Roman had only taken a few steps down the hallway, his mind already turning over the first real clue he’d gotten, when Vance’s voice cut through the air.
"Did you get my email?" he called, his voice cutting cleanly through Roman’s thoughts.
Roman stopped. Then, slowly, he turned back. "What email?" he asked, too fast, too sharp. His brows drew together.
Vance didn’t answer imdiately. He just watched him, sothing faint curling at the corner of his lips. "The one from Estelle."
The words were quiet, but they hit hard.
Roman’s face drained of color as he took a step closer; the hallway seed to narrow, sound thinned around him. For a brief second, nothing else existed. Then the doubt surged in.
"And why would Estelle send you an email," he asked, his voice tightening, "instead of speaking to directly?"
Vance lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. "I’m sure you already know the answer," he said lightly. "Unless you want to spell it out for you."
Roman stared at him, his chest rising faster now, thoughts crashing into one another. Suspicion twisted deeper, but sothing else pushed through it. Urgency.
His gaze dropped to his phone. A notification sat at the top of the screen. New email. His pulse spiked.
From where he stood, Vance could almost see the shift. The hesitation cracking, the urgency taking hold. That flicker of doubt still lingered, but it was fading. Good.
"You should read it," Vance added, his tone asured, deliberate. "And sit down while you’re at it."
Roman didn’t wait for him to finish. He turned sharply, already moving, then running, back down the hallway toward his room. The polished floor blurred beneath his steps, his breath coming quicker now.
If Estelle had reached out, nothing else mattered.
Behind him, Vance remained where he was, watching him go. The faintest hint of satisfaction touched his expression.
"I’m sorry," a voice broke in from the side. "Isn’t that the na of the patient I’m here for?"
Vance’s gaze hardened almost instantly. Too fast.
The man from earlier stood there, unease flickering across his face.
"Why would she be sending emails if she’s in the sa house?" he added. "Or am I mistaken?"
Vance’s gaze hardened almost instantly, the softness gone. "No," he said flatly. "Different person."
The man shifted, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Whatever this was, it wasn’t sothing he wanted to get tangled in.
He gave a small nod and looked away.
—
Roman shoved his bedroom door open harder than necessary, the handle hitting the wall with a dull thud.
He stepped inside, his breath uneven, and paused just long enough to glance at his phone again. Then he shook his head.
No. He needed a bigger screen. Sothing clearer.
He locked the phone and crossed the room quickly, the soft rug muffling his steps as he reached the desk. His laptop sat there, closed, waiting.
He flipped it open, and the screen flickered to life, casting a pale glow across his face. His fingers moved fast over the touchpad, pulling up his email. The page loaded, and there it was.
A forwarded ssage from Vance.
Roman’s throat tightened. He drew in a slow breath, steadying himself, then clicked it open. The screen shifted.
He scrolled and felt his heart drop.
Hello, Roman.
I know you’d rather read about how sorry I am for leaving without telling you, but I’m not.
We were never going to work, so I needed to leave.
My career, finding my way back to it, matters more than you. More than anything.
I know this might hurt you, but I’ve made my decision. I don’t want you. I don’t want to be with you. You need to move on with your life. I’m giving you your freedom.
Besides, you and Lena make more sense. More than you and I ever did, more than we ever could.
I’m not coming back, Roman. So forget .
I wish—
—
Roman tore his gaze away from the screen.
The words didn’t just sting, they sank in, deep and deliberate, each line carving into him until his chest felt tight, almost hollow. For a mont, he just sat there, staring at nothing, the glow of the laptop washing faintly over his face.
How had it co to this? How had he fallen this hard for soone he hadn’t even wanted in the beginning?
A quiet, shaky breath left him. He pressed his palm against his chest, rubbing slow circles as if he could steady the uneven rhythm beneath. It didn’t help much, but it gave him sothing to hold onto.
After a mont, he leaned forward again.
Not to finish reading. Sothing else had caught his attention.
His eyes moved across the screen, slower this ti, sharper. The lines blurred briefly before settling, and then he saw it.
The email address. Not hidden, but left there in the forwarded ssage.
Roman stilled. A flicker of suspicion passed through him. Had Vance missed it, or left it on purpose?
But he didn’t dwell on it. Not now. All that mattered was that he had a way to reach her to get what he needed. Answers. He needed answers.
Quickly, he copied the address, his fingers moving with renewed urgency. Then he clicked Compose, and a blank page opened, stark and waiting.
He drew in a breath and began to type.
Estelle,
I never planned for any of this, but I can’t live without you.
Everything is a ss with you gone. There’s so much I need to say, but I won’t overwhelm you right now.
I need you with , the way we planned. We’re supposed to face this together. I love you, and I’m willing to go anywhere to find you. Just tell where you are. Give anything, and I’ll co for you. We can finally be together—
He stopped. His fingers hovered above the keys. For a brief second, sothing shifted behind his eyes, sothing colder, calculating. Then he continued.
We’ll co back stronger. We’ll take down my father and everyone standing in our way, and finally live the life we were ant to have.
The room fell quiet again, save for the faint hum of the laptop.
Roman leaned back slightly, reading over the ssage, his eyes narrowing as he took it in. His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk, once, twice, like he was weighing sothing unseen.
If this was being watched, he wanted them to react.
Then, he clicked Send, and the ssage vanished. Sent.
Roman leaned back into the chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. He waited, his gaze fixed loosely on the screen, but there was a shadow behind his expression now, sothing unreadable.
His fingers began to drum again, slow and steady, like a countdown ticking in the background.
Seconds passed. Then a minute. Nothing. No reply.
His lips curved slightly. Not relief. Not hope.
Sothing else.
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