Chapter 7 - RETURN TO ROSEHAVENSnow began before we reached Vermont.
By dawn, the mountains were white.
I had not seen Rosehaven in eleven years.
The lodge appeared between pine trees exactly as it lived in my nightmares—three stories of gray stone and dark timber, isolated enough that screams disappeared into wilderness.
My body reacted before my mind did.
Hands numb.
Chest tight.
Taste of metal in my mouth.
Roman noticed.
“We turn around whenever you say.”
“I’m not turning around.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not proving anything.”
I looked at the lodge.
“I’m collecting what belongs to me.”
Emily squeezed my hand.
We entered together.
The building had been abandoned for years.
Dust covered furniture.
Mice had chewed curtains.
My father had apparently believed the place held no further usefulness.
He was wrong.
I showed Roman the room.
Second floor.
Last door.
The lock remained on the outside.
Roman stared at it.
Emily quietly cried.
Grant stood several feet behind us.
“I’m sorry.”
I didn’t answer.
Not yet.
Forgiveness was not a door someone opened because another person knocked.
Inside, faded wallpaper covered the walls.
My fingernail scratches remained near the window.
Roman saw them.
He looked away.
That was when I realized he was crying.
Barely.
One tear.
He wiped it before anyone else noticed.
I noticed.
“Roman.”
He shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.”
His laugh was bitter.
“I keep imagining someone doing this to you, and I…”
I took his hand.
“You weren’t here.”
“I wish I had been.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“I wish I had.”
Something changed between us.
Not obligation.
Not alliance.
Something frightening because it felt too much like hope.
Emily led us downstairs.
Mother had discovered a crawlspace beneath the old wine cellar.
Grant removed shelving.
Behind it was a narrow brick wall.
One brick moved.
Inside sat a waterproof metal container.
The ledger.
Hundreds of handwritten transactions.
Dates.
Amounts.
Names.
And beneath it—
A small tape recorder.
Emily stared.
“I didn’t know that was there.”
We pressed play.
Static.
Then Mother’s voice.
My knees weakened.
Charles, if anything happens to me, I’ve made copies.
Father’s voice followed.
You’re being dramatic.
You took Emily. You hurt Claire. You killed Anthony Vale.
Silence on the tape.
Then Father:
Anthony wasn’t supposed to be there.
Roman stopped breathing.
We had him.
Mother continued.
And Peter Lawson?
Father laughed softly.
Peter made a poor decision.
Emily covered her mouth.
The recording lasted sixteen minutes.
Sixteen minutes that could destroy an empire.
At the end, my mother said something I never expected.
My daughters will survive you. Maybe not today. Maybe not while I’m alive. But one day they will stop being afraid. And on that day, Charles, you will discover you were never powerful. You were simply surrounded by frightened people.
The tape clicked off.
Nobody spoke.
I cried silently.
Then Roman kissed my forehead.
Not passionately.
Not possessively.
Just gently.
It was the safest kiss I had ever received.
Federal investigators arrived before noon.
Rebecca had contacted them after Charles was arrested and offered full cooperation.
With the ledger and recording, prosecutors began preparing charges involving homicide conspiracy, kidnapping, racketeering, bribery, obstruction, and financial crimes.
Malcolm faced separate charges.
Grant requested immunity in exchange for testimony.
I expected to hate that.
Instead, I understood.
Justice was messy.
It rarely arrived as pure as revenge fantasies.
That afternoon, Roman and I stood outside Rosehaven.
Snow fell softly.
“What happens to us?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“What do you want to happen?”
I almost smiled.
“You keep asking me that.”
“Get used to it.”
“Our marriage agreement gives you twenty-seven percent of Whitmore Atlantic after the merger.”
“I don’t care.”
“You cared last week.”
“I cared before I learned the company was built partly on murder.”
“You could leave.”
“So could you.”
I looked toward the mountains.
“Did you mean what you said on our wedding night?”
“Which part?”
“That you didn’t marry me only for business.”
He was quiet.
Then he stepped closer.
“I met you three years ago at the Bellevue Foundation dinner.”
“I remember.”
“You barely spoke to me.”
“You were arrogant.”
“I am charmingly decisive.”
“You told the waiter his wine recommendation was wrong.”
“It was.”
I laughed.
Roman smiled.
“I watched you spend half the evening helping an elderly woman find her missing purse.”
“She was panicking.”
“You missed your father’s speech.”
“That was a benefit.”
His smile faded.
“I wanted to ask you out that night.”
My heart jumped.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Charles made it clear you were unavailable.”
“He controlled everyone around me.”
“I thought you agreed with him.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
Snow collected in his dark hair.
“When he proposed the merger marriage, I said yes too quickly.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m terrible at this.”
“You really are.”
He took my hand.
“I told myself marrying you was smart business.”
“And?”
“And it was a lie.”
I looked at him.
“I wanted you.”
The honesty stole my breath.
“Even when you acted like you disliked me?”
“I thought you disliked me.”
“I did.”
He laughed.
“Wonderful.”
“A little.”
“Progress.”
I became serious.
“Roman, I don’t know how to be someone’s wife.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’re someone’s husband.”
“For four days. My résumé is limited.”
I smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“What if I’m never normal?”
His expression sharpened.
“Don’t say that.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I know what your father trained you to believe.”
He touched my face carefully.
“You don’t owe me normal.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“You don’t owe me intimacy. You don’t owe me a version of yourself that makes this marriage convenient. We figure out what we are at your pace.”
“And if I decide I want an annulment?”
His jaw tightened.
But he nodded.
“I’ll sign.”
“Just like that?”
“No.”
A tiny smile.
“I’ll hate every second. Then I’ll sign.”
Something inside me shifted.
Trust was not a lightning strike.
It was this.
A man being given power and choosing not to use it.
I stepped closer.
Then I kissed him.
Not because an agreement required it.
Not because four hundred guests expected it.
Because I wanted to.
Roman froze.
Then his hands settled carefully at my waist.
When we separated, he looked slightly stunned.
“That,” I whispered, “was not in the merger agreement.”
“No.”
“Good.”
His phone rang.
He groaned.
Daniel.
Roman answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“What happened?”
I knew from his face something was wrong.
He ended the call.
“Charles made bail.”
I stared at him.
“How?”
“Corrupt judge. Federal arrest warrant isn’t finalized yet.”
Emily came outside.
“What?”
Roman’s expression darkened.
“Your father is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“No one knows.”
My phone vibrated.
A message.
One photograph.
Lily leaving the police station with a female officer.
Taken from across the street less than five minutes earlier.
May you like
Under it:
YOU TOOK MY FAMILY FROM ME. NOW I TAKE YOURS.
