first moment you met.”
“I met her in the BHU library,” Roman said. His whole face had suddenly changed. Softened. “She was researching something for a paper, completely absorbed. She had this habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating hard, and then it would immediately fall forward again.”
I stilled. Cal did do that. I'd seen it a thousand times when we were in high school.
“She didn't notice me at first. I watched her for maybe ten minutes before I worked up the courage to talk to her.” He shook his head. “Me, a guy who's literally been trained to kill, and I was nervous about talking to a girl in the library. Pretty ridiculous, huh?”
Despite myself, despite everything, I felt something crack inside me. Because that sounded just like Cal. She had that effect on most men.
“I asked her about her research. Some economics paper on wealth disparity, ironically enough. She looked up at me, and I swear, the way she smiled...” He shook his head, lost in the memory.
“Anyway, once she figured out who I was, she wasn't impressed.
Didn't care about my last name or my family's money.
She actually argued with me about neoliberal economics for twenty minutes.
Completely destroyed every point I made.
And I just sat there thinking I'd never met anyone like her.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Cal,” I murmured.
Roman’s voice dropped. “I went back the next day.
And the next. Started timing my library visits to when I knew she'd be there.
We'd talk for hours about everything. Within two weeks, I was completely gone.
Couldn't think about anything or anyone else.
And she felt it too. I could tell. The way she'd suddenly light up when she saw me, how she'd lean in when we talked like the rest of the world didn't even exist.”
“So you started seeing each other after that? Exclusively?”
“For me, things were exclusive from the very first moment I saw her,” he replied, giving me a faint smile. “But yes, that’s when we started dating.”
“All right,” I said, still uncertain. “Tell me more.”
Roman rubbed his jaw, eyes focusing somewhere over my shoulder.
“She had this ratty Stanford hoodie she refused to throw away,” he said.
"It was too big for her, and it had a bleach stain on the sleeve. She said her dad gave it to her when she was a kid, and she used to wear it when she missed him.”
I nodded slowly. That was true. Cal had worn that hoodie all the time.
“She used to have nightmares,” Roman went on quietly. “About… the thing that happened to the two of you when you were just little girls. She'd wake up panicking, and I'd hold her until she went back to sleep.”
My breath hitched. Oh my god. Cal had told Roman her biggest secret. My biggest secret, too. But… he’d never done anything with it. Never used it against her, or me.
“She wasn't perfect, but neither am I,” he continued, and there was something raw in his voice now.
“She was stubborn as hell. Wouldn't ask for help when she needed it.
And she'd get so focused on proving herself that she'd forget to eat.
I had to bring her food during exam periods because I knew she wouldn't remember.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
“But she was brilliant. And so funny. She would make me laugh until I couldn't breathe, and she cared so deeply about everything. Animals, the environment, social justice. She wanted to change the world, Violet, and I really believed she could. Especially with me at her side to help.”
My eyes were stinging now. I blinked hard, refusing to cry in front of him.
“She talked about you, you know,” he added softly. “Her little sister in California. How proud she was of you. That’s why I wanted to meet you today.”
I wanted to call him a liar again. To scream that he was manipulating me, that this was all some elaborate act. But he knew about everything. About things that Cal would only share with someone she truly trusted.
“Why keep it a secret?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “If you two were so in love, why hide it from the world?”
“We were going to tell everyone eventually. But we agreed to hide it at first, because we were worried about how her friends would react.”
“Why?”
“Because…” He trailed off and sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Well, because of me.”
“Understandable, I guess,” I muttered. The Valcourt men didn’t exactly have the best reputation on campus, despite their piles of money.
“It wasn’t just that,” he said. “Cal also thought it was… sexy, I suppose. Having a big secret romance, like something out of a movie. She had a real flair for the dramatic.”
Against my better judgment, I smiled. “That’s got to be the most Cal thing I’ve ever heard.”
Roman chuckled softly. “Yeah. It was no wonder she was so interested in all that theater stuff, right?”
“Right.” I was still smiling. “She really loved it.”
We lapsed into a momentary silence; Roman staring into space with a wistful gaze while I leaned back against the cold wall, exhaling deeply as his previous words spun in my mind.
His story about his relationship with my sister had been convincing so far, but still, I couldn't be sure he was telling the truth. After all, he could’ve manipulated Calista into falling for him and spilling her deepest secrets to him…
but that didn't mean he actually felt the same way about her.
It could've been some sort of twisted game for him.
A way to assert power over the woman who was so unimpressed by his riches and family name.
Maybe that was even what had drawn him to her in the first place: the challenge of breaking someone who didn't instantly bow to the Valcourt legacy. And once he'd won, once he'd made her love him enough to trust him with everything, he'd disposed of her.
It would fit. Everything I knew about the Club, about men like Roman, told me they viewed people as pieces on a chessboard. Expendable. Controllable.
But then… why did his voice crack when he talked about her laugh? Why did his hands shake slightly when he mentioned her nightmares?
I looked up at him again. “My sister clearly told you all her secrets,” I said evenly. “So when did you tell her yours?”
He was silent for another few seconds. “About two months after we met, she told me about a vacation she went on as a child. She loved it there, so I surprised her with a weekend away,” he finally said. “She told her friends she was going to visit family, but really, it was just the two of us in—”
“Bar Harbor,” I said softly.
His brows rose, and surprise registered in his eyes. “How did you know that?”
“I found a hidden photo album on her phone.”
“Ah.” He rubbed his jaw and went on. “She told me all her secrets that weekend, and I told her mine. It wasn’t because I felt like I owed them to her in return for hers. It was just… I wanted her to know about me. Every single last thing. Even though I was scared she’d reject me.”
“Once she found out you were a killer, you mean?”
“Yes. But she accepted me.” He met my gaze, unblinking. “Just like I accepted her.”
I swallowed hard. “And the Selection? You told her about it that weekend as well?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Yes.”
“How did she take it?” I asked. “Was she scared?”