“No,” Roman said. “But cameras don’t fear losing invitations.”
The words hurt because they were true.
You thought about the ballroom. The chandeliers. The women clutching champagne. Preston smiling while Vanessa raised her hand. Mr. Henderson firing you with your blood still wet on your skin.
A wave of humiliation rose through you.
Roman saw it.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t carry their shame for them.”
You laughed once, bitterly. “Easy for you to say. People are afraid of you.”
His gaze held yours. “They should have been afraid of you.”
You looked away before the words could sink too deep.
That night, Roman’s mother came to the hospital.
Elena Cross entered Liam’s room with a cane in one hand and a bouquet of yellow tulips in the other. Her hair was neat again, her dress simple, her eyes sharper than you remembered. She looked nothing like the frightened woman in the ballroom, yet when she saw you, her face softened.
“My brave girl,” she said.
You stood awkwardly. “Mrs. Cross, I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Elena,” she corrected. “After what you did, you will not call me Mrs. Cross.”
You gave a tired smile. “Elena.”
She came closer and touched your uninjured cheek. “I am sorry.”
“You didn’t slap me.”
“No.” Her voice hardened. “But I let you stand between me and a world I should have known better than to walk into alone.”
Roman watched from near the door, silent.
Elena looked past you to Liam sleeping. “Your brother is young.”
“He’s all I have.”
Roman’s eyes flickered.
Elena noticed. She noticed everything too.
“Then he is ours to protect as long as you allow it,” she said.
You shook your head. “Please don’t say things like that. I don’t know how to owe people this much.”
Elena smiled sadly. “Child, love is not always a trap.”
