Nora Vale knew how to disappear in a house full of powerful men. Keep the floors polished. Keep her head down. N

The tension inside Blackmere House reached a boiling point over the next forty-eight hours.

Nora was no longer permitted to work the heavy cleaning rotas. Instead, under Roman’s direct orders, she was reassigned to administrative filing inside the private library—a room adjacent to his main office. She was provided a comfortable seat near the window, warm tea delivered every morning, and a security guard posted outside her door.

To the rest of the staff, it looked like the master of the house had taken a personal interest in the quiet maid. To Nora, it felt like being kept in a gilded cage.

On Thursday evening, as the rain drummed steadily against the glass, Roman walked into the library carrying two mugs of coffee. He set one down on Nora’s desk, taking a seat across from her.

"You're uncomfortable," Roman noted, watching her carefully.

"I’m not used to sitting down while everyone else works," Nora admitted, staring at the steam rising from the black coffee. "In Arthur's house, sitting down without permission meant you were lazy. And laziness had a price."

Roman’s knuckles turned white around his mug, but his voice remained steady. "Tell me about him. Only what you want to tell me."

Nora took a slow, trembling breath, looking out at the dark rain. "My parents died in a car crash when I was sixteen. Arthur took me in because my father left behind a six-figure insurance payout and a three-story townhome in Detroit. Arthur spent the money within eighteen months on gambling debts to the Moretti family."

"And when the money ran out?" Roman asked softly.

"When the money ran out, I became his property," Nora whispered, her voice breaking. "He used me as a servant, a punching bag, and eventually... a bargaining chip. When I turned twenty-two, Arthur made a deal with Julian Moretti—the Don's eldest son. He offered my hand in marriage to wipe out his remaining debts."

Roman’s face turned into a mask of pure, murderous stone. "Julian Moretti."

"Julian was worse than Arthur," Nora said, a shudder running down her spine. "He was cruel. He liked to control everything. The night before the wedding, I found out that Julian had arranged my father's car accident years ago just to get Arthur into debt. When I confronted Arthur, he hit me... he struck me over the head with a heavy brass lamp."

She reached up with trembling fingers, lightly touching the faint, hidden scar buried beneath her hair near the base of her skull.

"That's why I flinched," Nora whispered, looking directly into Roman's eyes. "That night, while Arthur was out celebrating the wedding deal, I packed a bag, stole three hundred dollars from his desk, and ran into the night. I’ve been running ever since."

Roman stood up slowly. He walked over to her desk, leaning down until his eyes were level with hers. The air between them charged with a dangerous, dark electricity.

"The running stops here, Eleanor," Roman murmured, his voice deep and absolute. "Julian Moretti and Arthur Vance have spent two years looking for a victim. They have no idea that you are now under the protection of Blackmere."

Before Nora could answer, Vance pushed the library door open, his expression tight and urgent.

"Boss," Vance said quickly. "We have a problem at the perimeter gate. A three-car convoy just pulled up. It's Julian Moretti. He says he's here for a private business meeting regarding regional shipping routes."

Nora gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in pure horror.