The sedan glided off the main road and onto a gated residential drive lined with tall hedges and clean brick walls. Security drones tracked the vehicle's plates before peeling away again. The place didn't look like a bachelor pad — it looked like the kind of property people whispered about.
Dean keyed a code at the security pillar. The gate slid open without a sound.
Julie didn't stir.
She stayed curled against the door, lashes still damp, clutching the hem of her shirt like it was something to hold onto.
Roman watched her for a moment longer, then finally spoke.
"Slow. Don't jolt her."
Dean shot him a sidelong look but eased the car up the drive.
When the engine cut off, the sudden quiet felt too heavy. Dean let out a breath he'd been holding for the last eight miles.
"She's still out," he said quietly.
Roman opened his door. "I'll get it,"
Roman rounded the back door and opened it. The dome light flicked on, washing Julie in a pale glow. She didn't wake. Her breathing was shallow but even — terror sleep, the kind taught by adrenaline and childhood fear.
Roman slid an arm behind her shoulders and under her knees. Julie tensed unconsciously at the movement, a tiny whimper escaping her throat, but she didn't wake.
Dean watched from outside, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.
"She's small," Roman muttered. Not judgmental — just an observation.
"Most are," Dean answered.
Roman lifted Julie from the seat. She curled instinctively toward warmth, face tucked against Roman's shoulder, fingers twisting in the fabric of his jacket.
Dean looked away when he saw that.
The front door opened into a wide, modern entry hall — polished concrete floors, vaulted ceilings, framed botanical prints along the wall. Clean lines. No clutter. No sign a woman had ever lived here.
Dean locked up behind them and set the security, the soft chirp echoing through the house.
"Where?" Dean asked.
Roman shifted Julie slightly in his arms. "Upstairs."
"Her room or—"
"Mine," Roman said.
Dean froze for half a second. "Roman, she needs space. She's scared out of her mind. Let her acclimate before—"
"She will acclimate faster close by."
"That's not—" Dean caught himself, lowering his voice, "—that's not how the Act defines acclimation. She's still a person."
Roman's eyes flicked toward Dean. "She's claimed. And she's asleep."
"That's not the same as consent," Dean whispered.
Roman didn't answer. He just started up the stairs, carrying Julie as if the conversation were over.
Dean followed, muttering under his breath.
Roman's bedroom was large but stark — dark wood, sharp architecture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rear gardens. The bed was king-sized, sheets a cool slate gray.
He set Julie down carefully, easing her onto the left side of the bed. When her head hit the pillow, she stirred — brow tightening, breath hitching — but didn't wake.
Dean hovered in the doorway. "We need to process her claim. Upload her to the registry. Notify the Board. You know the drill."
Roman nodded once. "Later."
"If you wait too long, an inspection team could show up."
Roman finally turned, eyes hard. "I know the law better than you do."
Dean swallowed a retort. "Then act like it."
A muscle ticked once in Roman's jaw.
Dean took a slow breath. "Let me prep the spare room. If she wakes up in yours—like this—she'll panic."
Roman looked at Julie. Really looked.
Her mascara was smudged. Hair tangled. Necklace still pink. Her small hand was curled above her head, fingers twitching in her sleep like she was holding onto something that wasn't there.
Finally, Roman nodded. "Fine. But she stays on this floor."
Dean didn't argue that part. It was already generous for Roman.
As Dean walked out to prepare the guest room, Roman followed him into the hall.
"She's not going downstairs," Roman said.
"Wasn't going to put her in the basement, Roman. I'm not a psychopath."
Roman didn't react. "You know why."
"Yeah," Dean said bitterly. "Because she's claimed stock now."
Roman's voice dropped. "Because she's vulnerable."
Dean paused at that — surprised enough to face him.
Roman held Dean's stare. "There are men who would call the Board now and demand reassignment. Or try to steal her outright. She stays on this floor until the registry updates."
Dean looked down, guilt and anger warring inside him.
"Fine," he said quietly. "But you talk to her when she wakes up. Not like she's inventory. Like she's a human woman who just lost her entire life today."
Roman didn't answer.
Dean didn't expect him to.
He just turned and stepped into the spare room to make it ready.