CHAPTER 14
A KISS WITH CONSEQUENCES
I did not tell Roman about the messages immediately.
That was the first thing I hated about myself.
The second was that I wanted to hear his voice.
I sat in my car outside my house, the phone resting against my thigh while rain gathered along the windshield. The unknown number remained on the screen.
ASK ROMAN WHAT HE DID WITH THE ORIGINAL FILE.
I had read the words so many times they no longer looked real.
Someone wanted me to question him.
Someone wanted me to believe there was another secret hidden beneath the ones I already knew.
And the worst part was that I had enough history with Roman to know exactly how easily doubt could grow between us.
My phone rang.
Roman.
I watched the screen until it nearly stopped, then answered.
“Hello.”
“Are you home?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Where are you?”
“Outside.”
“Amara.”
The concern in his voice made my grip tighten.
“Don't,” I said.
“Don't what?”
“Start telling me where I should be.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were about to.”
He exhaled slowly. “Are you safe?”
I looked at the dark sedan I could no longer see.
“I don't know.”
The silence on the other end changed.
“What happened?”
I should have lied. I should have told him I was fine, gone inside, locked the door, and waited for Mara to respond.
Instead, I sent him the screenshots.
The phone remained against my ear while the messages delivered.
Roman did not speak for several seconds.
“Where are you exactly?”
“Outside my house.”
“Stay in the car.”
My spine stiffened. “Roman.”
“Not because I'm ordering you. Because if someone is watching the house, I don't want you walking straight into it.”
The distinction did not erase the command, but it made me listen.
“Are you coming?”
“If you want me there.”
I closed my eyes.
That was the problem. I did want him there.
Not because he could intimidate whoever had sent the messages. Not because his presence would magically make me safe.
Because when fear pressed against my ribs, some old part of me still searched for him.
“Yes,” I said.
“I'll be there.”
He arrived twelve minutes later.
I watched his truck pull up behind my car. He stepped out wearing his leather jacket, his expression hard but controlled. He looked toward the house first, then checked the street before approaching me.
He did not open my door.
He waited until I lowered the window.
“Did you see anyone?” he asked.
“A sedan across the street. Dark windows. It left before I could get the plate.”
“Did you recognize it?”
“No.”
He nodded once.
“Do you want to go inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we don't have to.”
I looked at him through the open window.
“You think I should be scared.”
“I think someone is trying to scare you.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No.” He glanced toward the house. “The answer is that I don't know what they want yet. And I won't pretend I do.”
I unlocked the door and stepped outside.
The cold immediately slipped beneath my coat.
Roman stood a careful distance away.
“Tell me about the original file,” I said.
His face tightened.
“I don't know what they mean.”
“Did you ever see it?”
“I saw the accusation.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
He looked at me, and I could almost see the calculation happening behind his eyes. The decision about whether to soften the truth, whether to explain first, whether to protect himself from the damage my question might cause.
“Roman.”
“Yes,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
“You saw the original file?”
“I saw a version of it.”
“When?”
“Before the hearing.”
“And you never told me?”
“I didn't know there was another version.”
“You knew there was an original.”
“I knew there was a report. I didn't know the copy I saw was different from the one used against you.”
“Then what did you do with it?”
His jaw flexed.
“I gave it back.”
“To whom?”
“Mercer.”
The name settled between us.
I stepped away from him.
“You gave it back to the man who might have fabricated the evidence?”
“I didn't know he had.”
“But you suspected the accusation was unreliable.”
“Yes.”
“And you still gave him the file.”
“I didn't have authority over the treasurer’s records.”
“You had authority over everything else.”
The words came out louder than I intended.
Roman accepted them without flinching.
“I should have made a copy.”
“You should have protected me.”
“I know.”
“No, you keep saying that as if knowing makes it less horrible.”
“It doesn't.”
“Then stop saying it.”
His gaze lowered briefly.
The anger in me had been waiting for this moment. It rose quickly, hot and familiar, covering the fear underneath.
“You had doubts,” I said. “You knew the evidence could be wrong. You saw the file, and you still let them use it.”
“I didn't know they were going to use that version.”
“But you knew they were accusing me.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing.”
Roman looked at me.
“I did something.”
I laughed bitterly. “What?”
“I tried to get Mercer to delay the hearing.”
My anger faltered.
“What?”
“I told him the timeline didn't make sense. I told him the evidence needed to be reviewed.”
“Privately?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
His expression tightened.
