Chapter 2 - THE LIE THAT SAVED HER
Preston Hayes had built his reputation on making other people feel smaller.
Now, standing in the Obsidian Club with Roman Costa staring at him, he looked like a man who had accidentally stepped onto thin ice.
"Your wife?" Preston repeated.
Roman slipped one hand into his pocket.
"Is there something confusing about the word?"
Preston's eyes darted toward Sloan.
She was still standing behind Roman, her uniform damp with scotch, her hands trembling.
"This is ridiculous," Preston said. "She was my girlfriend for four years. I would know if she married someone."
"Apparently," Roman replied, "there are many things you don't know."
A few men near the bar lowered their eyes.
Nobody laughed.
Preston swallowed.
"Mr. Costa, I apologize if—"
"To her."
Preston blinked.
"What?"
"Apologize to Sloan."
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Then he turned toward her.
"Sorry."
Roman's expression didn't change.
"Try again."
Preston's face reddened.
"I'm sorry I embarrassed you."
Sloan looked at him.
Three years earlier, she would have accepted anything that sounded remotely like an apology.
Tonight, something inside her refused.
"You didn't embarrass me by accident," she said.
Preston stared.
"You deliberately dropped your drink. You made me kneel in front of your friends because you enjoyed it."
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
"Sloan—"
"And you don't get to pretend it was a joke."
Roman watched her.
There was no triumph in his expression.
Only attention.
As though he were hearing a voice he had waited years to hear.
Preston straightened his jacket.
"Fine. I'm sorry."
Roman turned toward the club manager.
"Get someone to clean the glass. And make sure her shift is paid in full."
Sloan immediately shook her head.
"I don't need special treatment."
Roman looked at her.
"Then consider it basic workplace safety."
He turned back to Preston.
"Your evening is over."
Preston's face hardened.
"You can't just throw me out. I'm a member."
Roman's mouth curved slightly.
"I own the club."
That ended the argument.
Two security officers approached.
Preston looked at Sloan one last time.
The hatred in his eyes was unmistakable.
Then he left.
Only after the doors closed did Sloan turn toward Roman.
"Your wife?"
Roman looked at her.
"An exaggeration."
"An exaggeration?"
"An effective one."
She stared at him.
"You could have said I was your sister."
"I don't have a sister."
"Your cousin?"
"I have several. None look like you."
Sloan folded her arms.
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she remembered her father.
The forged documents.
The company.
And the strange thing Roman had whispered.
Her expression changed.
"You said my father saved your life."
Roman's amusement disappeared.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Fourteen years ago."
"Where?"
He hesitated.
"At the old Harbor Street warehouse."
Sloan felt the room tilt.
That warehouse had burned down fourteen years earlier.
Her father had never told her why.
He had only said that some buildings were worth saving.
And some people weren't.
Roman looked toward the doors.
"Miss Bennett, there's something about your father's company you need to know."
Sloan went still.
May you like
She hadn't told him her last name.
Not once.
