The car pulled up in front of my building, purring to a stop like it knew it was part of a ritual. Roman didn’t move right away. He just sat there, arm draped across the back of the seat, eyes on me like I was the next move in a chess game he had already calculated.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said finally.
“About what?”
“What I am to you.”
I tightened my grip on my clutch. “I told you. Chaos in a suit.”
“Not enough,” he said. “Think harder.”
“Maybe I don’t like giving neat answers.”
“Or maybe you’re afraid of the right one.”
That landed like a strike. I looked away, pretending to fuss with my bag, pretending I didn’t feel the air shift between us.
“Goodnight, Roman,” I said, reaching for the handle.
But his hand shot out, catching the door before it opened. Not rough — just decis
