Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leah
Day eight of taking walks under the watchful eyes of four bodyguards, I'd figured out a universal truth.
The worst part of house arrest wasn't the lack of freedom. It was the boredom.
Four months pregnant, and my body found new ways to torture me every damn day. Morning sickness, noon backaches, ankles swelling so bad by afternoon I couldn't even squeeze into slippers. Nighttime came, and I wanted sleep—the baby started kicking. Baby got tired—I was wide awake.
And while all this was happening, where was the man responsible for this belly?
No clue.
Roman's schedule now: home at three a.m., gone by seven. Sometimes he didn't come home at all.
We lived in the same house. Saw each other less than I saw the delivery guy.
At least the delivery guy showed up every other day.
But considering what happened when we did see each other, maybe not seeing him wasn't such a bad thing.
We both needed to cool off and think this through. Not seeing each other was probably better.
I told Harper this theory. She pushed me to communicate instead.
"Leah, it's just a goddamn misunderstanding.
" Harper sighed on the other end, exhaustion in her voice.
"That asshole Trent cornered you in the alley and grabbed you.
Roman walked in on it. He got jealous, so he lost his mind and accused you.
Men are single-celled organisms when it comes to this stuff. "
"This isn't just about jealousy, Harper." I touched my swollen belly, my voice dry. "We don't even have basic trust. He treats me like a prisoner he has to guard against."
"But from his perspective and position, suspicion is normal," Harper said. "Especially with an ex-wife like that."
I went quiet for a moment.
"Suspicion is normal," I finally said. "But I still can't accept that Roman actually killed someone he loved. Harper, he scares me. He's not from my world."
"It does sound terrifying," Harper said softly. "But he's never hurt you. Maybe there's more to that story. Nick said killing Irina wasn't really Roman's fault—"
"Not his fault?" I cut her off. "Someone died. How is that not the killer's fault?"
"I don't know the details," Harper said. "But Nick meant that situation was way more complicated than it looks. Leah, I know you're hurt, but this is a misunderstanding. Neither of you betrayed the other. You should talk."
I said nothing.
Because I knew Harper was right. The cold war was pointless.
We had to deal with this eventually. Get everything out in the open.
I was angry at him—angry he didn't trust me, angry he kept me like a suspect under surveillance. All of that was real.
But what Trent said in the alley that day had been gnawing at me more and more.
If Trent's big shot was the same guy at war with Roman, then Trent could be a breakthrough.
So I picked up the phone and dialed the number I hadn't called in almost a month.
Four rings. He answered.
"Leah." Roman's voice came through. He sounded surprised.
The noise around him cut off instantly. Footsteps followed—Roman moving somewhere private.
"Hey," I said. Christ, I'd rehearsed the opening twenty times in my head. Came out as one word.
Roman didn't continue. Just waited quietly.
"I've been thinking," I stared at my swollen ankles, kicked at the table leg nearby.
"There are things I need to tell you face to face. What really happened in that alley, and some things Trent said—Roman, there's stuff you need to know. Not for me. For your own safety. Can we find time to sit down and talk this through?"
Silence on the other end.
Long silence. Long enough I started regretting the call.
"I'm busy," He finally said.
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath.
"Okay," I said. "Then when you get back. I'll wait for you."
More silence. Then a sound came through, so soft I wasn't sure I heard it.
"Okay."
Then he hung up.
I set the phone on my lap. Sat there a while. Something sour in my chest—couldn't tell if it was hurt or disappointment.
Was this progress?
Given our current ice age, this probably counted as a historic diplomatic breakthrough.
Thunder rumbled outside.
I looked up. The sky had turned black and heavy. Long Island storms came fast—wind whipped the garden trees sideways, the whole estate dark enough to need lights.
Thunder rolled again, a deep rumble that rattled your bones.
I suddenly thought of Mira.
That kid was terrified of thunder. Every storm, she'd hide under the covers, clutching her stuffed animals.
I stood up, headed quickly down the hall toward Mira's room, the four shadow bodyguards trailing as always.
When I pushed open her door and pulled back the little mountain of blankets on the bed, Mira was exactly where I expected.
She'd buried herself under the covers, only her eyes visible—eyes just like Roman's.
"Hey, poor thing, you okay?" I sat on the edge of the bed, keeping my voice light.
Mira blinked, stubbornly pushing her chin out from under the blanket edge.
"I'm fine," she mumbled, clearly faking it. "I'm not scared of thunder anymore, Leah. I'm a big kid now."
"Of course, of course." I squeezed her stubborn little face, caught between laughter and tears.
But then lightning lit up the dark room. Immediately after, deafening thunder crashed right outside our window.
Mira's thin disguise shattered completely.
She screamed, threw off the blanket, and dove into my arms. Her little arms locked around my neck so tight I could barely breathe.
