Sold To My Nemesis

3: The Blue Silk

Sloane's POV.

"I can’t breathe in this thing."

I stared at the mirror, my fingers trembling as I tried to hook the diamond clasp at my throat. The dress fit like a second skin. It was thin, expensive silk that felt cold against my ribs. It was the color of a bruise.

The door to the suite didn't open with a knock. It just swung wide.

Roman stood there. He had changed into a tuxedo that made him look like a weapon hidden in velvet. He didn't say a word. He walked across the room, his eyes fixed on my reflection. He stopped behind me, his chest inches from my bare back.

"You’re shaking," he said. His voice was a low vibration that I felt more than I heard.

"I’m cold, Roman. And I’m tired of being your doll."

He reached around me, his large hands replacing mine at the necklace. His skin was warm, a sharp jolt against my neck. He made it look easy, clicking the clasp shut with a finality that made my stomach flip.

"You aren’t a doll," he murmured, his eyes meeting mine in the glass. "You’re an investment. And tonight is the opening bell."

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. I could smell the woodsmoke on him, mixed with something clean and sharp. My breath hitched. I wanted to pull away, but my feet felt like they were rooted to the floor.

"Why the high school trophies, Roman?" I asked, my voice cracking. "The scarf. The jacket. You’ve been stalking me for a decade."

His hands stayed on my shoulders. His grip tightened, just enough to let me know he wasn't letting go.

"I wasn't stalking you, Sloane. I was counting."

"Counting what?"

"Every day it took for your father to lose what he stole from mine. Every day you spent acting like the world belonged to you while I was eating out of a plastic bin in a group home."

He turned me around to face him. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes were burning with a hunger that had nothing to do with money.

"Tonight, the world sees the truth," he said. "They see the Vane heiress on the arm of the man who bought her. Put on your game face, Sloane. We’re late."

The ride to the Metropolitan Museum was a blur of police sirens and camera flashes. As the car pulled up to the red carpet, the noise was a wall of sound. Reporters were screaming my name, shoving microphones toward the glass.

"Smile," Roman commanded.

He stepped out of the car and reached back for my hand. I hesitated for a split second. The cameras caught it...the tiny gap between us. Roman’s fingers clamped around mine, pulling me out into the light.

The flashes were blinding. I felt like I was walking into a firing squad.

"Sloane! Over here! Is it true about the bankruptcy?"

"Roman! Is Graves Capital taking over Vane Tech?"

We didn't answer. Roman led me up the stairs, his arm locked around my waist. He held me so tight I could feel the steady thud of his heart against my side. He looked like a king returning to a city he’d just burned down.

Inside, the Great Hall was filled with the elite of New York. The same people who had been at my father’s dinner parties for years. Now, they were whispering behind their champagne flutes, their eyes darting between my dress and Roman’s smirk.

"Sloane, darling!"

A woman in a gold gown scurried over. It was Mrs. Gable, one of my father’s biggest investors. Her face was tight with a fake smile.

"We heard the news. Such a... surprise. And who is this handsome man?"

"Roman Graves," Roman said before I could open my mouth. He took her hand and kissed it, the charm sliding into place like a blade. "I’m the new majority shareholder of Vane Corp. And Sloane’s fiancé."

The word hit me like a physical blow. My head snapped toward him.

"Fiancé?" I whispered.

Mrs. Gable’s eyes went wide. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. "Oh! Well. Congratulations. I had no idea you two were... close."

"We’ve been close for a long time," Roman said, his thumb rubbing the side of my hip in a way that made my skin crawl and burn at the same time. "Sloane was just waiting for the right moment to announce it."

He led me away toward the bar. As soon as we were out of earshot, I yanked my arm back.

"You’re insane," I hissed. "The contract said ward. It said surety. It didn't say marriage."

"The market needs stability, Sloane. A ward is a scandal. A fiancé is a merger. If you want to save those jobs, you’re going to wear the ring I put on your finger tomorrow morning."

"I hate you," I said, my eyes stinging. "I hate everything about you."

Roman grabbed two glasses of water from a tray. He handed one to me, his face inches from mine. He looked completely unbothered by my words.

"Good," he said. "Hate is a strong emotion. It’ll keep you sharp."

He scanned the room. His expression shifted. The calm mask cracked for a second, and I saw a flash of real, raw anger. He was looking at a man standing near the exhibits...a tall, older man with silver hair and a sharp, cruel mouth.

It was my father’s lawyer. The man who had handled the "accident" ten years ago.

"Stay here," Roman said. His voice was ice.

"Where are you going?"

"To settle a debt."

He walked away, his shoulders broad and dangerous as he wove through the crowd. He didn't look back.

I stood there alone, the blue silk feeling like lead. I looked at the exit. The reporters were still there. My father was probably at home, drunk and safe because of me.

I felt a vibration in my clutch. I pulled out my phone.

A new message from the unknown number.

He’s not settled on the debt yet, Sloane. Look at the man he’s talking to. Now look at the waiter behind you.

I turned my head.

A waiter was standing three feet away, holding a tray of drinks. He wasn't looking at the guests. He was looking at Roman’s back. And he wasn't reaching for a glass.

His hand was reaching into his white jacket.

"Roman!" I screamed.

The sound tore through the room, silencing the music and the chatter.

The waiter pulled a suppressed pistol.

Roman spun around, but he was too far. The man leveled the gun at Roman’s chest.

Everything went into slow motion. I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just moved.

I lunged forward, my heels skidding on the marble. I crashed into the waiter just as the gun went off.

A soft thwip sound followed.

Pain exploded in my shoulder. It felt like a hot iron had been pressed into my skin.

I hit the floor. The blue silk was dark now. Wet.

"Sloane!"

Roman’s voice was the last thing I heard before the world started to go black. He was on his knees beside me, his hands pressing down on the wound. He was shouting something, his face twisted in a way I’d never seen before.

He looked terrified.

"Don't you die," he growled, his voice breaking. "You don't get to leave yet."

I looked up at him, my vision blurring.

"Now... we’re even," I whispered.

Then, the lights of the Great Hall went out.