Violette Ellis walked along the lakeshore, the primary motivation for her stroll being to FaceTime Roman Griffin.

Emma Fox was around, and Violette wasn't yet comfortable having intimate, private conversations in front of her junior intern. She figured Roman was likely still in the office, and if he didn't pick up, she would just call him after dinner. Before the thought had even fully settled, the call connected.

Roman was indeed at the office. Even worse, he was in the middle of a meeting.

He sat with a look of stern, calculated authority. His dark hair was meticulously groomed, and the knot of his silk tie was pulled perfectly tight. Through the audio feed, she could hear the background murmur of a colleague reading through a long, tedious list of financial figures.

Violette curled her lips into a faint smile, staying silent. She minimized the interface and typed into his chat box: "You’re answering calls in a meeting?"

The status indicator flickered: *Typing...*

A few seconds later, Roman replied: "They don’t know."

Violette: "Then why pick up? You can’t even talk."

Roman: "I wanted to look at you."

Violette: "Mute your mic. It’s a bit windy here."

Roman: "There’s a drawstring behind your collar. Pull it if the wind is too strong."

Violette didn't reply to that, instead propping her phone up against the iron railing overlooking the water, following his instruction to cinch the collar. The wind stopped whistling against her neck. She flipped the camera around to show him the landscape—the distant, brooding mountains and the heavy, rain-laden clouds.

Roman went back to discussing project details with the others in the room. His tone was slow and methodical, yet carried an air of absolute command. Whenever he spoke, all other voices died down. Occasionally, someone would nod fervently, echoing, "Yes, exactly, sir."

Once Roman finished his point, he set his fountain pen on the mahogany desk. "Proceed."

The background chatter resumed.

A text message popped up on her screen: "Twenty minutes left."

He really was like a student slacking off in the back of class, she thought with a chuckle. She tapped quickly on the screen: "No rush. I just wanted to tell you everything went smoothly today. Nothing else to report."

Roman: "How many more days?"

Violette: "If you say it like that, I’ll start thinking you’ve been missing me since the moment I left."

Roman: "You can drop the 'thinking' part."

Violette: "..."

She kept the camera pointed toward the lake, pretending she couldn't feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

During the last twenty minutes of the meeting, Roman asked her several times to head back to the hotel before the rain started. Violette refused. She texted that she was only a five-minute walk away—she could make it back even if it started hailing. Roman didn't push it, though he occasionally glanced at his phone screen to keep an eye on the weather where she was.

Twenty minutes later, the meeting adjourned.

Though the sky was gloomy, the rain held off. Roman glanced out his floor-to-ceiling windows; the bustling Financial District of Deepwater was shrouded in a fine, misty drizzle, the neon lights bleeding into long, blurred streaks against the glass. He grabbed his phone and stepped out of the conference room. "It’s raining here."

Hearing his voice, Violette turned the camera back to herself.

"Meeting's over?"

The team members still inside the conference room had assumed Roman’s remark about the rain was directed at them. Just as they were about to chime in, they heard a woman’s voice through his phone, and the words died in their throats.

*Stupid,* they thought, *misreading the room.*

Someone whispered, "Who was that?"

"Mrs. Griffin."

The answer was unexpectedly logical. Since joining V-Oasis, no one had ever heard a single rumor about Roman. His private life was as clean as a textbook.

Many people claimed to have self-control, but for someone in his position, the ability to actually maintain it was rare. One of the partners mentioned, "I heard once that a client tried to arrange a private dinner with a hostess, and the moment Roman walked into the suite and saw her, he turned right back around and left."

"He's that cautious?"

"Exactly. That’s why there’s never been any gossip. He never gives anyone the chance to get close."

"So, who is this Mrs. Griffin?"

"Hard to say. The Griffin family is incredibly low-key."

They were speaking the truth, and office gossip always made for a stimulating post-meeting discussion. They filed out of the room, chuckling, "Well, she must be some lady of high standing. A man like Roman is clearly the type who holds the reins at home, too."

The man who allegedly "held the reins" was currently closing his office door.

He rested his phone on the corner of his desk, looking at the screen with an expression of feigned grievances. "You aren't coming back for the weekend?"

"Not this time. There’s road construction, and the commute would take longer than it's worth. I’d rather catch up on some sleep here," Violette explained. "If I push through, I can wrap this up by next Wednesday or Thursday."

"Fine. Sunny should be ready to be picked up by then, too."

"You actually sent him to the clinic?" Violette asked.

Roman nodded. "I had Dax Murphy take him."

Violette giggled. "You really do avoid playing the villain, don't you?"

They shared a bit more idle, meaningless banter before ending the call. Roman set his phone aside and dove back into his work.

When his shift ended, Dax Murphy called, sounding like he was performing an act of charity. "Roman, the cat is doing fine. I went to check on him again. The vet said his appetite is great; he finished a can and a half today."

"Good. Thank you for the trouble."

Dax gave a bitter laugh on the other end. "The cat hissed at me the second he saw me today. He looked like he wanted to bite my finger off through the cage."

Roman chuckled. "Just watch him."

Dax sent over a photo. It was Sunny, baring his fangs at the cage door with a murderous glare.

Roman replied, "Buy him a few cat treats. He’ll stop holding a grudge."

Dax thought, *If it were really that simple, why did you have me drop him off? Why didn't you just do it yourself?*

"Right, sure. Got it," Dax said aloud.

After reporting the routine updates, Dax asked, "About that creative industrial park I mentioned last time—what do you think?"

Roman tapped his fountain pen against a file. "It depends on the investment policies."

"A few of the locations have excellent incentives. I’m still filtering through them. It’s best to go and inspect the sites in person," Dax said, rattling off a few addresses.

Roman listened distractedly until one address caught his attention—it was very close to the small town where Violette was currently on assignment.

"When are you planning to visit Riverwood?"

Among the more aggressive investment-friendly districts, Riverwood seemed fairly unremarkable. Dax didn't know why Roman had singled it out, but he knew from experience that Roman’s instincts were never wrong. He paused to consider. "Whenever you're interested, sir. It's up to you."

"This weekend?"

"Wait, this weekend? That’s fast."

Dax was once again startled by Roman's whirlwind efficiency. But, come to think of it, this weekend wasn't impossible. It was just a site inspection, requiring no special preparation, and he didn't need to finalize any deals by Sunday.

"Alright then," Dax conceded. "Should I have the driver pick you up on Saturday morning?"

"No, I'll take my own car," Roman replied without hesitation. "I have some private business to attend to. I'll drop you off in Riverwood."

Dax was stunned. "Sir, what about you? Aren't you doing the inspection?"

"Didn't I just say?" Roman’s tone climbed, layered with a touch of airy indifference. "I have private business."