"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here." I tightened my arms around Mira, patting her trembling back, resting my chin on her soft hair.
After all this time together, I'd figured out how to handle this little tyrant. Mira loved hugs. As long as you held her tight, no matter how much she pretended otherwise, she wouldn't push you away.
Sometimes I thought—if only Roman were this easy to comfort.
Just one hug, and we could trust and understand each other.
Mira buried her face deep in my neck, sniffling hard.
"I'm sorry, Leah. I'm not a good kid."
The small, muffled voice came from my arms, thick with tears.
I froze, stopped patting her back, and pulled back a little to look at her tear-streaked face.
"Why would you think that? What happened?"
"When the thunder came, I ran..." Mira sobbed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I left Bonnie behind. I left her all alone... Leah, I'm not a good mom."
Bonnie?
I realized immediately—the rabbit doll I'd given her a few days ago. She'd been treating it like her most precious possession.
She'd even named it.
"That's not your fault. Everyone runs when they're scared." I used my thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks and asked gently, "Tell me, where were you and Bonnie playing?"
Mira bit her lip, thinking hard. Then she raised one small finger and pointed at the ceiling.
"Got it. I'll find her." I patted her head. "You hold down the fort under the covers. I'll be back in ten minutes."
But the moment I started moving, all four bodyguards followed.
I was so sick of being treated like a prisoner.
"Attic," I said. "Looking for a rabbit. You all want to come? Rabbits are pretty dangerous."
The lead guy hesitated, finally left two at Mira's door. The other two followed me to the attic stairs.
But the stairs were too narrow for two. After I ran up, I managed to put distance between us. They'd catch up soon enough.
Didn't matter. My small victory.
The attic was huge, covering the entire west wing's top floor.
Dim light filtered through a few dormer windows, rain hammering the roof in a drowsy rhythm. The air was thick with old wood and dust in the humid heat.
I turned on my phone flashlight and started searching for the doll.
Old furniture covered in white sheets. Boxes of old books.
A harp—this house had a harp. Just imagining Roman playing it made my skin crawl.
I kept moving deeper, calling Bonnie's name, then realized halfway through that stuffed rabbits don't answer.
Pregnancy brain was real.
Footsteps sounded in the attic. I hurried to hide, suddenly noticed a strange gap in the wall corner, the floorboards extending up near the rafters.
I stared at that crack for a few seconds, then reached out on impulse and pushed.
The panel slid inward silently.
A door.
On this house's top floor, in this corner of the attic where even servants rarely came, hidden in the wall cavity—a door. Through the crack came an eerie blue-white glow.
A strange chill made me hesitate.
But eventually, curiosity won. I turned sideways and walked in.
It was a small room.
But the moment I saw it clearly, my blood ran cold.
Three walls, floor to ceiling, packed with screens.
Dozens of screens glowing silently in the darkness, bathing the whole space in eerie blue-white light.
And I recognized every image on every screen.
Because they were all this house.
The hall, kitchen, every corridor, every corner of the garden, the garage, the pool, even Mira's classroom—this estate where I'd lived four months, every inch of it now sliced across these cold screens, completely exposed.
I knew Roman was watching me.
But I never imagined the surveillance had reached this bone-chilling level.
Then I looked right.
Four screens. Four different angles.
All focused on one bed.
Mira's bed. The bed I'd slept in last night. On screen, Mira was curled under the covers now, only her eyes showing, waiting for me to bring Bonnie back. Four cameras capturing that little bed from every angle.
My hands started shaking. I stepped back, my shoulder hitting something. I turned to see a wall covered in photos.
Then I saw myself.
Me and Harper hugging outside her apartment building, date stamped in the corner.
Us outside the prenatal clinic. Me in the estate garden. My sleeping profile—this one taken in the master bedroom, from an angle I never knew existed.
And the alley.
That day in the alley. Trent's hand on my throat—one photo. His hand on my belly—another photo. Burst shots, dozens, pinned in a row.
I stood before that wall, rain pounding overhead.
Roman had been watching me. Just like he said—never trusted me.
Irina betrayed him. So Irina died.
What about me?
One wrong step. Any action that landed in his eyes and he judged as betrayal.
Then I'd be a corpse. Just like Irina.
The thought hit, and my stomach lurched.
Morning sickness and terror grabbed me at once. I clamped my hand over my mouth, bent over, dry heaved twice. Cold sweat broke out across my back in waves.
Run.
Only one thought left.
Get out of this room. Now. Immediately. Leave this sickening room—
I turned around.
Lightning struck in that instant, white light flooding the attic, pouring through the hidden door, lighting up the entrance.
Roman stood there.
He stood in the doorframe, black suit almost merging with the darkness behind him, only his face lit clearly by the lightning.
I didn't know how long Roman had been standing there. But he looked at me now, his face showing no anger, no panic, no guilt at being caught.
Nothing at all.