So was Preston’s.
You stepped into the room quietly. “Is that about them?”
Roman did not look surprised. “Yes.”
“Are you finished?”
“No.”
You folded your arms. “What else could there possibly be?”
He looked at you then. “Vanessa paid your former manager to say you stole jewelry.”
You went still.
“Preston’s family pressured two witnesses to support the statement,” Roman continued. “One judge agreed to push it through if needed. One detective agreed to make the arrest public.”
Your mouth went dry.
“They were really going to do it,” you whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why? I’m nobody to them.”
Roman’s eyes sharpened. “Never say that again.”
The force in his voice startled you.
You stepped back. “It’s true.”
“No,” he said. “It is useful for people like them to make people like you believe that. It keeps you quiet. It keeps you grateful for scraps. It makes cruelty feel like weather instead of choice.”
Your throat tightened.
Roman moved closer but stopped before entering your space. “You are not nobody, Iris.”
No one had said your name like that before.
Like it weighed something.
Like it was not a burden, not a file, not a problem waiting to be dismissed.
“You don’t even know me,” you whispered.
“I know you stepped in front of a blow meant for an old woman you had never met.” His voice lowered. “I know you were bleeding and still asked if my mother was all right. I know your first fear was not for yourself, but for your brother. I know courage when I see it.”
Your eyes burned.
“You make it sound noble,” you said. “It wasn’t. I was terrified.”
“Courage usually is.”
The fire cracked softly.
For a moment, all you could hear was rain against glass and your own uneven breathing.
