Chapter 4

For a heartbeat, the tension coiled tight enough to snap.

His hand twitched at his side, as though fighting the urge to touch her. Hers tightened around her glass, as though daring him to try.

Then someone jostled the bar, breaking the spell.

Roman straightened, his expression unreadable, though his eyes still burned into her.

He didn’t get her name.

He didn’t get her obedience.

Elena turned away first, dismissing him with the deliberate tilt of her body, as if he were nothing more than background noise.

Roman’s hand twitched, he wanted to grab her wrist, spin her back to him, force her to look him in the eye.

No one had ever dared to brush him off, not in a boardroom, not in a bedroom, not anywhere.

But then he saw the man moving with her.

The friend. The one who had been beside her all night, laughing at her every sharp retort, steady as a shadow.

Roman had noticed him earlier, but now his presence sharpened into a warning.

She wasn’t walking away alone, and something in the way that man protected her, lighthearted but unyielding, stayed Roman’s hand.

His fingers curled into a fist at his side, the restraint costing him more than he’d admit. Because God help him, as she walked away, the sway of her hips was a sin in itself.

Those curves haunted his focus, the defiant tilt of her chin seared into his mind.

Roman Thorne didn’t chase. Women chased him. Yet here he was, pulse quickening, jaw tight, obsessed with a woman who didn’t even give him her name.

He swallowed hard, the burn of whiskey lingering in his throat as he watched her disappear into the crowd, laughter bubbling between her and her friend.

Humiliation was a poison in his veins, but so was desire and he had never been a man to let either go unpunished.

......................

Morning crept in over the city, but Roman hadn’t slept.

He never tossed in bed, he wasn’t the kind of man plagued by restless nights. His control was absolute, in business, in his body, in his mind. But last night had dug under his skin like glass shards he couldn’t ignore.

The girl.

Not even her name. Just a flash of dark eyes that dared him to burn, a voice that cut as sharp as any blade, a body that had his blood running hotter than it had in years. She had humiliated him, openly, boldly, and then walked away as if he were just some man in a crowded room.

No one did that.

No one.

And now she haunted him.

He sat at the edge of his bed, tie in hand, staring out over the skyline his empire touched. Normally, this morning would be routine, suit up, check messages, let his driver handle the route while he prepared for meetings. But instead, he was thinking about the way her lips had curved around her glass, the sway of her hips as she walked off with that laughing friend of hers.

Roman clenched his jaw, sliding the tie around his collar with deliberate precision.

He wasn’t a man who wanted. He took. He didn’t crave. He commanded. And yet, his body ached from the restraint of not reaching for her. His pride burned from the dismissal.

He wanted her.

And God help her, he would have her.

But not today.

Today, duty came first.

Roman buttoned his jacket, straightened his cuffs. His father had reminded him of the schedule twice already, this morning, he and his parents would drive to the Sinclair estate to finalize the marriage arrangements.

His bride to be was waiting, her name written neatly across a contract that would merge two empires.

It was supposed to be simple. Cold. Strategic.

Just a signature, a dinner, a ring slipped on a delicate finger. Roman hadn’t cared about the girl herself, only her family’s connections, the assets she represented.

His father’s exact words echoed in his head. She’ll be quiet, obedient. Easily handled. You won’t even notice she’s there.

That was what he expected. That was what he had agreed to.

So why the hell was he still thinking about the stranger from last night?

In the back of the sleek black car, Roman leaned against the leather, the city slipping by in flashes of glass and steel.

His parents sat across from him, his father sharp and commanding, his mother elegant and controlled, but their conversation faded to background noise.

He should have been reviewing numbers in his head, memorizing talking points, preparing for the negotiations to follow. Instead, he was replaying her voice, her defiance.

Names are earned… not handed out to strangers who think they own the room.

The audacity.

The fire.

The way she looked right into his eyes and didn’t flinch.

His father cleared his throat. “Roman, I trust you understand how vital this merger is. The Sinclairs have resources we need. And their daughter...”

“...will be taken care of,” Roman finished curtly, dragging his mind back. “I know what’s expected.”

His mother’s gaze lingered on him, cool and searching. “Just remember, appearances matter. This isn’t about romance.”

Roman almost laughed. Romance. As if he had time for such illusions.

The car slowed, pulling into the winding drive of the Sinclair estate.

A sprawling mansion came into view, all pristine marble and manicured gardens, a monument to old money.

Roman’s expression remained unreadable, though his thoughts were miles away, circling back to a nameless girl in a crowded club.

He needed to shake her. He needed to lock her out of his head, if only long enough to get through this charade of a morning.

But as he stepped out of the car, his pulse gave a sharp, unfamiliar kick.

The doors to the mansion opened. A figure stood framed in the doorway, light spilling around her.

Roman’s stride slowed, the practiced mask of indifference slipping by a fraction.

It was her.

The woman who had dismissed him. The stranger who had haunted him all night.

Roman stopped dead in his tracks.