Roman's POV.
I watched the digital clock on the oven. 3:14 AM.
The penthouse was too quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made you hear things that weren't there...the sound of a silver Mercedes skidding on wet asphalt, the sound of a bone snapping, the sound of a girl telling me to run. I leaned my elbows on the marble island, my head hanging low. My tie was on the floor somewhere near the foyer. My shirt was open. I felt like a man who had been hollowed out.
Ten years.
I’d spent three thousand, six hundred, and fifty days building a version of myself that was bulletproof. I’d turned my heart into a ledger. Everyone was just a number. Every move was a calculation. I had convinced myself that Sloane Vane was the ultimate prize...the trophy that would prove I’d finally won.
Then she o