“I thought I could stop it without making the club turn on me.”
“And when you couldn't?”
“I stayed quiet.”
The truth stood there, stripped of every excuse.
I folded my arms around myself.
“You keep telling me what you were afraid of. Do you know what I was afraid of?”
Roman did not answer.
“I was afraid that I had loved someone who never really saw me. That maybe all those nights, all those promises, all the things you said when it was just us, had only mattered when they were convenient.”
His face changed.
I hated that I noticed.
“I saw you,” he said.
“Then why did you let them destroy me?”
“I don't have an answer that will make that acceptable.”
“Good.”
The street was quiet around us. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, then stopped.
Roman reached into his jacket and removed his phone.
“I want to show you something.”
I did not move.
“What?”
“A message from Darius.”
He held the screen out without stepping closer.
The message contained a photograph of an old storage cabinet inside the clubhouse. One drawer had been forced open. Documents lay scattered across the floor.
Beneath the image, Darius had written:
Someone searched the records room last night. The Mercer files are missing.
My pulse quickened.
“Did you send him to look?”
“No. He found it this morning.”
“Does he know about the messages?”
“Yes.”
“Who else knows?”
“Only Darius, Mara, Daniel, and Evelyn.”
I looked up sharply. “Evelyn?”
“She has access to old membership records. I asked her to check whether Mercer maintained any personal accounts connected to the property transactions.”
“And the club?”
“I haven't told the leadership.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know who can be trusted.”
I stared at him.
Four years ago, he had trusted the club more than he trusted me.
Now he was looking at the same structure as if it might be a weapon pointed at both of us.
That did not make him innocent.
But it made the danger real.
“Send everything to Daniel,” I said.
“I already did.”
“Good.”
He lowered the phone.
I should have gone inside.
Instead, I looked at him and remembered the restaurant. His mouth against mine. His hand at my waist. The careful way he had waited for me to decide.
The memory felt wrong here, surrounded by fear and old betrayal.
“You shouldn't have kissed me,” I said.
Roman’s eyes lifted.
“I didn't kiss you first.”
“I know.”
“You chose it.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why are you saying it?”
“Because I don't know what it means.”
He was silent.
I pressed my lips together.
“I spent years trying to stop wanting you. Then you stand in front of me and act like a man who understands what he did, and suddenly my body forgets every reason I should stay away.”
Roman's breathing grew heavier.
“Amara…”
“No. Let me finish.”
He nodded.
“I don't want one good dinner to make me forget four years. I don't want a kiss to become proof that we're fixing this. And I don't want you thinking that because I touched you, you have permission to come back into every part of my life.”
“I don't.”
“Then what do you want?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“You.”
The word hit me with a force I was not prepared for.
He continued before I could speak.
“But wanting you doesn't mean I get to have you. It doesn't mean you owe me access to your home, your time, or your daughter.”
My breath caught.
He still did not know.
He was speaking about Maya without knowing how close the truth had come to his mouth.
“I want you,” he said again, more quietly. “But I want you to be able to choose me without being afraid that choosing yourself will cost you something.”
I looked away.
For one dangerous second, I wanted to believe that the man standing before me could become someone different.
Not perfect.
Not blameless.
Just different enough to stop hurting me.
I turned back to him.
“Come here.”
Roman froze.
“Are you sure?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I want you to.”
He took one step.
Then another.
I reached for the front of his jacket and pulled him down to me.
This kiss was nothing like the first.
There was anger in it. Fear. Four years of grief and one night of wanting something I had sworn I would never want again. Roman’s hands hovered beside my waist until I placed them there myself.
His mouth moved against mine with restrained hunger.
I hated how easily I responded.
I hated the way my fingers remembered the shape of his shoulders.
I hated that when he whispered my name, my entire body leaned toward him before my mind could stop it.
I broke away first, breathing hard.
His forehead rested against mine.
Neither of us spoke.
Then my phone rang.
Mara.
I stepped back and answered.
“Hello?”
“Amara,” she said, her voice tense. “You need to come to the office.”
“What happened?”
“We received a new document.”
My gaze shifted to Roman.
Mara continued.
“It contains a statement from Caleb Mercer. And it names the person who instructed him to alter the original evidence.”
The cold seemed to move directly into my bones.
“Who?”
There was a pause.
Then Mara said, “We believe it was someone inside Iron Crown.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
I closed my eyes.
The kiss still burned on my lips.
The truth was waiting on the other side of the night.
And this time, it had a name.