Julie turned and walked briskly back inside, her fingers tightening around her phone, the sleek surface now an anchor to a storm of uncertainty.
Malone's tension hadn't been ordinary; his voice, clipped and strained, had given her chills.
Whatever he had to say wasn't just urgent—it was dangerous. The kind of danger that slithered in the shadows, waiting to strike.
She pushed open the bedroom door, her steps quick and measured, her mind already racing.
Roman stood near the mirror, buttoning up a fitted black shirt.
The fabric stretched across his broad shoulders as he moved with practiced ease, the subtle grace of someone accustomed to both power and precision.
When he saw her, he paused, turning slightly. His piercing gaze, sharp and observant, locked onto her immediately.
"Julie?" he asked, his voice low, the hint of concern creeping through the calm façade.
His brow furrowed ever so slightly, the silent question hanging between them. What was wrong?
