Three days after marrying me, Roman Calder abandoned me inside a freezing manor on the edge of Lake Erie and drove away without looking back.

The revelation hanging in the corridor felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest.

Roman’s hand remained on my neck for a second longer before he slowly pulled back, his expression returning to that impenetrable, stoic mask he wore like armor.

"Go back to bed, Evelyn," he said softly. "Tomorrow, we need to discuss moving the children to a safe house in Syracuse until Viktor is dealt with."

"No," I said immediately.

Roman paused, his brows drawing together. "What do you mean, no?"

"Those children have been moved from foster home to foster home their entire lives," I said, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "This is the first place they have felt safe, warm, and wanted. I will not pack them up in the middle of a blizzard and ship them off to some cold holding facility because of your business rivalries."

"This isn't a business rivalry, Evelyn!" Roman’s voice flared with sudden heat. "Viktor is a savage. He doesn't operate by rules. If he thinks taking those kids will give him leverage over us, he will do it without hesitation!"

"Then we make sure he never gets close enough to try," I countered. "You said it yourself—this house is a fortress. You put steel beneath the foundation. We have Caleb, we have your security detail, and we have the storm. Nobody is moving those children."

Roman stared at me, his chest rising and falling heavily. For a man who was used to giving orders that were executed without question by hardened criminals, my quiet, stubborn defiance was clearly infuriating—and intoxicating.

"You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met," Roman growled, though there was a strange, dark flash of respect in his eyes.

"And you are used to dealing with people who are afraid of you," I replied. "I am not afraid of you, Roman."

"Maybe you should be," he murmured, his voice dropping low as he stepped back into the doorway of his office. "A little fear keeps people alive."

"Faith keeps people alive," I corrected him. "Goodnight, Roman."

I turned and walked back down the hallway toward my bedroom, feeling his heavy gaze on my back every step of the way.

The next morning, the blizzard had cleared, leaving behind a world painted in brilliant, blinding white. The sky was a pale, clear blue, and Lake Erie was frozen over near the shore, jagged ice sheets piling up against the rocky cliffs below the manor.

I was in the kitchen helping Martha roll dough for fresh cinnamon rolls when the front door burst open.

Caleb stepped inside, stomping snow off his boots. His face was grim, his eyes wide with tension.

"Evelyn," Caleb called out, his voice tight. "You need to come outside. Now."

I wiped my flour-covered hands on my apron and grabbed my coat, following Caleb out onto the broad front porch.

Roman was already standing there, dressed in a black leather jacket, surrounded by three of his armed guards. They were standing near the snow-covered fountain in the center of the driveway, looking down at the ground.

I walked over, my boots crunching in the fresh snow. "What is it?"

When I reached the fountain, my stomach turned to lead.

Lying in the snow at the base of the stone structure was a massive, dead black stag. Its throat had been cut cleanly, its dark blood spilling across the pristine white powder in a horrific, stark pattern. Pinned to the stag's chest with an iron hunting knife was a single, bloody piece of parchment.

On the parchment was written a single word in bold, dark strokes:

RETRIBUTION.

"It was placed here during the night," Caleb said, his voice laced with suppressed anger. "They got past the perimeter fence along the south ridge."

Roman stood over the dead animal, his expression completely blank, but the tension in his shoulders was radiating like heat from a furnace. He reached down, unpinned the parchment with his gloved hand, and crumpled it into his fist.

"They're testing us," Roman said quietly. "Checking our reaction times. Seeing how close they can get before we notice."

He turned to look at me. His eyes swept over my pale face, checking to see if I was going to faint or scream.

I took a deep, clear breath of the freezing morning air. My lungs burned slightly, but I didn't cough. I didn't scream. I didn't faint.

"Caleb," I said, my voice steady and clear. "Get the tractor. Move the animal to the woodshop and clear this snow. The children will be waking up in thirty minutes for breakfast, and I don't want them seeing this through the nursery windows."

Caleb nodded sharply. "Right away, Evelyn."

Roman stared at me as Caleb hurried off toward the barn. His guards looked at me with open shock—clearly unused to seeing a boss's wife react to a bloody mob warning with practical household management.

"You're not terrified?" Roman asked, stepping closer to me as the guards moved back to give us privacy.

"I am terrified," I said softly, looking up into his dark eyes. "But terror is a luxury we can't afford right now. Viktor wants us panicked. He wants us making reckless mistakes. I won't give him the satisfaction."

Roman looked at me for a long, silent moment. Slowly, he raised his gloved hand and touched my shoulder, his grip firm, warm, and protective.