The silver sedan didn't just stop; it sat idling on the gravel like a coiled serpent, the vibration of its engine a low-frequency threat that thrummed through the soles of Roman's boots. The mud of the spring thaw clung to the car's tires, black and slick. Roman stood his ground in the center of the driveway, his silhouette a dark, immovable pillar against the backdrop of the budding willow trees. His hand was no longer on Skye's arm- she was safe in the playhouse, but the ghost of her warmth still burned on his palm and cheek, fueling a rage so cold it felt like liquid nitrogen in his veins.
The driver's side door opened slowly. A man stepped out, but he didn't look like a soldier. He was lean, dressed in a sharp, slate-grey suit that was entirely too thin for the brisk spring air. He carried a leather briefcase like a shield and wore a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that caught the afternoon sun, turning his eyes into twin discs of blinding white light.
"Mr. Thorne," the man said, his voice clipped and devoid of any human warmth. He didn't offer a name; he didn't need to. He had the unmistakable aura of a "fixer"- a man paid to handle the moral and legal refuse of a royal house.
"You're trespassing," Roman said, the words falling like heavy stones. "And you're doing it on a day when my patience is non-existent. Give me one reason why I shouldn't let my security team show you the shortest route to the hospital."
The lawyer offered a thin, sickly smile. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a tablet, tapping the screen before turning it toward Roman. "I wouldn't advise that. Not while your Chief Financial Officer is currently fielding calls from the SEC regarding the 'unusual' liquidation of Thorne Tech's offshore assets in the Forest Kingdom. It seems your maritime shipping routes in our territory have been... compromised."
Roman's eyes narrowed. He didn't need to see the spreadsheets to know what Frankie had done. It was a petty move, a surgical strike on a minor wing of his empire- not enough to sink the ship, but enough to cause a leak that would draw blood. Frankie was clawing at the walls of Roman's castle, trying to prove he could still draw a line in the dirt.
"A minor inconvenience," Roman growled, though the irritation flickered in his gut. "If Frankie thinks a few frozen assets are going to make me hand over a human being, he's even more of a fool than he looks on television."
"Oh, the assets are just the opening act, Mr. Thorne," the lawyer said, his voice dropping into a register of practiced malice. He stepped forward, the mud squelching beneath his expensive loafers. "I am here to deliver a final ultimatum from His Royal Highness, Prince Frankie. You have been harboring a fugitive- a woman who is, by every legal and divine right of the Forest Kingdom, the Prince's wife. You have ignored our petitions. You have assaulted our associates. And you have hidden her away like a common thief."
The lawyer pulled a thick, wax-sealed document from his bag. "You have forty-eight hours. Two days. If the Princess- Skye, is not handed over at the Grand Regency Penthouse by noon on Thursday, we will not just move against your company. We will move against you."
Roman's laughter was a jagged, terrifying sound that made the lawyer's hand tremble ever so slightly. "Move against me? With what? A royal decree? This is my soil."
"With a federal kidnapping charge," the lawyer countered, his voice rising with a sudden, sharp edge. "We have the original marriage contract. we have the statements from her parents. We have the proof that she was removed from her home under false pretenses and held here, against the Prince's will, behind high gates and armed guards. In the eyes of the law, Roman, you haven't saved her. You've abducted her. And the Prince is more than happy to see the great Roman Thorne spend the next twenty years in a federal cage for it."
The air between them seemed to solidify. Roman felt the protective jealousy- the primal, territorial roar of the dragon, surging up his throat. The idea of Frankie using the law, the very thing Roman usually commanded with ease, to tear him away from Skye and Adam was an insult he couldn't stomach.
"Forty-eight hours," the lawyer repeated, placing the document on the hood of the silver car as he backed away. "Tick-tock, Mr. Thorne. Either she returns to the Prince's bed, or you prepare for a cell. The Prince doesn't care about the money anymore. He wants his toy back, and he's willing to burn your legacy to the ground to get her."
Roman didn't move as the lawyer climbed back into the car. He watched the silver sedan reverse down the driveway, the tires spinning and throwing mud against the white stone walls of the estate. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant, muffled sound of Adam's voice from the playhouse, unaware that the world was trying to rip his family apart.
Roman walked to the hood of the car and picked up the document. He didn't open it. He simply crushed the thick paper in his fist, his knuckles turning white. His mind was a blur of tactical maneuvers. Kidnapping. Jail. The Forest Kingdom's legal reach.
He looked toward the playhouse, his gaze softening only for a heartbeat before hardening into something lethal. Frankie had made a mistake. He had threatened the one thing Roman valued more than his life, and he had done it on Roman's home turf.
"Two days," Roman whispered, the words a cold, dark promise to the empty air.
He turned and strode toward the playhouse, his boots heavy in the mud. He reached the door and tapped a rhythmic code on the wood.
The bolt slid back, and Skye appeared in the gap, her face pale, her eyes searching his for the truth.
"Roman?" she whispered, clutching Adam's hand.
Roman didn't tell her about the jail. He didn't tell her about the kidnapping charge or the hit on the company. He simply reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a fierce, burning possessiveness.
"He's gone," Roman said, his voice steady. "But we're leaving the estate tonight. Pack a bag for you and Adam. We're going to the secondary site- the Fortress."
"What did they say?" Skye asked, her voice trembling. "What did he want?"
Roman leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, his scent of cedar and cold anger enveloping her. "He wants a war, Skye. And I'm going to give him one that will make his little Kingdom look like a footnote in history. No one is taking you. Not in forty-eight hours. Not ever."
He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel the frantic, heavy beat of his heart. He knew the clock was ticking. He knew the Prince was playing for keeps. But as he looked down at the woman who finally had a name, he knew he would rather rot in a cell for a hundred years than let Frankie touch a single hair on her head.
"Tyson!" Roman shouted, not looking away from Skye. "Get the armored convoy ready. We move in twenty minutes. And call Miller. Tell him it's time to leak the footage of the auction. If they want to talk about kidnapping, let's talk about how much the Prince paid for his 'wife.'"