2. Roman
ROMAN
Amonth is long enough for the world to start pretending nothing is wrong.
The house wakes at six. Coffee brews in the kitchen.
Victor runs at stupid o’clock, Atlas works from three screens at once, Riggs checks his weapons religiously…
Felix, though? Felix is the only one who is as lost as I am.
His skin is pale and his eyes are hollow, like he really did lose part of his soul when she left.
There is space in every room now and it follows me.
I haven’t slept properly since she vanished.
The only time I do is when my body completely surrenders.
Forty minutes here, an hour there, it is enough to keep my brain functional and soften the edge of exhaustion but not enough to provide any real rest. One minute I’m lost in a fog and the next I’m honed like someone dragged a blade across stone and decided not to stop.
She was on her way to Quinn and never arrived. That’s the last fact I have.
When Atlas told me she left, he said she seemed fine although rattled from our argument.
Was it me? Was she off her game because I walked out?
Fae is always nothing short of focused and determined that I never once thought someone could get the upper hand over her.
The problem is there’s been nothing. CCTV is non-existent here, phones have been wiped clean, and her car tracker stayed at the barn but there has been no sign of the actual vehicle.
This is Robyn all over again.
Whoever did this knew what they were doing.
Just how Fae knew Robyn had not run, I know she hasn’t either.
She is not a coward and she wouldn’t leave Felix in this purgatory; I know that in the very depths of my soul.
Regardless of what she said to me, regardless of our last words, she would have sacrificed her happiness and watched from the sidelines before she ever disappeared without a trace.
This wasn’t random, random is messy. No, this… this was designed, which means there is someone who designed it.
And I will find them.
I sit on the edge of my bed with my elbows braced on my knees, staring at the open panel in the wall where my weapons room hides behind polished wood and silence.
Inside it, everything is aligned. My knives are laid flat, vials are labelled and powders are sealed.
There are poisons here that could still a heart in under thirty seconds.
It gives me some sort of peace, some sort of control that I lacked at Fae’s.
I couldn’t bring myself to stay there. Every room had a memory too raw to live with.
I knew if I was going to bring her home, I needed control, I needed cruelty, I needed ruthlessness.
Nothing about Fae’s flat was that to me.
‘Work Song by Hozier’ plays low from the speaker on my dresser.
The ice in my whiskey glass knocks gently against crystal as I tilt it and the sound feels too sharp in a room that otherwise feels suspended in time.
I take a slow sip, letting it burn down my throat.
I fall back against the mattress and stare at the ceiling with one arm thrown over my eyes like that might block out the weight of expectation pressing down from every direction.
Right now, I’m meant to be getting ready for dinner with Quinn.
Another performance. Another carefully curated display of unity whilst my father measures my compliance in the set of my shoulders and the length of my silences.
I can still hear his voice from earlier, calm and infuriatingly reasonable.
“As things stand, we cannot allow instability to affect the upcoming ceremony. Quinn remains prepared.”
I scoff into the empty room as I drag my hand down my face.
I meant what I said. Fae is the only woman I will ever marry.
There is no version of my future where I stand beside Quinn and call it destiny.
If they try to box me in, if they think duty will outweigh devotion, they have fundamentally misunderstood the man they raised.
I will burn my own inheritance before I let them rewrite my life.
If I have to spend the rest of it exiled to the compound, stripped of title and expectation, then so be it.
I would rather live caged with my integrity intact than free beside someone who isn’t her.
And… if they push me one more time when she is still missing and I don’t even know if she is breathing…
The glass tightens in my grip. I won’t just punch him.
I will dismantle everything he built. He thinks I’m allowing emotion to cloud my judgement; the irony is I am allowing love to keep me alive.
Love and hope. They are the only two things I have right now.
At least mum is on my side.
I probably wouldn’t have survived without her.
She’s been coming here under the guise of dropping food off for us but I know she’s worried.
The last time she was here she just sat beside me without speaking.
Just rested her hand over mine like she used to when I was a child and pretended I did not need comfort.
She didn’t mention marriage or Quinn or responsibilities.
She simply said, “You’ll find her.” I didn’t answer.
The truth is, not finding Fae isn’t an option.
The only worry I have is how she will return to me.
Broken? Feisty? Hurt? God forbid, dead?
It doesn’t help that Fisher has gone off the radar.
Victor has been trying to track him for weeks.
With Atlas’ help, they’ve tapped into traffic grids, burner networks, satellite pings.
Yet there is nothing. His car hasn’t triggered a single camera.
His home stands hollow, his bedsheets were stripped and his wardrobe half-emptied but not in a way that suggests panic.
His usual rotation of prostitutes are complaining about cancelled arrangements and lighter pockets, like he simply stepped out between appointments.
The problem is men like Fisher don’t just evaporate.
They indulge.
He is predictable in his depravity. Routine lives in his vices.
For him to disappear this cleanly means one of two things: he’s dead or he’s with her.
He better pray it’s the first. If he has Fae, if he so much as breathed the same air as whoever took her, I won’t just kill him.
No, death would be mercy. I will dismantle him piece by piece until he understands exactly where he miscalculated.
The door to my room swings open without a knock and I’m upright before the sound registers. The whiskey glass topples from my hand, shattering against the floor as I reach for the gun on my bedside table. I have it aimed before my brain finally catches up. Atlas freezes in the doorway.
“Fuck. Knock,” I bark.
“Sorry,” he says, lifting a hand in surrender.
Atlas scans the room, his shoulders are tight and his breathing is heavier than it should be. My gut feels like a weighted ball from his body language and I quickly cross the room with urgency and cut the music.
“What did you find?” I demand
Atlas steps inside and shuts the door behind him. His gaze flicks briefly to the concealed panel in the wall, before returning to me.
