Page 7

Roman

I slam the car door without bothering to lock it. My pulse is a roar in my ears, my steps too fast, too loud across the slick sidewalk. I don’t care that people stare as I throw open the restaurant doors. I’m not here to be subtle. I’m not here to be civilized.

I’m here to destroy the motherfucker who tried to con my girl.

The second I got the callback from Dave, one of the sharpest literary agents I know, I knew something was wrong. “Gideon Marks?” he’d said, voice flat. “That guy’s a bottom-feeder. Blacklisted. Total scam artist. You better tell your girl to run.”

He sent me links, receipts, screenshots—complaints from authors he conned out of thousands. Promises of publishing deals, just like he made to Callie. Always followed by invoices, excuses, and then silence once he’d got everything he could. And in one case, worse.

An accusation of sexual assault.

My vision’s gone razor sharp now. My body locked tight with cold, focused rage.

Then I see her.

Back corner of the dining room. A white-linen table. A man leaning in with rings flashing and his hand wrapped around her wrist. And my Callie is recoiling, shoulders tense, eyes wide with something that makes me want to kill.

She doesn’t see me yet. But I see everything.

I storm across the floor, ignoring the startled glances, the ma?tre d’s sharp voice. My fists are clenched. My jaw’s grinding.

“Get your hands off her,” I shout before I even reach their table.

The man jerks back instinctively. Good. He should be afraid.

Callie gasps softly and slides out of the booth to stand behind me. I feel her hand on my back, but I can’t look at her yet. I’m locked on him.

Gideon tries to recover. Smiles, all oily charm. “Excuse me, who...”

“You’re Gideon Marks,” I say, voice low, deadly calm. “Agent, conman, and fraud. You’ve got half a dozen formal complaints against you for impersonating industry contacts and soliciting fees under false pretenses. You’re not even legally registered with the AAR.”

I don’t mention the other accusations. Not while Callie is listening. What’s she’s finding out now is bad enough.

His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

“I know every legitimate agent in this city. And you? You’re a fucking parasite. So if you ever contact her again, I’ll have my lawyers on you so fast your scammy little empire will implode before lunch.”

He sputters. “I think you’re misunderstanding...”

I take one step closer. Drop my voice to a snarl. “Try me, and my lawyers will be the least of your worries.”

His face drains of color, and I don’t give him another second. I turn to Callie.

Her eyes are wide and shining, that fear still lingering in them. But when I offer her my hand, she doesn’t hesitate.

I curl my fingers around hers and say, low and rough, “Come on, baby. We’re done here.”

She presses into my side without a word, and we walk out of that place like it’s on fire.

I don’t stop to look back. Don’t speak. My body is humming with fury, vibrating with it. But she’s shaking beside me, soft and silent, and that’s what reins me in. That’s what keeps me from turning around and ripping that bastard’s head from his neck.

The second we’re in the car, I start the engine, one hand white-knuckled on the wheel. The other finds hers without hesitation. She’s cold and trembling. My grip is probably too tight, but she doesn’t let go.

The silence is thick. Only broken by the sound of her trying not to cry.

She’s making those awful, stifled gasps, like she’s trying to swallow all her feelings down. I hate it. I hate it more than I’ve hated anything in my goddamn life. Her quiet tears are worse than any scream.

I don’t say a word. Not yet. Because I know if I open my mouth now, it’ll come out wrong. Too rough. Too sharp. And I don’t want her to think this rage boiling inside me is her fault.

I should have got there sooner. I should never have let her walk into that meeting alone. But it had taken me longer than expected to get all the information I’d needed. As soon as I knew what a piece of shit Gideon was, I’d rushed straight to the restaurant.

But I hadn’t been quick enough. That fucker put his hands on my girl.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

Her face is blotchy and pale, streaked with the remnants of mascara.

Her bottom lip trembles as she wipes her cheek with the back of her free hand.

She doesn’t say anything, but the sound she makes, small and broken, is enough to cleave me straight down the middle.

Every protective instinct I have is howling. My foot is heavy on the gas. I want to get her home now, where I can wrap her in a blanket and press her to my chest and swear to her that nothing like this will ever touch her again. Not while I’m breathing.

We’re almost there.

I get her home as quickly as I can. Once we’re inside, she drifts to the couch like she’s being drawn by gravity and collapses into it, her dress crumpling around her, shoulder’s caving in like she’s too tired to hold herself up.

I cross to her slowly and drop to a crouch in front of her, careful not to crowd her. My hands rest lightly on her knees.

“Tell me everything,” I murmur.

She doesn’t respond for a second. Her eyes are distant, glazed. And then, all at once, her chest heaves, and she lets out a small, broken sound that breaks my heart.

“My dad left last spring,” she says, voice so small it barely exists. “Just packed a bag one night and never came back. My mom… she didn’t know what to do. She’s trying to work all the hours she can around raising my three younger siblings by herself. My little sister’s only six.”

Fuck.

“Mom doesn’t ask for anything,” she goes on, her lip trembling. “But I know the bills are piling up. The mortgage. Groceries. School fees. I try to send her money whenever I can to help her out.”

I take one of her hands gently, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s on autopilot now, tumbling down the slope of everything she’s been holding in.

“When Gideon reached out, I thought that would be the end to all our financial worries. But then he started asking for money,” she whispers.

