[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":10},["ShallowReactive",2],{"viewer-data-2603220ECDF1-571":3},{"id":4,"number":5,"name":6,"content":7,"isLocked":8,"price":9,"hasRead":8},571,13,"Chapter 13: The Sound of a Shattered Glass","\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It was nearly noon when Roman called.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He was likely grabbing lunch at the office; Violette could hear the overlapping hum of voices in the background and the sharp clatter of cutlery hitting porcelain. Despite the noise surrounding him, she could distinctly hear the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. It traveled through the line, vibrating directly against her ear.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It immediately triggered a memory of the previous night—the sound of his breath ragged and forced against her skin, barely held in check. Roman’s voice was typically as steady as the man himself. That was precisely why, whenever it wavered or deepened, the effect was so devastating.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette’s ear grew hot, her hand tightening around the phone as she stood frozen. In the kitchen, the rhythmic, efficient thud of a knife against a cutting board snapped her back to reality.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"What are you calling for?\" she asked, steadying her voice.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Don't you want to talk to me anymore?\" Roman countered.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It was a follow-up to the text message she had sent that morning. After she had replied saying she wanted to talk, he had gone silent. Violette hadn't thought much of it; Roman’s company was demanding, and a few exchanges were usually the best one could hope for.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Are you eating?\" she asked.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I am,\" Roman replied.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The conversation felt stiff. \"Isn't it rude to make business calls while you're eating?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">On the other end, Roman seemed to chuckle. \"No one dares to tell me otherwise.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette’s senses sharpened. \"So, you really are with people?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The ambient noise grew louder—snatches of conversation about contract renewals, equipment upgrades, and technical jargon she barely understood.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"It’s fine,\" Roman said, dismissive. \"Don't worry about them.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Their relationship had always been transactional, defined by clear boundaries. They never had moments of aimless, awkward chatter. So why this call? Was it really just because of her offhand comment about wanting to talk?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She had said it so casually. It hadn't meant anything.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette leaned back against the sofa, her gaze fixed on a tiny, unremarkable speck on the track lighting above. \"Roman?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Hm?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She didn't know what possessed her, but even knowing he had an audience, she murmured, \"Be gentler next time. You... it hurt a little.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">A loud, jarring crash echoed through the phone.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">In the background, voices scrambled in alarm. \"Mr. Griffin, are you alright?\" \"Don't move, sir—let me clean that up, let me!\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette heard the tension spike, then shift into a frantic scramble as the background noise faded, suggesting he had stepped away. She bit her lip, a small, triumphant smile blooming. \"So nervous, are we?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman coughed dryly. \"My hand slipped.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I was just—\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"You—\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">They both paused, then spoke at once.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"You go first,\" Roman said.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I was just joking,\" Violette confessed.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">In truth, Violette was a vibrant person by nature. Roman had known her for more than a year and a half; he had watched her fold herself away, bit by bit, like a rose kept in a crystal vase, methodically plucking out her own thorns. Especially since the marriage, she had been so harmless—so unassuming that anyone else might have mistaken it for her natural disposition.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He had expected her to maintain this polite, distant facade forever.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman fought to suppress the heat rising in his chest. It wouldn't settle, so he reached up and loosened his tie. Why was Deepwater so sweltering in late December? Was there no winter in this godforsaken city? He felt an inexplicable, jagged irritability.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">When she waited and heard nothing, Violette asked, \"What about you? What were you going to say?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"You want to hear it?\" Roman tore the tie off completely and tossed it aside.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Why hide it? She had played her little game, after all.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Violette blinked, hearing his low voice drift through the speaker.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I wanted to ask if you were hurt badly.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"...\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"If it’s serious, there’s an ointment in the nightstand. I’ll apply it for you when I get home.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She really should have kept her mouth shut. Violette curled her lip. \"The housekeeper is calling me for lunch. Goodbye. I’m hanging up.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">***\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">That afternoon, Violette caught up on sleep.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman was buried in work. With The Tour underway, he had to be on-site to monitor the data. This competition served as the final stress test for their company's VR arena system. If not for the fact that he was married—that there was a light waiting for him at home—he would have been sleeping at the office for the duration of the tournament.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Knowing he was heading to the arena, Bradley Harper dropped by, stepping away from the project team.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"God, I'm dying of boredom,\" Bradley said. \"I'm heading to the site to get some air.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman didn't bother looking at him. \"Do as you please.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I heard you shattered a glass in the cafeteria today? What’s the deal? Our cafeteria is top-tier; we have world-class chefs fighting for slots every year, and you’re still not satisfied?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman offered a lazy, unimpressed assessment: \"You’re well-informed.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley pressed on, undeterred. \"So, who pissed you off?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman ignored him, refusing to take the bait or give Bradley another chance to probe. Bradley felt foolish and rubbed his nose. Turning his head, he noticed the tie tossed carelessly on the sofa arm, then looked at Roman. His friend’s collar, usually meticulously fastened, was open and empty. The fabric was wrinkled, as if it had been handled—or ravaged—by someone else.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley’s eyes widened, his gaze darting back and forth. So, someone really had provoked him.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">With that assumption firmly in place, Bradley spent the entire ride watching Roman. Usually, Roman was either working or glued to his tablet, staring at columns of dry data. Bradley had always labeled him a workaholic with zero interest in life. But today, the machine wasn't running at full capacity.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman spent ten minutes of a conference call staring at a blank screen, lost in thought. Furthermore, during the thirty-minute drive, he closed his eyes and frowned deeply twice.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley opened a private group chat and typed: *What’s wrong with Roman lately?*\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The other betting buddies, confused, chimed in, *What do you mean, 'what’s wrong'?*\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley: *I don't know. Just a hunch, but he seems... agitated.*\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The group exploded into a thread of over a hundred messages debating his \"agitation,\" but with Roman sitting right beside him, Bradley didn't dare open them. Those vultures—they usually took hours to respond, but the second gossip was on the table, they sent endless voice notes.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley tucked his phone away and stared out the window.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">They were only one turn away from the stadium.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It was a match day, and traffic around the arena was snarled. The car rounded a corner and pulled up to the side of the plaza. Right behind them, a black business van came to a halt. The electric door slid open with a hiss.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley glanced over as he stepped out of the car, and he froze.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"...Holy shit.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman looked up at the sound. His eyes locked onto the figure stepping out of the van—the same attire from yesterday. A baseball cap, a track jacket, and a pair of thin, long headphone wires trailing from under the brim, hanging loosely against a white t-shirt.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It was Blake Pierce.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">After yesterday, even if they hadn't known each other before, they had deduced each other’s identities based on the circumstances. Besides, Roman had seen plenty of Blake's photos plastered all over the internet, and Blake had spent plenty of time dissecting the V-Oasis website to track Roman’s movements.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The two men stood in front of their respective cars, motionless, as if whoever moved first would be signaling their surrender.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The warm December breeze was replaced by a biting chill, raking across the terrazzo pavement that stretched between them like a scarred, desolate divide.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Finally, it was Blake who broke the tension.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The stadium staffer, noticing him lingering, prompted, \"The match is starting soon. Is everything alright?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Just looking at the weather,\" Blake said, slowly pulling his gaze away. He stepped forward. \"It's disgusting.\"\u003C/p>",false,0,1774272917245]