Patricia was well tended to by Roman's maid, who made sure she had everything she needed. Though utterly mortified that a man, especially one who wasn't her lover knew she was menstruating, she couldn't deny the comfort the care brought her. It was humiliating, yes, but oddly… human. Still, a part of her suspected Zara had planned this all along, abandoning her so she would be forced to stay the night if things didn't go her way. Thankfully, the period made Roman show kindness.
But what unsettled her more was the fact that she was in this house, the very one Roman had entered. There were three other buildings in the large compound, yet she was brought here. Why? If he truly wanted to avoid her, wouldn't it have made more sense to place her in a guest house, far away from him? What was this supposed to mean?
The house was eerily silent, empty even, as if Roman were the only one who lived here. The thought gave her pause. She tried to shake it off, dismissing it as overthinking, but the unease lingered.
Restless and unable to sleep since the maid had bid her goodnight, Patricia got out of bed. Maybe some fresh air would help clear her head. Carefully, she opened the door and stepped out, shutting it quietly behind her. The house was dead silent, and from the stillness in the air, she guessed it was well past midnight.
She cursed under her breath as she remembered her phone was still in Zara's car, left behind during the chaos earlier.
Following the path she vaguely remembered from when Kay had escorted her in, she wandered quietly through the dim hallways until she stumbled upon the kitchen.
To her surprise, it wasn't just a kitchen, it had a sleek, modern design, and a mini bar nestled in the corner. The soft glow of under-cabinet lights lit up the room enough for her to explore. She hovered near the bar for a moment, tempted to pour herself something strong to calm her nerves. But it wasn't her house. If Roman caught her, she was sure he wouldn't hesitate to throw her out.
Fighting the urge, she walked into the kitchen instead, letting her eyes scan the space. To her shock, he had even more utensils than her entire family home, odd for a man who supposedly lived alone. Then again, he did mention a lover. Maybe it was her touch that filled the kitchen.
Patricia frowned slightly. Her stepmother had never let her near the kitchen, insisting it wasn't her place. Lisa had done everything in her power to keep her from learning anything useful. If not for her real mother, she wouldn't even know how to cook noodles. Pathetic, she thought. But maybe one day… she would learn for herself.
As she reached out to touch the chopping board, a loud thud behind her made her flinch violently.
A voice tore through the silence.
"What are you doing?!"
She shrieked and spun around, her heart leaping to her throat. Roman's voice was like a gunshot in the stillness, sharp and booming.
Her breath hitched as her eyes met his. He stood there, bare-chested, his damp skin catching the dim kitchen light. Wet streaks ran down his torso from his hair, still tousled from a recent shower. The sight left her stunned, pulse racing.
"I… I… I couldn't sleep," she stammered, struggling to form words as her gaze involuntarily dropped and she immediately regretted it. Her cheeks flushed crimson the moment she realized what she was looking at. She tore her eyes away, embarrassed beyond measure.
Roman stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. She couldn't see him clearly anymore, but she could feel every step he took. Each one matched the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat.
He was getting closer.
Too close.
And though she wanted to move, to say something, her body refused to cooperate. The silence between them now was no longer awkward, it was charged.
Reaching her, Roman's voice dropped low but forceful.
"Look at me."
The command made her flinch before she instinctively turned to face him.
"You do not touch anything in this house. Nothing that belongs to me." His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that sent a jolt through her chest. Her legs weakened under the pressure, and she had to lean against the table for support.
"Y-Yes, sir," she replied quietly, her voice barely holding steady. Why did he look so guarded, possessive, even over something as ordinary as utensils? Was it because of his lover? That woman must mean more to him than she initially thought.
Unnerved by how close he stood, she mumbled, "Can you move away? You are… too close."
But he didn't budge. No response. Just silence. Curious and unsettled, she raised her eyes to his face and met that unreadable, dark gaze again.
"I thought we were married. Why do you look so flustered?" He asked, lips curling into a devilish smirk that made her pulse spike.
She clutched the front of her nightgown tightly, trying to cover herself more out of instinct than modesty. The gesture didn't go unnoticed. He tilted his head, intrigued by her odd mixture of boldness and fear. Was she truly this nervous, or was it just an act?
"I am… engaged," she said under her breath, more to remind herself than to him.
"We both are," he said flatly, then just like that, turned and walked away.
She blinked, surprised. When she looked up again, he had already vanished. A shaky sigh escaped her lips as she pressed her palm against the table, steadying herself. She didn't waste another moment before retreating to the room they gave her.
The following morning, Patricia bolted upright in bed, panic setting in. Sunlight spilled harshly through the window indicating it was already bright outside. Dawn. Roman had told her to leave by dawn and this was past dawn.
Heart pounding, she scrambled to get dressed, snatched up her bag, and rushed toward the front entrance. Her thoughts were a mess of dread and urgency.
Just as she neared the door, voices drifted toward her, one of them unmistakably Roman's, calm and composed. The other… oddly familiar.
She paused, frowning. That voice…where had she heard it before? No, it couldn't be. There was no way she knew anyone connected to Roman. She was just imagining things. Still, her steps slowed as she reached the entrance.
Then her eyes lifted and her heart nearly stopped.
"Patricia?!" The man beside Roman said in shock.
Her jaw dropped.
"Collin…" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Roman's head turned slightly, intrigued by the sudden shift.
It felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs. What was Collin doing here? How did he end up in Roman's house? Did Roman dig up her personal life and bring him here to expose her? The realization hit her like a wave of ice. That's why he let her stay. It wasn't kindness, it was a setup.
Collin took a step forward, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and restraint.
"What's going on?" He asked. His voice wasn't angry but it wasn't calm either. He was holding back, waiting for the truth.
"This… this isn't what it looks like," Patricia rushed out. "I will explain everything once we leave here. Please."
But she could already see the flicker of hurt in his eyes.
Collin's voice cracked as he asked, "Please tell me he's not the reason you have been ignoring my calls. I have been sick with worry, I was about to barge into your family's house."
Guilt crashed over her in waves. She opened her mouth.
"I…"
"I am," Roman interrupted coolly, stepping forward. "We are married." Adding petrol to the fire.
Collin's jaw tightened. He stepped back, like the wind had been knocked out of him. With a frustrated growl, he dragged his hand through his hair and turned sharply, slamming his palm against the wall. The sound echoed through the foyer, making Patricia flinch.
Her heart cracked as she watched him. This was spiraling faster than she could stop it.