“You’re a criminal.”
His eyes were flat. “And yet I still understand consent better than you.”
The hallway went silent.
Roman turned to the guard. “Escort them out. If they return, call the attorney first, then me.”
Vanessa glared at you one last time.
But this time, you did not look away.
After she left, Roman turned to you.
You expected anger. You expected command. You expected him to tell you that you should have called security immediately.
Instead, he asked, “Are you all right?”
The question nearly undid you.
“I don’t know,” you said honestly.
He nodded once. “Walk with me.”
You followed him to a quiet stairwell away from the hospital traffic. The walls were plain beige, the fluorescent lights unforgiving. It was the least romantic place in Manhattan, and somehow that made it easier to breathe.
“What she said,” you began.
Roman’s face hardened. “Was meant to frighten you.”
“It worked.”
He did not deny you the right to say it.
Instead, he leaned against the wall opposite you, hands at his sides, deliberately still.
“Then ask me,” he said.
“Ask you what?”
“Anything.”
You searched his face.
The question came out before you could soften it. “Am I free to leave?”
“Yes.”
“If Liam gets better and I want to go back to my life?”
“Yes.”
“If I never want to see you again?”
His jaw flexed once.
Then he said, “Yes.”
You believed him because the answer cost him something.
“And if I stay?” you whispered.
