LOGINThe city lights blurred past the tinted windows of the Rolls-Royce. Chicago at night was a different beast—quieter, colder, the streets emptied of the day's chaos.Roman sat in the back, one leg crossed over the other, his gaze fixed on the passing buildings. His tie was loosened. His sleeves were rolled up. The exhaustion of the day settled into his bones.Olivia sat across from him, a laptop on her lap, scrolling through the day's notes. She glanced up at him, then back down, then up again."The interviews," she said carefully. "How were they?"Roman didn't look at her. "They were all the same. A complete waste of my time."Olivia nodded slowly. "I see." She paused. "You did spend some time with Miss Mendel, though. How was that?"Roman didn't answer immediately.He thought of her. Sabrina had held his gaze, answered his questions without flinching. And the way she had called him out, pushed back, refused to grovel.She wasn't scared of him.That was rare.He exhaled through his nos
Sabrina sat slowly, placing the folder neatly on her lap.Her heart hammered against her ribs.She had been nervous before walking into the office.Now it was worse.The first candidate had walked out looking defeated and the second had left furious. The third had practically begged her to run.And yet, here she was.Sitting across from Roman Blackwood.The man who could either hand her the opportunity she’d been waiting for… or end it before it even began.Roman didn’t speak.He simply looked at her.His expression was unreadable. His dark eyes studied her with quiet intensity, as though he were trying to understand something that wasn’t written anywhere in the file resting on his desk.The silence stretched.One second. Two. Three.Sabrina shifted in her chair. Then again.Finally, unable to take it anymore, she cleared her throat.“Mr Blackwood,” she said carefully, forcing a polite smile. “Are you going to say something?”Roman leaned back in his chair, studying her. "I'm deciding
The alarm rang at exactly six thirty.Before it had the chance to ring a second time, a hand reached across the bedside table and silenced it.Sabrina Mendel stretched beneath the covers before slowly sitting up.The floor was cold against her bare feet, and the radiator in the corner coughed uselessly.She shuffled to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the hot water wake her up. Steam filled the small space. She stood under the spray longer than she should have, her mind already running through the day ahead.She stepped out, wrapped a towel around herself, and wiped the fog from the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her — tired eyes, damp hair, the faint shadows of someone who didn't sleep enough.She dressed quickly. Simple blazer, blouse, tailored trousers. Nothing too flashy.She checked herself one more time in the mirror. Adjusted her collar and straightened the sleeves.She headed for the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and pulled her phone from her pocket. Three
Roman sat alone in his office, thinking about his father’s final words.“You might not have someone like her to change you again.”He let out a deep breath. That was the least of his problems. He didn’t need someone like her. In fact, he didn’t need anyone.He hadn’t allowed himself to think about Tessa much over the past year, and he wasn’t about to start now. There was nothing to think of.She had left on her own terms. He had respected that. As much as every instinct had screamed at him to find her, he hadn’t used his influence, his money, or his connections.She was a grown woman.She had made a grown decision.And so had he.A firm knock interrupted his thoughts.“Come in,” Roman said sharply.The door opened and Olivia stepped inside, her hands clasped behind her back.“Olivia.” He said. “What is it?”“Mr Blackwood,” She kept her head high. “I apologise for what happened earlier. I had no idea Mr Thorne had—”“How could you let that happen?” Roman cut her off. His voice was lo
The car pulled up to the entrance of Blackwood Chicago.Before the driver could step out, Roman opened the door himself. He stepped onto the pavement, his shoes hitting the marble with a sharp, decisive click. He didn't wait for anyone. Didn't acknowledge the doorman. Didn't look back.He slammed the car door shut behind him.The sound echoed through the entrance.He took a few steps, then stopped.He turned and looked back at the car. His eyes landed on the scratch—the long, ugly gash running along the side where the Camry had hit it.He exhaled slowly. Then he turned and walked inside without another word.The lobby of Blackwood Chicago was a cathedral of glass and steel.Marble floors stretched endlessly. A grand chandelier hung overhead, casting a glow across the space.Staff moved with quiet precision. No one dared to look him in the eye. Not unless he specifically asked.Guests drifted past, and the hum of luxury filled the air.Roman didn't pause to admire any of it. He walked
The sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided effortlessly through the streets of downtown Chicago, its polished exterior reflecting the towering skyscrapers that lined the city. Inside, the atmosphere was calm. Roman Blackwood sat in the rear passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, a dark pair of eyeglasses on, scrolling through a presentation on the tablet resting on his lap. He looked different now. A year had changed him. His dark hair was shorter than before, his jaw cleaner, sharper. The softness that had once lingered around his eyes had disappeared, replaced by quiet confidence and an authority that came naturally to him now. Across from him sat his executive assistant, Olivia, an organised woman in her early thirties with a tablet balanced neatly on her knees. She adjusted her glasses before glancing at the day's schedule. "You have the investors' meeting at nine thirty," she began. "The board review at eleven. Lunch with the Morgan Group at one. Then the hote
The cold night air rushed in, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and something sharper—jet fuel, perhaps, or just the weight of distance travelled.Salima stood frozen at the door, mouth slightly agape.“Hello, Salima,” the woman at the door said, voice soft but steady, the Mumbai lilt unchanged a
The house was chaos wrapped in luggage.Suitcases lined the foyer like soldiers. Garment bags hung from doorframes. Shoes scattered.Tessa stood in the hallway, phone to her ear, directing staff as she folded a last sweater into her carry-on.“Yes, the navy suit—the one with the subtle pinstripe. A
Salima swallowed as the knock came again.She ended the call and sent a single text to Roman.“He called. I think he’s outside.”She set the phone down on the kitchen island and reached for the knife rack. Her fingers wrapped around the handle with practised calm. No shaking. No hesitation.She mov
Salima stepped into her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft thud.The house was silent, the kind of heavy quiet that pressed in after a long, draining night.She slipped off her earrings, setting them on the dresser, then reached for the zipper of her emerald blouse.A knock echo