“Editing costs. Formatting. Proofreading. Cover design. Submission packages. He always made it sound urgent, like if I didn’t pay right then, I’d miss the opportunity. So I found the money.”

“How?” I ask, my throat tight.

She laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it.

Just a razor’s edge. “I sold most of my clothes. I’ve only got a few things left now.

Stopped buying groceries for a while. I haven’t eaten three meals a day in months.

I sold my headphones, my tablet, all the things I saved up for before college.

I just… I kept thinking if I could publish the book, it would be worth it. ”

She finally looks at me, and the pain in her eyes is devastating. “That book was supposed to help them. I was supposed to help them. And now it’s gone, and I’ve got nothing left.”

It’s like being punched in the chest.

She’s been slowly bleeding herself dry while trying to help the people she loves. She’s been suffering in silence, starving and sacrificing and drowning in guilt, while I’ve been clueless.

“I’ve failed them,” she whispers, and that’s what breaks me.

“No,” I say, sitting beside her, taking both of her hands in mine. “Look at me.”

She doesn’t, so I cup her face gently, tilting her chin until her eyes meet mine.

“Real agents don’t charge authors. Ever. That bastard was a scam artist, plain and simple.”

Her brows knit together. “But he seemed so...”

“Convincing. I know. That’s how they work. But in this industry? Authors don’t pay up front. You get an advance from the publisher. The agent takes a cut of that, a percentage. They make money when you do. Never before.”

She blinks at me, taking it in like she’s hearing it for the first time.

“You didn’t fail your family,” I tell her, my voice soft but firm. “You’ve been fighting like hell for them. You’re smart and brave and selfless, and he targeted you because of that. Because you shine.”

Her eyes fill again. But this time, she doesn’t look away.

“I’m going to take care of it,” I promise. “All of it. Your mom. The house. The bills.”

“Roman...”

“I mean it. I’m sending her enough money to pay off the mortgage.

To cover whatever she needs for a long time.

Your little siblings will have everything they need.

And you...” I squeeze her hands, holding her gaze “...you will never go hungry again. You won’t spend another second wondering how you’re going to make ends meet. ”

She shakes her head, overwhelmed. “It’s too much. You can’t just...”

“Yes I can. And I’m going to. Because you’re mine, Callie,” I say, low and rough. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

That’s what does it.

She folds into me like she’s been waiting to fall for years. Her arms slide around my neck, her body trembles in my lap, and the sobs that break from her chest this time aren’t sharp or panicked or hopeless. They’re soft. Releasing. Relieved.

I hold her. Just hold her. One hand at her back, the other smoothing through her hair.

She’s quiet for a long time and her breathing slowly evens out, little tremors easing with each pass of my hand down her spine.

Then, barely a whisper against my throat, “Roman?”

“Yeah, baby?” I pull back enough to look at her. Her cheeks are damp, lashes clumped with tears, lips trembling with leftover emotion. And she’s never looked more breathtakingly beautiful.

“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is raw. Thick with the weight of everything that’s happened today.

“You never have to thank me, Callie,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’d do anything for you. Anything.”

Her eyes are shining again. “But why? Before yesterday, you didn’t even know I existed, and now you’re doing so much for me.”

“Because,” I say, pulling her in until her lips are a breath from mine, “you’re special, baby. I knew it the second I started reading the stories in your notebook, and it only grew more obvious with each new thing I learned about you.”

She bites her bottom lip, and the gesture is so goddamn sexy. My cock jumps, but I ignore it. It’s not about sex right now. It’s about her.

“I love you, Callie,” I murmur. “It hit me so hard and fast, but that doesn’t make it any less real. I knew the second I saw you that you were meant to be mine. That you were made for me.”

She gasps softly, her eyes widening. “You love me?”

I smile, a warmth spreading through my chest. “So much, baby. More than I thought was possible. You’re in every thought. Every breath. You’re a part of me.”

“I...” she trails off, her eyes bright, cheeks pink. “I love you too, Roman. So much. This feels too good to be true, like a dream, and I’m terrified I’ll wake up.”

“It’s not a dream,” I assure her. “I’m here. I’m real. And you’re never getting rid of me. I plan on spending the rest of my life proving just how serious I am.”

She smiles, her eyes filling with happy tears, and fuck, the sight is like a fist around my heart. I’m fucking helpless for this woman.

But the moment is interrupted by a loud rumble, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from Callie’s stomach.

She flushes and covers her belly with a hand, laughing sheepishly. “Sorry. That was bad timing.”

“Not at all,” I say, laughing as I stand with her in my arms. “We are going to fix that, though.”

I carry her down the hallway before setting her gently in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Leaning down, I press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“You’ve neglected yourself for too long trying to take care of everyone else,” I say. “But I’m here now. And I’m going to make sure you always have everything you need.”

Her face flushes, but she doesn’t argue. Just watches me quietly as I move through the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, pulling ingredients from the fridge and cabinets.

She stays quiet while I cook, and her silence is soothing. The softest background music to the sounds of pots and pans.

It doesn’t take long to make a simple stir fry. But when I see her eyes light up at the first bite, I make a vow to myself to always do whatever I can to make her happy.

To show her how loved she is.

To give her the life she deserves.

The best life.