The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the estate's security hub, but the atmosphere remained cold. Roman stood behind a bank of monitors, his arms crossed over his chest, his knuckles white. On the screen, a grainy, high-definition loop played in a stuttering cycle. The figure was a ghost- wrapped in a heavy, non-descript tactical coat with a deep hood that swallowed their features. They moved with a disturbing fluidity, avoiding the direct infrared beams until the very last second when the rock was launched with practiced precision.
"Enhance the thermal signature," Roman commanded, his voice a low vibration of suppressed rage.
"We tried, sir," Mitch, the head of security, replied solemnly. "He's wearing a heat-reflective lining. And he stayed in the blind spots of the peripheral sensors. He knows our sweep patterns. These aren't just random footprints in the snow; they're the marks of someone who studied the perimeter."
Roman stared at the footprints- deep, heavy indentations in the fresh powder beneath Violet's window. They were large, masculine, and arrogant.
"Tighten everything. I want the external sensors recalibrated every hour. If a squirrel twitches on the fence, I want a drone on it. Dismissed."
As the team filed out, Roman walked back to his private home office, the weight of the threat pressing against his temples. He needed to know. He needed the name. He found Violet in the hallway, Adam trailing behind her with a toy airplane.
"Into the office. Both of you," Roman said.
Violet looked at his face and didn't argue. She followed him inside, her hand resting protectively on Adam's shoulder. Roman sat at his desk and beckoned her over, pointing at the laptop screen where the footage was paused.
As she reached the side of his chair, Roman didn't let her hover. He reached out, his large hand spanning the width of her waist, and pulled her firmly backward. He didn't pull her to the side this time; he pulled her directly onto him, back-to-front, so she was seated squarely in his lap, her spine pressed against his chest.
Violet let out a soft, startled gasp, her face flushing a deep, vivid crimson. "Roman! Adam is right there," she hissed, her voice a flustered whisper.
Roman didn't care. He felt the tension in her body, the softness of her hair, and the way she fit perfectly within the cradle of his legs. He reached up, his fingers sliding beneath the curtain of her long blonde hair, gathering the heavy silk and draping it over her shoulder to expose the delicate, pale curve of her neck. He leaned in, his lips inches from her ear, his warm breath fanning across her skin and sending a violent shiver down her spine.
"Is that your husband?" he whispered.
The words were a dark caress, intimate and terrifying. Violet's breath hitched. She felt the possessive strength in his hands, which were now anchored firmly on her hips.
"Can I see, Daddy?" Adam asked, hopping on his tiptoes to try and glimpse the screen.
"No, you can't, buddy," Violet said, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "This is... grown-up business. Stay back a bit, okay?"
She turned her gaze back to the laptop screen, trying to ignore the heat of the man beneath her. The footage was frustratingly obscure. The figure on the screen was a shadow, a silhouette of a threat.
"I don't know," Violet murmured, her brow furrowing in concentration. "It's a bit hard to see."
She leaned forward, reaching for the trackpad to zoom in. The movement caused her back to arch, her curves pressing more firmly into Roman's lap. Roman's eyes didn't stay on the screen.
They dropped, tracking the elegant line of her spine and the way the fabric of her dress pulled tight across her body. His hands tightened instinctively on her waist, his fingers digging slightly into the soft flesh. He was on the brink of losing control, the scent of her perfume and the proximity of her body making the office feel suddenly, claustrophobically small. He briefly considered telling Adam to go find Tyson, just so he could turn the chair around and finish what they had started the night before.
Violet, oblivious to the war Roman was fighting with his own restraint, expanded the image. She studied the gait of the intruder, the way he held his shoulders, the sheer deliberate nature of the throw.
"I don't think so," she said finally, her voice sounding hollow. "He's not the type to do something like that himself. He has... people for that. He likes to stay clean. He likes to be the one who arrives after the door is already broken."
Roman started to lean in, his jaw tightening. "How-"
He cut himself off abruptly, the question of her husband's resources and reach sticking in his throat. He looked at Adam, who was now distractedly "flying" his airplane around a potted plant. Adam didn't know about auctions or contracts or the ghost that hunted his nanny. He shouldn't have to know for a long time.
"Okay," Roman nodded, his voice thick. "We'll cross-reference the build and the stride. If he's a hired hand, he has a record."
Violet straightened up in his lap, the movement unintentional but devastating to Roman's remaining sliver of composure. She felt the muscle in his thighs flex beneath her, the sheer power of him a constant reminder of the protection she was currently nestled within.
"Can we go to the pool now?" Adam asked suddenly, abandoning his plane and looking at them with wide, hopeful puppy eyes. "You promised, Violet! You said we could do the big splashes!"
Violet looked down at the boy, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through her anxiety. She felt Roman's hands linger on her waist for a second too long before he slowly, reluctantly, allowed her to stand.
"Yes, we can go to the pool," Violet nodded, smoothing down her clothes while pointedly not looking at Roman's darkened expression.
Roman watched them, his gaze fixed on Violet as she led Adam toward the door. He looked like a man who had just been denied water in a desert, but as the door clicked shut, he turned back to the monitors. The "husband" had thrown a rock, but Roman was preparing to throw a mountain.
He picked up his phone, his voice cold as he dialed a number he hadn't called in a while. "Miller? I need a name. And I need it by sundown."