Before Abigail could say something further, Roman's patience snapped. His hand, firm and unyielding, pushed her away.
The movement wasn't violent, but it was sharp—enough to create a ripple through the crowd gathered around the stage.
Gasps rose, whispers followed, and Abigail staggered back with widened eyes, her painted lips parting in disbelief.
But Roman's expression gave her nothing to hold onto—no anger, no tenderness, no regret. His face was carved in stone, a mask of cold blackness, shielding every trace of his emotions.
Without sparing her another glance, he descended the steps of the dancing stage, his tall frame moving with a kind of commanding finality.
Julie had been watching, her heart thrumming like a trapped bird. She didn't understand everything that had just passed between them, but she could feel the weight of it pressing on Roman's shoulders.
When she saw him leaving, something inside her stirred restlessly. She couldn't just stand there.
