Sienna stood near the windows, staring at the dark park beyond the glass.
“It feels strange,” she said.
Roman handed her a flute. “You’ll get used to it.”
“She was very calm.”
“She performs calm. It’s a Vance trait.”
“She’s pregnant, Roman.”
His mouth tightened. “I am aware.”
Sienna turned. “Are you?”
He set his glass down too hard. “Do not start moralizing now. You wanted honesty. This is honesty.”
“I wanted a life with you.”
“And you’ll have one.”
She looked around the room. “Here?”
“For now.”
There it was again.
For now.
Sienna had spent months imagining this house as the proof that she had won. Roman had described it as his residence, his restoration, his sanctuary. He had told her Lila came from old family money but that the family was “mostly symbolic now.” He had said the house stayed with him because he funded it.
He had not said the staff looked at Lila as though she were the sun and at him as though he were weather to be endured.
He had not said his wife was beautiful in a way that did not need to compete.
He had not said she was dangerous when quiet.
At 1:30 a.m., Roman’s phone buzzed with a security alert.
He ignored it.
At 2:10, another.
He silenced the phone.
At 3:00, the household operations account logged out all non-trust devices.
At 5:45, Roman woke to pounding on the bedroom door.
He opened it wearing a robe and irritation.
Marta stood outside.
Behind her were two security officers Roman did not recognize.
“What is this?” he snapped.
Marta’s face was pale but steady. “Mr. Hale, you are required in the main hall.”
“Required by whom?”
A voice answered from the corridor.
“By the legal owner of the residence.”
Roman turned.
Evelyn Price stood near the staircase in a charcoal suit, holding a folder.
Roman blinked once.
Then laughed. “Absolutely not.”
Sienna appeared behind him, clutching the robe around her.
“What’s happening?”
Roman did not look at her. “Nothing.”
Evelyn’s eyebrows rose. “A great deal, actually.”
Roman walked toward her. “You have no right to enter my home.”
Evelyn opened the folder.
“This is not your home.”
The words moved through the corridor like a blade.
Roman stopped.
Sienna’s face changed.
Marta looked down, but not before Roman saw the satisfaction in her eyes.
His voice turned low. “Where is Lila?”
“Safe,” Evelyn said.
“I asked where she is.”
“And I declined to answer.”
Roman took out his phone. “I’ll call the police.”
“You may. They have already been provided with the trust documents, the residence agreement, and formal notice of your suspended occupancy.”
His thumb froze above the screen.
Sienna whispered, “Suspended?”
Evelyn looked at her for the first time. “Ms. Marlow, your belongings will be packed and made available in the foyer. You are not accused of trespassing provided you leave voluntarily within the hour.”
Sienna’s mouth opened.
Roman exploded.
“You cannot remove me from a house I’ve lived in for seven years.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “Your wife can.”
“She is my wife.”
“Then perhaps you should not have ordered her out while attempting to install your mistress in a suite designated for her child.”
Sienna flinched.
Roman’s face reddened. “This is a domestic matter.”
“No,” Evelyn replied. “It became a trust matter when you displaced the beneficiary.”
“I paid millions into this property.”
“You improved an asset you did not own.”
“I’ll sue.”
“I expected that. I brought copies.”
For one wild second, Roman looked as though he might tear the folder from her hands.
One of the security officers stepped forward.
Roman noticed.
He was not a foolish man. Not entirely.
He lowered his hand.
“What does Lila want?” he asked.
The question came too late and too small.
Evelyn’s gaze did not soften.
“She wants you out by noon.”
By 7:15 a.m., Roman’s private banker called.
By 7:20, his general counsel called twice.
By 7:31, the chairman of Hale Development called and used a tone Roman had never heard from him before.
Concern.
Not sympathy.
Concern about exposure.
Roman stood in the library, the one room he had always claimed as his, watching two trust-appointed staff members remove his framed awards from the wall.
“Stop touching that,” he barked.
Nobody stopped.
His phone rang again.
He answered. “What?”
His CFO’s voice shook. “Roman, we have a problem.”
“I know about the house.”
“It’s not just the house.”
Roman went still.
The CFO continued, “Vance Holdings issued a notice to our lenders clarifying that the East Seventy-Fourth residence was never a Hale asset and was never available for collateral, implied or otherwise.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“They can’t do that.”
“They did.”
“Then handle it.”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.