30. The Lie That Could Break Them
The Lie That Could Break Them
Vera
Roman doesn’t speak on the way back.
Not in the car.
Not in the elevator.
Not when we step into the penthouse.
Silence wraps around him like armor—but it’s different tonight.
Not controlled.
Contained.
Like something inside him is cracking under pressure he refuses to show.
He moves without stopping.
Jacket discarded.
Tie loosened.
Pacing.
Back and forth across the glass wall.
The city glows beneath him, indifferent and endless.
I stand near the doorway and watch.
Because I don’t know what else to do.
“Roman,” I say softly.
No response.
He keeps moving.
Measured steps.
Sharp turns.
Like he’s trying to outrun something inside his own head.
“You’re going to wear a path into the floor,” I try again.
Nothing.
His jaw is tight.
His hands flex once, then curl into fists.
I’ve never seen him like this.
Not angry.
Not violent.
Broken.
The realization hits quietly.
Something in that note shattered him.
I step closer.
Careful.
Not sudden.
Not confrontational.
“Talk to me,” I say.
He stops.
Finally.
But he doesn’t turn.
“Go to bed,” he says.
“I’m not leaving you like this.”
“I’m not asking.”
“I don’t care.”
That gets his attention.
He turns slowly.
His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
Not cold.
Not calculating.
Raw.
Dangerous.
“You should,” he says.
“Why.”
“Because I don’t know what I’ll say if you don’t.”
I take another step closer.
“Then say it.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Fragile.
He looks at me like I’m something he shouldn’t touch.
Like I might break.
Or he might.
“Roman,” I say again, softer this time.
His control snaps.
Not violently.
Just… gone.
He crosses the distance in two steps and pulls me into him.
Hard.
Like he needs it.
Like breathing depends on it.
I freeze for a second.
Then my arms wrap around him automatically.
He buries his face against my neck.
His grip tightens.
Not hurting.
But holding.
Anchoring.
“You’re shaking,” I whisper.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Silence.
His breath is uneven.
For the first time since I met him—
He feels human.
Not controlled.
Not untouchable.
Just… a man who lost something and doesn’t know how to carry it.
I run my hand slowly up his back.
Gentle.
Careful.
He flinches.
Just slightly.
Then pulls me closer.
Like he changed his mind.
Like he needs it more than he fears it.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs.
“Do what.”
“This.”
Holding me.
Letting me see him like this.
“You’re allowed,” I say quietly.
“No,” he replies. “I’m not.”
“You are with me.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
He goes still.
For a moment, I think I’ve said too much.
Then his grip tightens again.
And he doesn’t let go.
The nausea hits without warning.
Sharp.
Violent.
I pull away abruptly.
“Bathroom,” I mutter.
He lets me go immediately.
Concern flashing across his face.
I barely make it.
The sink catches most of it.
My hands grip the edge of the counter as my body empties itself violently.
My throat burns.
My eyes water.
I breathe hard, trying to steady myself.
Roman appears in the doorway.
“What—”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
He doesn’t believe me.
Of course he doesn’t.
I rinse my mouth.
Wash my face.
The cold water helps.
But something feels… off.
Wrong.
Not just stress.
Not just exhaustion.
My stomach twists again.
Not as violently this time.
But enough.
My hand presses lightly against my abdomen.
My mind starts counting.
Days.
Weeks.
Moments I didn’t think mattered.
The safe room.
The night in the penthouse.
The way my body felt afterward.
My breath catches.
No.
No.
Not—
My reflection stares back at me.
Pale.
Wide-eyed.
Terrified.
I shake my head slightly.
Trying to push the thought away.
Trying to make it disappear before it becomes real.
Roman’s presence fills the doorway behind me.
“What is it,” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer.
Because I’m not ready to say it out loud.
Because if I do—
It becomes real.
My hand tightens against the counter.
My voice drops to a whisper.
Barely audible.
Even to myself.
“No… not now.”