The brush slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor. My ears are ringing. I whip around, heart hammering in my chest. The explosion shakes the walls, rattling the windows. Dust flutters from the ceiling like a storm of ash.
I’m trembling, my hands sticky with paint, but I can’t think about that. Only one thought surges through me: Roman.
Is he safe? Is he okay?
I bolt toward the door just as another explosion rocks the estate, the impact so strong it throws me off balance. I hit the floor hard, gasping, my palms scraping against the cold tiles. The chandelier above sways violently, raining dust and fragments of glass.
Is this my father? Is he finally here?
The thought chills me to the bone. I want to crawl, to hide, to make myself small and invisible, but before I can move, another blast shakes the walls. A small shelf topples, crashing onto my leg. Pain shoots through me, sharp and searing, and I cry out.
I grab the edge of the shelf and push, my arms shaking. It won’t budge. The smoke is thick now, choking the air, stinging my eyes. Somewhere in the distance, I hear shouts, men yelling orders, boots pounding against the marble floors. No one saw me come into the library, so I’m probably on my own with no one to find me.
The door bursts open, and I scramble back with a strangled gasp, expecting my father or one of his men. My heart slams against my ribs, adrenaline screaming.
But it’s not them. It’s Roman. His dark eyes blaze with fury and focus. Without a word, he drops to one knee and scoops me off the floor, tucking me securely into his arms. My bodypresses against his chest, and for a brief moment, I feel both terrified and safe.
He doesn’t hesitate. Roman pivots and charges toward cover, weaving through the smoke-filled corridors. Gunfire cracks around us, bullets striking the walls with deafening thuds. He shields me with his body, every motion precise, controlled, deadly.
I clutch his jacket, heart hammering in terror and relief. The smell of smoke and powder fills my lungs, but all I can focus on is him—my anchor in the chaos, my shield from everything.
“Stay close,” he growls, voice low and steady. “Don’t move. Not an inch.”
I nod, barely able to speak, trusting him completely, even as the world erupts around us. Suddenly, the shadows shift, and strange men burst into the hallway, weapons raised. My stomach drops, fear twisting into ice.
Roman doesn’t hesitate. He fights like a man possessed—methodical, merciless, lethal. Each movement is precise, a deadly dance of power and control. My breath catches as I watch him, every strike calculated, every block flawless.
And the most shocking part? He doesn’t even drop me. Not once. He holds me close with one arm, protecting me as if my life is tethered to his own, while the other arm tears through the attackers with brutal efficiency.
I can hardly tear my eyes away. I’ve never seen anything more terrifying—or more magnetic. Every motion, every growl, every glare aimed at them makes my chest pound in a mix of awe and something deeper, something that scares me more than the gunfire and smoke.
In that moment, I realize just how completely, utterly, he could dominate everything…and I’m both terrified and captivated.
He finally manages to get me down the stairs, my body pressed against his as we dodge falling debris and stray gunfire. We stop in front of a reinforced door. Roman punches in a code with swift precision, and it slides open. He pushes me inside, the metal clicking shut behind us.
“Stay here,” he orders, his voice calm but unyielding.
I clutch his coat, panic rising. “No! Please…stay with me,” I beg, my chest heaving.
He cups my face in his large, calloused hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I can’t,” he says firmly, every word carrying weight. “I have to go out and fight for you. I won’t let them have the last laugh, Elara. Not ever.”
My hands grip his shoulders, and for a moment I imagine him staying, just holding me. But his jaw is set, his gaze fixed on some invisible battlefield beyond this room.
“You’re safe here,” he continues, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “No one will get in. I promise…with my life.”
I want to argue, to beg, to tell him it’s enough for him to just be here, but I can feel the absolute certainty in his eyes. He leans down, pressing a brief, searing kiss to my forehead.
Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me in deafening silence. My hands shake, my legs threaten to buckle, but I hug myself tightly, clinging to the ghost of him, to the promise that I’m protected—even if it’s without him.
It’s a huge suite, but I don’t look around. My eyes are glued to the door. I drop onto the nearest couch, hugging myself tightly, counting the seconds until he comes back. Each tick feels like an eternity.
Finally, the door swings open, and he’s there. Roman. Alive. My heart jumps, and I throw myself into his arms, clinging like I’ll never let go.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, pressing my forehead to his chest. “Everything’s okay now.”
Without a word, he scoops me up bridal style, carrying me effortlessly as we ascend the stairs. My eyes widen as I glimpse the chaos—bodies being carried away, the aftermath of the attack.
Tears burn my eyes, spilling freely down my cheeks. The fear, the relief, the horror—it all collides, and I can’t hold it back. Roman tightens his grip on me, murmuring reassurances, but I hardly hear the words. I just let myself cry, letting him carry me above the destruction, the only safe place in the storm.
