Misty told herself she just needed a few minutes outside. The company hallways were too loud, the brothers too exhausting and Roman—especially Roman—too intense. The garden behind the Collahan building was quiet, lined by high hedges and stone benches. She breathed in, letting her shoulders loosen. For once, no one was watching her.
Or so she thought.
She first saw them when she stepped onto the sidewalk beyond the gate. Three of them. Hard eyes. Wearing matching jackets. The kind that scanned for a target, not a stranger. Misty stopped walking, cold tremors coursing down her back. They spoke in hushed tones among themselves, their gazes sharp and deliberate.
The tallest of them smirked. "Red hair. That's her."
Her stomach dropped.
Misty stepped backward, trying to steady her breathing. "I don't know who you think I am," she said, though her voice wavered. "But I'm leaving."
She turned, but one of them blocked her path. "Your name's Misty, right? Been looking for you."
A shot of panic ran through her. Harry's will, the brothers, her old life—everything she'd tried to leave behind—was racing through her mind. Someone had recognized her. Someone dangerous.
"Move," she whispered.
"No need to run," said the tall one. "Just answer a few questions."
He grabbed her arm.
Just as she barely got the breath out, another voice cut the air like a blade.
"Let go of her."
Roman.
He moved so fast, too fast for her to process, and in a second he was across the walkway, then between her and the men, shoving the tall one back with force enough to surprise them. Misty stumbled behind him as her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
The thug swung first.
Roman didn't even flinch. He blocked the hit with his forearm, took a blow to the ribs, and countered with a brutal punch that sent the man staggering. Another attacker lunged from the side; Roman twisted, shielding Misty with his body as the hit landed across his shoulder instead of her head.
"Roman!" she shouted.
He ignored her, eyes fixed on the attackers in a cold, focused fury Misty had never seen before. He fought like he'd been schooled for this: precise, controlled, merciless when he had to be. There were too many of them, though, and they weren't amateurs.
A fist connected with Roman's jaw.
Another strike landed on his side.
He grunted but never backed away, grabbing one man's shirt and slamming him to the ground. Misty's pulse was racing as she frantically looked around for help, for anyone, for anything.
The other thugs looked at each other, cursing under their breath.
"We'll finish this later," one spat.
They ran down the alley, disappearing into the street chaos.
When the last one had disappeared, Roman swayed slightly, catching himself against the fence. Misty hurried to him, slipping an arm under his.
"You're bleeding!" she cried, "What were you thinking?
"I thought you were about to get dragged off," he growled through gritted teeth.
"You took hits for me!
"I've taken worse."
"That's not comforting!"
"Not trying to comfort you."
She glared, furious and terrified. But Roman winced again, and the argument died. His injuries were getting worse by the second.
"We're going home," said Misty.
"I can walk."
"You can barely stand."
She reached over and slung his arm over her shoulder. Roman struggled for half a second before giving in-unwillingly, stubbornly, silently. Misty urged him down the street, ignoring curious stares from pedestrians. Every step made him hiss under his breath, but he didn't complain.
As they entered the Collahan mansion, Ronnie almost spilled his drink when he saw them.
"What the—Roman, what happened? And Misty, why does he look like he got flattened by a truck?"
"Not now, " Misty snapped. "First-aid kit. Now."
Ronnie sprinted.
Misty pulled Roman into the nearest sitting room. He dropped onto the couch, expelling a pained breath; a bead of sweat trickled along his temple. She ripped open the first-aid kit, her hands shaking. Roman noticed and frowned slightly.
"You're panicking."
"Of course I'm panicking!" Misty shot back. "You just fought three men like you were made of steel!
Roman leaned his head back. "Not steel. Just stubborn."
"Stubborn doesn't stop bruising."
Misty kneeled before him, pressing a disinfectant pad against a cut along his jaw. Roman flinched but didn't pull away. Her fingertips brushed his skin incidentally, and the room suddenly seemed too quiet.
"You shouldn't have interfered like that," she said, making her voice stay even. "What if they had knives? Or guns? Or—"
"Then I would've dealt with it."
She glared. "Stop acting invincible. You're not."
Roman opened his eyes; they were directed right at her. His voice softened, just barely. "I know."
For the first time since she'd met him, he looked… human. Not the cold CEO, not the intimidating heir, just a man who'd hurled himself into danger without so much as a second thought.
Misty swallowed. She took the bandages and started wrapping them around his ribs as softly as possible. Roman breathed sharply when her hand brushed over a tender bruise.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"It's fine."
But his voice was strained. And his gaze—so utterly fixed on her—caused the air to thicken between them.
Misty worked on, even though her hands shook. She could feel his warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt, feel the rise and fall of his breathing. She moved to bandage a cut on his shoulder, leaning in close. Too close.
Roman's breath hitched.
She froze.
Neither spoke.
The mansion was quiet, as if the whole world was holding itself still.
Roman's hand moved a little, almost uncertain. His fingers brushed hers-lightly, barely a touch-but enough to send a jolt through her. Misty inhaled sharply, heart hammering so loudly she thought he might hear it.
Roman didn't budge. Misty didn't, either. The moment held, fragile and dangerous, suspended between gratitude and something deeper neither of them wanted to name. Something that made the room feel smaller, the air warmer. Then Misty jerked her hand back suddenly. "That's enough," she whispered with a cleared throat. Roman didn't argue. However, the way he looked at her-steady, unreadable, changed-said that he'd felt the spark, too. And they knew it wouldn't go away.