Roman opened the door.
Her mother stood in the hallway, arms crossed, face pale. Her eyes moved past him into the study — the messy desk, Sienna’s flushed face, the way Roman’s shirt was still half-unbuttoned. The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the air out of the room.
“I knew it,” her mother said quietly. Her voice was shaking. “I kept telling myself I was imagining things. The late nights. The looks. The way you two go quiet when I walk into a room.”
Sienna’s stomach dropped. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
Roman did not step aside. He stayed firmly between them.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low and controlled. “Don’t do this here.”
Her mother’s eyes snapped to his. “Don’t do what? Ask why my husband is f*****g my daughter?”
The words landed like a slap. Sie
