The silence of the Thorne estate at three in the morning was usually absolute, a heavy, expensive quiet that felt like being wrapped in cotton. In her guest suite, Violet- or the woman Roman now thought of as his "S," was finally drifting into the first deep sleep she'd had in days. The velvet dress was draped over a chair, replaced by a delicate, pale silk nightdress that felt like a whisper against her skin.
CRACK.
The sound was like a gunshot in the stillness. Violet bolted upright, her heart leaping into her throat, a cold sweat instantly prickling her spine.
For a terrifying second, she thought the door had been breached, but the chilling draft of winter air told a different story.
On the plush rug near the foot of her bed lay a jagged, grey stone. Shards of glass glittered like diamonds across the floor, reflecting the pale moonlight. Violet's breath hitched. She swung her legs out of bed, her bare feet careful to avoid the glass as she knelt by the rock.
Attached to it with a rough piece of twine was a scrap of yellowed paper. She didn't need to unfold it to feel the malice radiating from the ink.
"I know where you are. You can't hide from me, Songbird."
The room suddenly felt exposed, the shattered window a gaping wound. Her first instinct wasn't for her own safety, but for the boy in the room next door. She grabbed the note, her fingers trembling, and slipped out into the hallway. She cracked Adam's door just an inch, her eyes searching the shadows until she saw the rhythmic rise and fall of his small chest. He was still under, oblivious to the war beginning to rage in his house.
She let out a shaky breath, leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the doorframe.
"Violet?"
The voice was a low, sleep-roughed rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. She turned, her eyes widening.
Roman was stalking down the hallway, having clearly been jolted awake by the crash. He was a vision of raw, unvarnished power. He was shirtless, his broad chest and muscular torso etched with the silver light of the moon. His low-hanging silk pajama pants clung to his hips, leaving very little to the imagination. He looked less like a CEO and more like a warrior interrupted in his rest.
But as he reached her, Roman stopped dead. The light from the shattered window at the end of the hall cast a brilliant, unforgiving silhouette of Violet. The fine silk of her nightdress, caught in the lunar glow, became almost entirely translucent.
Every curve of her body, the long line of her legs, and the delicate arch of her back were outlined in a way that made Roman's breath hitch with a sound that was almost a growl.
He moved toward her in a daze, his pupils blown wide, the anger in his face momentarily eclipsed by a primal, unchecked hunger. He didn't speak until he was standing directly over her, his heat radiating off him in waves.
He didn't care about the rules or the technicality in that moment. He reached out, his large hands sinking into the soft flesh of her waist, pulling her flush against his bare skin. His grip was possessive, a claim made in the dark.
"What was the crash?" he rasped, his eyes searching hers, though they occasionally dipped to the sheer silk covering her chest. "Are you hurt?"
Violet felt the world spinning. The heat of his palms against her waist was the only thing keeping her upright. She held up the note, her voice a fragile thread. "Someone... someone threw a rock through my window. He's here, Roman. He found the gates."
Roman's face transformed. The daze vanished, replaced by a cold, lethal clarity that was far more terrifying than the intruder. He snatched the note, his eyes scanning the words. He didn't say a word. He simply turned, his hand still anchored to her waist, and walked her back toward the wing of the house.
He stopped at her door, reached inside, and locked it from the outside- effectively sealing the room until his security team could sweep it.
Then, he pushed Adam's door open. The boy had finally stirred from the commotion, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a confused pout.
"Daddy? Is it morning?"
"Not yet, Ace," Roman said, his voice instantly softening as he stepped into the room. He scooped the boy up into his arms, Adam's head falling naturally onto his father's shoulder. Roman looked at Violet, his eyes like blue ice.
"Neither of you is staying in this wing tonight. I won't be able to sleep unless I know you're both within arm's reach."
Roman's master suite was a fortress within a fortress. The bed was massive, a sprawling expanse of dark linens and overstuffed pillows. Usually, it was a cold, lonely place, but tonight it felt like the only safe spot on earth.
Roman laid Adam down in the center of the bed. The boy was already half-asleep again, his small hand reaching out and clutching the hem of Violet's nightdress as she climbed in on the other side. Violet curled into the pillows, her heart still racing, the scent of Roman's room- expensive leather, and that sharp cedarwood, acting as a strange sedative.
Then, the mattress dipped.
Roman slid in behind her. He didn't stay on his side of the bed. He moved until he was a solid wall of heat at her back. He draped one heavy arm over her waist, his hand splaying across her stomach, pulling her back until there wasn't a whisper of air between them.
The contact was electric. Violet felt his bare chest against her back, his breath hot against the nape of her neck. It was too much- too intimate, too real.
"Roman," she whispered, her voice stern but shaky as she felt his fingers begin to trace the silk over her hip. "Keep your hands to yourself. Adam is right here."
Roman didn't pull away. He sat up slightly, propping himself on one elbow, looking down at the two of them. His hair was tousled, his eyes dark with a frustration that had nothing to do with the intruder.
"So if Adam wasn't in here...?" he murmured, his voice a low, suggestive hum. He actually made a move to sit up further, his hand reaching for the sleeping boy as if he were seriously contemplating moving him back to the nursery.
"No- don't!" Violet hissed, swatting at his hand. "Don't you dare wake him. He's peaceful for the first time since the crash. Patience, you brute."
Roman let out a long, frustrated sigh, but he settled back down. He didn't let go of her waist, though. He tucked his chin over her shoulder, his arm tightening just enough to let her know he wasn't going anywhere.
"Patience isn't my strong suit when my world is being threatened, S," he whispered into the dark.
"I know," she replied, her hand coming up to rest over his on her waist. "But for tonight... just be the anchor. The storm can wait until tomorrow."
In the quiet of the room, with the boy with them and the dragon behind her, Violet finally closed her eyes. The husband was at the gates, the lawsuit was in the air, but for the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was running alone.