CHAPTER 8

A Tense Alliance

Roman's POV

The constant clicking of the clock was testing my patience in my studies. Sitting at the polished wood desk, I saw how thoughtfully every part of the room was set out. The soft glow of the chandelier cast a golden hue across the room, but it could not break the ice in my chest. Victor Carter was running late, and I was feeling less than usual.

When the door creaked open, I clenched my jaw. “You are fifteen minutes late.”

With a weary look on his face, Victor came in. His clothing was crumpled, the tie was loose around his neck, and his eyes were bloodshot as if he hadn't slept in days. For good reason; he looked like a man in chaos.

"I'm sorry, Roman," he whispered in a low voice than I remember. He stopped and stood for a time in the doorway.

"Close the door." My voice was sharp, leaving no room for debate.

As instructed, he shuffled over to the chair across from me. He sat down heavily as if his choices were suddenly too much to carry.

“You know why you’re here,” I began, not even bothering to soften the edge in my voice.

Victor's hands moved in his lap as his eyes went to the window, evading my gaze. "This must be about Naomi."

I leaned back in my chair and observed him. “It’s always about Naomi, isn’t it? Your sacrificial lamb.”

He flinched, the words hitting hard.

"That's not fair," he murmured, but his voice lacked conviction even as he said it.

"Fair?" I scoffed and leaned forward, the desk between us now feeling like a battlefield. "After what you did to her, you dare to talk about fairness?"

Victor lowered his head and hunched his shoulders as if to defend himself from the hardness of my words. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You had a choice Carter. A lot of them. You just chose the one that handed your daughter over to me like some pawn on a chessboard.”

"I did it to save her!" he cried, his voice breaking. His words were filled with desperation, and his fists now clenched around the arms of the chair. “You think I don’t know what I’ve done? That I don’t see the pain in her eyes every time she looks at me?”

His pain momentarily paralyzed me. His remorseful words hung in the air, but I was not swayed.

"Save her?" I repeated it coldly.“By throwing her into the arms of a man you know is ruthless?”

Victor started to breathe heavily. He struggled to meet my gaze. "She's the only option I have left. I—I thought she could survive this, that maybe... maybe you would—

"Stop." My remarks pierced his pitiful aside. "You didn't think about it. You acted out of desperation, and now your daughter is suffering because of it.”

Victor buried his face in his fists as his shoulders shook. It was heartbreaking to see the once-proud man reduced to this.

“I love her,” he whispered, his voice muffled by his hands. “She’s my little girl. I thought... I thought she’d be better off.”

“Better off?” I said, incredulous. “Do you even know what you’ve condemned her to? Do you know how fragile she is?”

He looked up, sadness etched on his face. “Naomi’s stronger than you think. She’s... she’s just lost right now.”

“She’s weak,” I corrected, my tone merciless. “She’s drowning, and if she goes under, so does this entire arrangement.”

As if my words had struck him with a bodily blow, Victor winced.

"You think I wanted this?" he asked angrily. "To put her through this? There was nothing else I could do, Roman. If there had been another option, I would have taken it immediately.”

"You keep saying that.” I replied with a cold, lethal tone.”But the reality is that you sold her to me.”

Victor sank into his chair, his silence a quiet admission of guilt.

I stood abruptly, towering over him. “If you care about her at all, you’ll fix this. Because I won’t babysit her, Victor. If she can’t adapt, she’ll break, and I won't deal in broken pieces.”

His eyes fell to the floor, and his body seemed to collapse in on itself, making him appear smaller than before.

"She's my daughter." He murmured, his voice faltering. "All I wanted was for her to be safe."

“And now,” I said, my voice sharp, “she’s under my roof, my control. Your failures have made her my responsibility. I’ll make sure she survives this, but not for her sake. Remember that.”

With trembling hands, Victor forced himself to stand. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but his remorse kept him quiet.

He turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Roman,” he said quietly, not meeting my gaze. “Please... don’t destroy her.”

I didn't respond. The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left to think by myself.

The golden liquid swirled as I poured a glass of bourbon for myself and stared into it. I could visualize Naomi's face, her large, distressed eyes, and the trembling in her voice when she had to confront me, even briefly.

Yes, she was delicate but underlying, and that spark of defiance fascinated me more than I wanted to admit.

I thumped the glass firmly to the floor and drank it all in a go. Naomi Carter was one unexpected complication.

And complications... they had a way of turning everything to chaos.

I ended up in the corridor outside her art studio a few hours later. Something drew me here, maybe curiosity, maybe something sinister. I hadn't mean to be here.

I could see her through the crack in the open door.

With a paintbrush in her shaking hand, Naomi sat on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. She gazed at the canvas in front of her; the frantic, disorganized brushstrokes represented her inner distress.

I could tell she was crying when her shoulders began to shake.

The sight hit me harder than I expected. For a moment, I considered walking in, saying something, anything. But what could I say? That I was sorry?

No. I'm not like that.

Instead, I gazed, silent and invisible, while she poured her pain into the canvas.

Faint and broken, her voice broke the silence. "Dad, why did you do this to me?"

She wasn’t speaking to me, but the weight of her inquiry lingered in the air, a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

I turned and walked away, leaving her to her pain.

Because I knew, deep down, that this was merely the beginning of her torment. And mine.