SOLANA
Roman looked away with a tired sigh, his damp hair falling over his face.
"Why would they—no, you wouldn't do that. You're not that kind of person," I blurted, and a soft smile tugged at his lips.
"Really? You really think I can't be the culprit?" He asked, and I nodded quickly, a frown creasing my brows.
He cupped my face with a cold hand, brushing his thumb along my cheek. "You don't know everything about me. I might be a psychopath," he said, and my frown deepened.
"You're not."
The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. My husband tilted his head slightly, a spark of amusement in his eyes.
"I'm not? What kind of person do you think I am?" He asked, and I held my hand to his.
"You are...an enigma to others but not to me, Roman. You've been hurt just like me.
