Chapter 2

"I didn't—!"

The words burst out of me before I could stop them. It felt like being thrown into an icebox.

The air inside the elevator cabin was thin enough to choke on.

The malfunction had hit without warning. The cabin lurched violently, the heel of my pump snapped, and I'd gone down hard onto the cold metal floor.

The red spaghetti-strap dress my stepmother had forced me into didn't leave much to the imagination to begin with.

When I fell, one strap slipped off my shoulder. A wide stretch of pale skin was now fully exposed under the glare of the emergency floodlights.

I yanked at the hem, trying desperately to cover myself.

But the more I panicked, the worse it got. The broken strap was caught around my arm and wouldn't budge no matter how hard I pulled.

Cold.

But nowhere near as jarring as the sight of Roman's face on the other side of those doors.

He wore a black bespoke suit, perfectly cut. His tie was half-loosened, collar open, the sharp line of his collarbone visible beneath.

He held a heavy hydraulic pry bar in one hand. Every inch of him radiated a keep-away kind of danger.

Three years.

He was more striking than I remembered. And colder.

"Didn't?"

Roman let out a short, humorless laugh.

He leaned one hand against the edge of the forced-open elevator door. His gaze moved over me like something with edges — scraping slowly across my tangled hair, my half-fallen dress, the redness creeping into the corners of my eyes from fear.

"So you came up here alone, to an enclosed space, just to admire yourself?"

"Having fun playing dirty, don't you?"

Every word landed like a dull blade. Slow. Deliberate. Meant to hurt.

Beside him, the security manager — Bruno — had gone bright red in the face.

He held up a flashlight, pointedly keeping his eyes away from the inside of the elevator, and stammered through his words.

"M... Mr. Cross... the cabin is stuck between two floors. We need to get her out now. If the cable snaps—"

Roman didn't turn around.

He kept his eyes on me. His voice dropped to something that felt like ice.

"All of you. Get out."

Bruno blinked. "Mr. Cross? protocol says we can't leave — if something goes wrong, if someone gets hurt—"

"I said. Go wait in the lobby."

Roman still didn't raise his voice.

The chill in those words was enough. Bruno flinched, then quickly ushered the rest of the security team out of the stairwell.

The elevator shaft fell silent.

Just the two of us.

I could hear my own heartbeat pounding like it wanted to break out of my chest.

Roman turned the pry bar over in his hand once.

Then he dropped it. It hit the ground with a heavy, echoing clang that made my whole body seize up.

He didn't reach for me. He just stood there, looking down.

"I asked you a question."

His voice was low. Measured. The way a predator sounds when it's already close enough.

"Where's the old man who paid half a million for you?"

"What — he sent you up alone and didn't even bother to make sure you got there alive?"

My eyes burned.

My stomach turned over. My whole body felt hollow with shame.

Because three years ago, I was the one who threw a check for half a million dollars in his face and told him I was done — that I wanted money, not him.

"Roman." My voice came out wrecked, thick with tears I was barely holding back. "Can you just pull me up first—"

"My ankle. It really hurts."