“I got into her cloud backups,” he says. “There was a secondary deletion layer. Someone wiped the surface messages and buried the originals under encrypted junk.”
“And?” My jaw flexes as my heart compresses.
“She was never meeting Quinn at the café.”
“That lying—” I cut myself off, forcing the words through my teeth. “What are you saying, Atlas?”
“Quinn was always meeting her at the barn,” he holds my stare as the temperature drops ten degrees.
Sound disappears as the last month flashes through my mind.
Did I miss Christmas with her over a lie?
Did my mum cry herself to sleep whilst hosting her kidnapper in her home?
My dad is going to be mortified. Everything we stand for as a family has been made a mockery of.
My own breathing fades beneath the slow recalibration of my pulse as every detail slides into place with surgical precision.
“Send me everything.”
“Already done, but Ro—”
“No,” I cut in as my voice whips through the air. “If she set Fae up, I don’t care what it costs. Do I make myself clear?”
Atlas exhales. It sounds like a long-suffering sigh but he cannot be surprised. I turn toward the hidden panel and press it wider, revealing rows of labelled vials and sealed compounds gleaming under light.
“She might be a woman,” I say calmly, reaching for a case and selecting what I need. “But if Quinn orchestrated this, I will extract every single piece of information she has.”
Damn the consequences.
I select a couple of vials without hesitating. They are clear, almost innocent looking but I know the truth. Atlas watches me carefully as I snap the case shut and there’s a shift in his posture that tells me he already knows this isn’t going to end clean.
“Where are you going?” he asks carefully.
I don’t look at him as I slide my phone from my pocket and unlock it.
“To pick up Quinn.”
“Roman, wait don’t you…”
“She lied to me,” I snap. “At the very least she set a trap for Fae.” My thumb is already punching over Quinn’s name, “and she’s going to tell me why.”
Roman:
where are you?
Her response comes instantly and I curl my lip. This girl is so desperate she’ll finally walk into my trap.
Quinn:
At school why?
Roman:
I’ll pick you up in 15.
Quinn:
really? I’ll wait outside.
Of course she will.
I roll my eyes as I pocket my phone, grab my keys and leave Atlas standing in the middle of my room.
The drive through Coggeshall is quiet. Narrow roads winding between old brick cottages and stretches of open Essex countryside that look deceptively peaceful in the late afternoon light.
It’s the kind of village where people wave as you pass, where doors stay unlocked and reputations matter more than truth.
The university comes into view soon enough.
The wrought iron gates are understated but expensive and I roll through with a nod to security who just waves me on.
At this point nobody questions me. I am a legacy.
My surname means something here and I have been here long enough now that I do not need to use it to prove it.
As I pull up, she is already there.
Quinn stands just beyond the stone steps; her coat draped perfectly over her shoulders, her blonde hair immaculate despite the wind as she scans every car until she sees mine.
When recognition hits her face, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly hope replaces restraint.
She hurries toward the passenger side before I’ve even come to a full stop and slides into the seat with a rush of perfume and expectation.
“Roman,” she breathes, like this is the moment she’s been manifesting.
I give her a small nod and pull away from the curb.
She doesn’t stop talking. About lectures.
About how difficult it’s been “holding things together.” About how my father checked in on her yesterday and how she assured him she understood the pressure I’m under.
Every word is wrapped in a fake kind of sweetness.
Her hand finds my forearm within minutes.
It’s light and testing but it still makes my skin crawl.
When I don’t shake it off, she grows bolder, her fingers trailing higher as her thumb brushes absently over the inside of my wrist. It’s a move she has watched Fae do.
Unlike Fae, she’s not soothing me, she’s making my blood boil.
It takes all my training not to explode.
“I hate seeing you like this,” she murmurs softly. “You shouldn’t have to carry everything alone. Especially after everything with… Fae.”
There’s a careful pause before she says her name like she has practiced being sympathetic. I keep my eyes on the road as I nod.
“We’ve not really spoken about that night, you know…” I say evenly and watch as her body tenses slightly. “I’m surprised you waited for her.”
“Why would you be surprised?”
“I just know there is bad blood between you, that’s all.”
“Well, I keep trying to tell you Roman, I was bred for this. Just because we have personal issues doesn’t mean I can’t be professional.”
I hum in the back of my throat but say no more.
“I was there for nearly an hour,” Quinn continues. “She just never came. I was worried something had happened but you know how impulsive she is.”
The lie feels effortless and I hate to admit I’m slightly impressed by how well she is keeping her composure. She shifts closer, encouraged by my silence.
“I know this is awful to say,” she says gently, “but maybe this is a sign. Maybe this is the universe pushing you toward what’s stable. What’s certain.” Her hand slides higher, resting against my chest.
I let her feel the steady beat of my heart. Let her build whatever fantasy she needs in these final untouched seconds. When the road curves, I take it one-handed as my other hand drops casually toward the centre console.
“Quinn,” I say quietly.
““Yes?” She smiles back; her perfectly white teeth hiding the rot I know lies behind them.
I look at the road for one final beat before I move.
In one smooth, practised motion I bring up the syringe I already uncapped.
I press it into the side of her neck just below her jaw as I depress the plunger quickly.
It happens in a blink of an eye so her brain doesn’t have time to catch up with what is going on until it is too late.
She gasps before jerking back against the seat as her hand flies to her throat.
“Roman… what?”
The car stays steady. My foot never falters on the accelerator.
Her pupils flare and I watch as the compound begins to spread and fear flashes across her face.
For one sick moment I wonder if Fae was drugged.
Is this how she looked? Was Quinn there when it happened?
I place the cap on the needle calmly as my eyes flick to her briefly before returning to the road.
“Don’t worry,” I say in a level, almost reassuring tone. “It will all become clear soon.”