Episode3
1701 Words
We left that night.
No bags. No goodbye.
Just a flash drive, a torn photograph, and Roman’s hand wrapped tightly around mine as he pulled me out the back door like the house itself had turned into something dangerous.
Because maybe it had.
He tossed me into his matte black car—quiet, fast, and completely untraceable—and within seconds, the coastal road was a blur behind us. I stared out the window, my breath fogging the glass, every nerve on fire.
“What the hell is happening?” I whispered, my voice barely cutting through the silence.
Roman’s jaw clenched, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “Someone broke into the house. They knew exactly where to hit. That wasn’t random.”
My heart thundered. “You think it was a message?”
He glanced at me, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “No, Aurelia. That was the message.”
My mother’s face. Torn in half.
You’re next.
I hugged my knees to my chest. “I’m not safe.”
Roman’s voice dropped. “You’re safe with me.”
The words shouldn’t have meant as much as they did. But they did. They wrapped around me like armor. Like a promise.
Even if I didn’t know how to believe in promises anymore.
—---------------------—-----------------------------
We drove for hours, eventually pulling off the main road and heading into a stretch of trees so thick, I couldn’t even see the sky. A gravel path opened into a secluded driveway that led to a glass and steel cabin, tucked into the side of a hill.
“This is yours?” I asked, voice tight.
He nodded. “Safehouse. No one knows about it. Not even my father.”
Of course he had a safehouse. Roman Maddox was the kind of man who never left anything to chance. The kind who could keep secrets for a living and still look you in the eye without blinking.
He killed the engine and stepped out. I followed, the cool air biting at my bare legs.
Inside, the place was all sleek lines and shadows—wide glass windows, concrete floors, expensive silence.
He locked the door behind us.
“Stay here,” he said. “I need to check the perimeter.”
“Roman—”
But he was already gone, leaving me in the doorway with only my heartbeat for company.
I moved through the house, trying to find something that didn’t remind me of everything I’d lost. But it was everywhere. My mom’s perfume still lingered in the scarf I hadn’t washed. Her voice echoed in the back of my mind, warning me, always warning me. And now she is gone.
My phone buzzed.
Blocked number again.
I opened it with trembling fingers.
You shouldn’t have run. He’ll find you.
I dropped the phone.
When Roman came back inside, I was curled on the edge of the couch, staring at the wall like it might answer all the questions clawing inside me.
He crouched in front of me, his fingers brushing my ankle. “We’re safe. I’ve locked everything down.”
I handed him the phone.
He read the message. His jaw clenched again.
“I’m done hiding,” I said, my voice thin but sure. “You need to tell me everything.”
He looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the war happening behind his eyes. Roman didn’t trust easily. He was made of secrets. But he handed me the flash drive anyway.
“My father’s company—it's not just finance. It’s laundering. Asset concealment. Shell companies. Your mom was the one who helped him legalize it all. She cleaned the books. Quietly.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“You’re telling me my mother was helping him commit crimes?”
Roman shook his head. “She thought she was protecting you. She didn’t know the full extent—at first. But once she did, she tried to get out. She threatened to expose him.”
I whispered, “And now she’s dead.”
Roman’s eyes darkened. “Yeah.”
I leaned back, everything inside me spiraling.
“And you?” I asked. “What’s your part in this?”
“I used to work under him. Security. Threat analysis. I found out what he was doing and I walked away. I thought I could protect your mom from a distance.” He paused. “I was wrong.”
It made too much sense. Roman always seemed to know things before I did. About danger. About people. About me.
And suddenly I hated him for it.
“You should’ve told me,” I whispered.
“I didn’t want you to be afraid.”
“Well, too late for that.”
We stared at each other. Close. Too close.
“You’re angry,” he said, low.
“I’m furious.”
“Good. Stay sharp.”
I stood. “I’m not some fragile girl you can protect by lying to.”
“I know exactly what you are,” he said, standing too. “You’re fired. And you’re about to burn everything down.”
There was something in his voice—something dangerous and admiring at the same time. I hated how it made me shiver.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
“Don’t,” I warned.
His eyes dropped to my lips. “Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
“Say it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s wrong.”
He touched my face then, so lightly I barely felt it.
“Nothing about how I feel about you is wrong.”
My breath caught. “Roman…”
He leaned in, slow, deliberate.
I should’ve pulled away.
But I didn’t.
Our lips met—soft at first, like we were both testing the edge of a cliff. Then his hands tangled in my hair, my back hit the wall, and everything exploded into heat and desperation and something terrifyingly close to need.
Forbidden.
Messy.
Perfect.
We broke apart only when my phone rang—sharp and shrill and cruel.
Roman’s breath was ragged. Mine was worse.
I grabbed the phone.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A voice, low and crackling: “You have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
I froze.
Roman stilled beside me.
The voice continued. “You have one chance to hand it over. Or the next funeral will be yours.”
I stared at the screen, cold all over again.
Roman took the phone from my hand. “We’re running out of time.”
“What do they want?”
“The flash drive.”
“Then let’s give it to them.”
He shook his head. “If they get that drive, your mother died for nothing.”
My chest heaved. “Then what do we do?”
His eyes met mine. Steady. Unflinching. “We expose everything. But first, we survive the next 48 hours.”
—---------------------—-----------------------------
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Roman sat on the other end of the sofa, reading through encrypted files. I watched him for a long time—how focused he looked, how relentless. Like he was built for chaos.
“You can’t protect me from everything,” I said quietly.
He didn’t look up. “I can try.”
“Why?”
That made him pause.
He looked at me then. “Because I’ve wanted you since the day we met. And I’ve hated myself for it ever since.”
My breath hitched.
“I thought it would go away,” he said. “I thought I could pretend. That maybe the blood connection—or lack of one—didn’t matter. But it does, doesn’t it? It matters because they raised us to believe it does. Because love isn’t supposed to look like this.”
“Is that what this is?” I asked. “Love?”
He looked at me, eyes dark. “You tell me.”
I crossed the room before I could talk myself out of it. Sat beside him. Close enough to feel his warmth but far enough that it hurt.
“I don’t know what this is,” I whispered. “I just know it doesn’t feel wrong.”
He tilted his head. “Then what does it feel like?”
I looked him dead in the eye.
“Like the only thing that’s ever made sense.”
That was all it took.
He kissed me again. And this time, it wasn’t soft. It was everything—grief and lust and guilt and fire.
Clothes hit the floor. His hands were everywhere—rough, sure, familiar in a way that made my body remember what my mind tried to deny. We crashed through barriers like they didn’t exist, like the world outside the cabin didn’t exist.
When he slid inside me, everything stopped. The fear. The noise. The grief.
It was just us.
Only us.
And for one stolen moment, we didn’t belong to anyone’s rules but our own.
—---------------------—-----------------------------
Morning came too fast.
Roman was already up, on a call, pacing by the window with that same tight look on his face.
When he saw me, he ended the call.
“We need to leave again,” he said. “Now.”
“What happened?”
“Someone pinged your phone. They know where we are.”
My stomach dropped. “Where do we go?”
He grabbed the flash drive and stuffed it into his jacket. “To someone who owes me a favor.”
Before we could move, the window behind him shattered—gunshot, fast and clean.
Roman shoved me down.
Glass exploded above us.
“Get to the car,” he barked. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
We ran—barefoot, bleeding, alive.
And behind us, the safehouse burned.
—---------------------—-----------------------------
As Roman peeled away from the smoke and fire, sirens in the distance, he turned to me with one chilling sentence:
“They’re not trying to scare us anymore, Aurelia. They’re trying to erase us.”
- Writer
