“Well,” he said, folding his hands loosely. “If the public knew it was a wife hunt, we’d be flooded with opportunists, like gold diggers or social climbers desperate for status. Women who’d lie, manipulate, pretend to be the perfect candidate around rumored Club members just long enough to get themselves Selected. We don’t want that. We want genuine partners.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay, I can almost see the logic there. But if what you’re really after is wives… why keep the women locked up here? It doesn’t exactly screamromance, does it?”
“It’s not captivity, it’s containment,” he said, though his tone softened as if realizing how bad that sounded. “The girls are sequestered during their training to protect the Club’s secrets. Because if they went home at night and called their friends or family… how long do you think any of this would stay secret?”
“That’s a fair point,” I said grudgingly. “But how do you explain the disappearances of these girls for months on end?”
“We have systems in place,” he said. “Families are told different stories depending on the situation. An intensive three-month scholarship to Oxford, perhaps. A humanitarian internship overseas. A cultural exchange in Europe. It varies.”
“And the girls just have to give up their studies at BHU?” I asked, shaking my head. “Just drop their own life and ambitions to slide into a Reaper’s life?”
“No, of course not.” Roman frowned. “They continue their studies via distance learning, and they’re encouraged to pursue their career goals. After all, it’s important for the wives of powerful men to be seen as successful in their own right. Look at the president, for example. His wife was a human rights lawyer before he took office. That’s part of what got him elected in the first place. Voters loved her.”
I gave a hollow laugh. “So these marriages aren’t really about love. They’re about optics.”
Roman met my eyes. “In this world, optics is an important part of love for a lot of people,” he said. “But not for me. I loved your sister for who she was. I couldn’t have cared less about optics.”
I held his gaze, unblinking. “Tell me about her, Roman,” I said in a low voice. “Tell me what happened, starting from the very first moment you met.”
“I met her in the BHU library,” Roman said. His whole face had suddenly changed. Softened. “She was researching something for a paper, completely absorbed. She had this habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating hard, and then it would immediately fall forward again.”
I stilled. Caldiddo that. I'd seen it a thousand times when we were in high school.
“She didn't notice me at first. I watched her for maybe ten minutes before I worked up the courage to talk to her.” He shook his head. “Me, a guy who's literally been trained to kill, and I was nervous about talking to a girl in the library. Pretty ridiculous, huh?”
Despite myself, despite everything, I felt something crack inside me. Because that sounded just like Cal. She had that effect on most men.
“I asked her about her research. Some economics paper on wealth disparity, ironically enough. She looked up at me, and I swear, the way she smiled...” He shook his head, lost in the memory. “Anyway, once she figured out who I was, she wasn't impressed. Didn't care about my last name or my family's money. She actually argued with me about neoliberal economics for twenty minutes. Completely destroyed every point I made. And I just sat there thinking I'd never met anyone like her.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Cal,” I murmured.
Roman’s voice dropped. “I went back the next day. And the next. Started timing my library visits to when I knew she'd be there. We'd talk for hours about everything. Within two weeks, I was completely gone. Couldn't think about anything or anyone else. And she felt it too. I could tell. The way she'd suddenly light up when she saw me, how she'd lean in when we talked like the rest of the world didn't even exist.”
“So you started seeing each other after that? Exclusively?”
“For me, things were exclusive from the very first moment I saw her,” he replied, giving me a faint smile. “But yes, that’s when we started dating.”
“All right,” I said, still uncertain. “Tell me more.”
Roman rubbed his jaw, eyes focusing somewhere over my shoulder. “She had this ratty Stanford hoodie she refused to throw away,” he said. "It was too big for her, and it had a bleach stain on the sleeve. She said her dad gave it to her when she was a kid, and she used to wear it when she missed him.”
I nodded slowly. That was true. Cal had worn that hoodie all the time.
“She used to have nightmares,” Roman went on quietly. “About… the thing that happened to the two of you when youwere just little girls. She'd wake up panicking, and I'd hold her until she went back to sleep.”
My breath hitched.Oh my god.Cal had told Roman her biggest secret. My biggest secret, too. But… he’d never done anything with it. Never used it against her, or me.
“She wasn't perfect, but neither am I,” he continued, and there was something raw in his voice now. “She was stubborn as hell. Wouldn't ask for help when she needed it. And she'd get so focused on proving herself that she'd forget to eat. I had to bring her food during exam periods because I knew she wouldn't remember.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
“But she was brilliant. And so funny. She would make me laugh until I couldn't breathe, and she cared so deeply about everything. Animals, the environment, social justice. She wanted to change the world, Violet, and I really believed she could. Especially with me at her side to help.”
My eyes were stinging now. I blinked hard, refusing to cry in front of him.
“She talked about you, you know,” he added softly. “Her little sister in California. How proud she was of you. That’s why I wanted to meet you today.”
I wanted to call him a liar again. To scream that he was manipulating me, that this was all some elaborate act. But he knew abouteverything. About things that Cal would only share with someone she truly trusted.
