Sloane's POV.
The red dot didn’t move. It stayed centered on Roman’s forehead, a tiny, lethal spark against his skin.
I forgot how to breathe. My heart, already weak from the blood loss, gave a sickening thud against my ribs. I wanted to scream, to shove him away, but my body felt like it was made of lead.
"Roman," I managed to choke out, my voice barely a whisper.
He didn't panic. He didn't even flinch. His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and steady. He knew. A man like Roman Graves always knew when he was being hunted.
"Don't look at the glass, Sloane," he said. His voice was a calm, low vibration that seemed to anchor the entire room. "Look at me. Only at me."
"But the..."
"I’ve got you."
Before I could blink, he moved. It wasn't a sudden, chaotic dive. It was a fluid, powerfu
