Then the screen timed out.
The room returned to its usual fluorescent sterility.
I didn’t immediately stand.
I just sat there. Breathing. Processing.
I was going back to California.
Back to the state where my life had collapsed.
Back to the territory where my marriage had become captivity.
Back to the place where betrayal had worn a familiar face.
But I wasn’t returning as the broken girl he’d married.
Not as the woman framed for crimes she didn’t commit.
Not as the pregnant prisoner he allowed to starve while his child died inside me.
Not as the victim who had been dragged into darkness, violated, and left bleeding on cold concrete while he believed distance equaled justice.
This time—
I was returning as Special Agent Elena Voss.
Trained. Armed. Legally empowered.
Backed by federal jurisdiction and investigative authority.
Backed by surveillance teams.Backed by intelligence analysts. Backed by the full weight of the Bureau.
And this time—
I intended to gather evidence. Evidence that would hold up in court. Evidence that would remove every shield protecting him and leave him exposed. I wanted him destroyed —I wanted his name buried, his power shattered, his existence reduced to nothing.
I wanted him ruined beyond recovery.
“Hey.”
Roman’s voice cut through my spiral. I hadn’t even realized my fists were clenched so tightly that my nails had dug into my skin — blood seeping from my palms.
I had been so consumed by thoughts of revenge that I forgot Roman had been standing beside me the entire time.
He hadn’t left.
He was still there — one hip propped casually against the edge of my desk, arms folded loosely across his chest.
I lifted my gaze.
“Roman.”
His presence didn’t feel threatening. But it did feel analytical.
He studied people the way investigators studied crime scenes.
We weren’t friends. Not truly.
