Until that moment, you had thought of Vanessa Sterling as a rich woman with a cruel hand and an expensive dress. You had thought of Preston Hartwell as a coward with a pretty smile. You had thought the worst they could do was cost you your job.
Roman’s face told you there were worse things rich people could buy.
“They’re going to come after me?” you asked.
“They already tried.”
Your stomach turned cold.
Roman reached inside his coat and removed a phone. He tapped the screen once, then handed it to you. A message thread was open between Mr. Henderson, your catering manager, and someone labeled V. Sterling.
Your name appeared again and again.
Find out where she lives.
Make sure no agency hires her.
If she talks, say she attacked me.
I want pictures of the brother too.
The room tilted.
You gripped the phone so hard your fingers ached. The mention of Liam burned worse than the cut on your cheek. They had not just wanted you poor. They had wanted you helpless.
Roman took the phone back before your hands began to shake too visibly.
“Now you understand,” he said.
You swallowed hard. “I understand that I don’t have a choice.”
His expression shifted, and for the first time you saw something dangerous turn inward, like your words had struck a place no one was allowed to touch.
“You always have a choice with me,” he said. “Remember that.”
