The indoor pool area of the Thorne estate was a masterpiece of glass and turquoise tile, smelling of expensive chlorine and the humidity of a tropical escape. Sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, dancing on the rippling surface of the water. High-pitched squeals of delight echoed off the vaulted ceiling as Adam practiced his "big splashes," jumping from the edge into Violet's waiting arms.
Violet was a vision of unstudied grace. She was wearing a royal blue bikini, the thin fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. It wasn't sheer, but it left very little to the imagination, highlighting the pale, athletic line of her body. Every time she emerged from the water, droplets clung to her skin like diamonds, racing down the curve of her spine and the arch of her neck. Her long blonde hair was a heavy, dark gold weight down her back, completely undone and saturated with pool water.
The heavy glass doors hissed open.
Roman stepped into the humid air, still dressed in a dark, tailored waistcoat and dress slacks. He stopped dead. His heart, which usually functioned with the cold precision of a Swiss watch, missed a beat. He stood there for a full, agonizing minute, his gaze tracing the way the blue fabric contrasted with her skin, the way she laughed as she caught his son, and the way the water made her look like something primal and ethereal all at once. He was looking at her greedily, his hands clenching at his sides.
When he finally regained his composure, Violet had noticed him. She was already wading toward the steps, hoisting a shivering, giggling Adam out of the water.
"We need to talk," Roman said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. He didn't look at her directly, afraid his restraint would snap right there in front of the kid. "Adam, go find Tyson. Tell him it's time for your snack."
Adam, sensing the shift in his father's energy, didn't argue. He gave Violet a wet hug and scrambled off, his small feet pattering against the tile as the doors hissed shut behind him.
Violet grabbed a thick, white Egyptian cotton towel, wrapping it tightly around herself as she stepped onto the deck. She squeezed the water out of her hair, the blue bikini still visible at the edges of the cloth. "Roman? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or a very disappointing stock report."
"My office. Now," he commanded.
He led her through the hushed hallways of the estate. Violet felt absurdly exposed, the damp towel the only thing between her and the billionaire's intense scrutiny. When they reached the mahogany sanctuary of his office, Roman stepped inside and immediately turned the lock. The click sounded like a starting pistol in the quiet room.
He didn't go to his desk immediately. He walked to his chair and sat down, his eyes dark and focused. "Come here."
Violet hesitated, her toes curled into the plush rug. "Roman, this is hardly appropriate. I'm dripping wet and you're... well, you're doing that thing where you look like you want to buy and sell my soul."
He didn't answer with words. He reached out, his hand hooking around her waist, and pulled her firmly onto his lap. The dampness of the towel immediately began to seep into his expensive trousers, but he didn't seem to care.
"Roman! This is ridiculous," she stuttered, her face flushing. "I'm wearing practically nothing under this towel! I'm basically a wet gift-wrap at this point." She looked him in the eye, her sassy side flickering to life despite her nerves. "If you wanted to get me in your lap this badly, you could have just asked for a lap-dance at the club. It would have saved us the chlorine smell."
Roman's grip tightened on her waist, his thumb grazing the skin just above the towel's edge. "Hmm, don't remind me of the club. I'm currently trying to forget everyone else who saw you in that purple velvet."
He reached into the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a manila folder. He slapped it onto the desk in front of her with the air of a man who had finally trapped his prey. "Is this him? Is this your husband?"
Violet stilled. The air in the room seemed to vanish. With trembling fingers, she reached out and flicked the folder open.
The first thing she saw was a high-resolution photograph. Her heart did a slow, painful roll in her chest. Dark, predatory brown hair, eyes the color of stagnant earth, and a jawline that she remembered being set in a permanent sneer of entitlement.
"Prince Frankie of the Forest Kingdom," Roman stated, his voice dripping with a dark, satisfied irony. "I'm not surprised a Prince was captured by you, 'Violet.' Though his reputation precedes him."
Prince Frankie. He was a man known in the highest, most shadowed circles of European nobility- not for his charity, but for his ruthlessness. He was notorious for treating the women in his orbit like decorative, disposable furniture. He was a man who viewed "no" as a suggestion and "marriage" as a deed of sale.
"Yeah," Violet breathed, her voice a ghost of itself. "That's him. The bidder."
She looked at the images of his estate, the legal documents Roman had unearthed, and the trail of broken lives Frankie had left behind. The reality of her past was staring her in the face, documented in Roman's crisp, corporate font.
"But can you promise me something?" Violet asked suddenly, her voice gaining a bit of strength. She turned her gaze away from the folder, looking directly into Roman's icy blue eyes.
Roman gave a slight, solemn nod. He wouldn't promise to spare Frankie- in fact, he was already calculating how to dismantle the Forest Kingdom's shipping interests, but he would listen.
"I'm not going to stop you," she said, her voice dropping to a serious whisper. "I know I couldn't stop you even if I tried. You're going to do whatever it is you're planning with him. You're going to go to war." She shrugged her shoulders, the towel slipping slightly to reveal the curve of her shoulder. "But... can you not find out my name? My real one?"
Roman's brow furrowed in genuine surprise. "You want me to keep a secret that I have the resources to solve in ten minutes?"
"Yes," she said, a small, cheeky smile playing on her lips. "I like this little game between us. I like being Violet, or 'S', or whatever name you're currently failing to guess. My real name is a heavy thing, Roman. It belongs to that folder. It belongs to Frankie. I want this to stay ours. It's not important for you to know it to protect me, anyway."
Roman looked at her for a long time. He took in the damp blonde hair, the defiant spark in her eyes, and the way she sat on his lap like she finally belonged there.
He realized then that she wasn't just hiding from a husband; she was protecting the new version of herself- the one that had found a home in his house.
A small, genuine smile- the kind that didn't involve power or triumph, reached his face. He reached up, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
"I agree," he whispered. "The name stays a mystery. I'll enjoy the hunt for the right 'S' much more if I don't have a file telling me the answer."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, the folder with the Prince's face forgotten on the desk. "But Frankie? He's a different story. He thinks he bought a songbird, but he's about to find out he's trespassing in a titan's territory."
Violet leaned into him, her wet hair soaking into his shirt, feeling the safety of the dragon's lair. "Just be careful, Roman. Princes don't like losing their toys."
"I'm not a Prince, S." Roman growled, his lips brushing hers. "I'm the man who's going to make him wish he'd never heard you sing."