The bedroom was sealed off by heavy, blackout curtains. Not a single light remained on.

Roman couldn't see the expression on Violette’s face in the dark, so he reached out. His fingers traced her brow bone, her eyelashes, the bridge of her nose, and finally, her lips. Her breathing was light, steady—the same as it always was.

"What were you thinking when you saw it?" Roman asked, his voice a low hum in the dark.

"Questions usually have an order of precedence," Violette said, tugging lightly at the collar of his pajamas as she looked up at him. "How did this turn into you interrogating me?"

Even in the pitch black, she could feel the weight of his gaze. She knew he was watching her.

"Tell me how you felt, and then we can discuss how to phrase the rest," Roman replied.

Violette’s hand slackened. Her body, which had been half-pressed against him, slowly slid back down. Once the skin-to-skin contact broke, the urgency of the moment cooled. She settled back against her own pillow.

She had finally begun to understand Roman.

The topics she initiated always seemed to follow the flow he dictated. He was the one who peeled back her layers, while he remained a closed book—a man of high status who thrived on keeping his true motives buried, unwilling to be truly seen.

"I asked you first, you know," she muttered.

She was always poised and professional in front of Roman, her temper nearly impossible to ruffle. Being this petty—this bratty—was uncharted territory.

"If you aren't going to talk, I'm going to sleep."

She turned away, burying her face into the duvet. The last few words were muffled by the bedding.

Roman’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, allowing him to see her silhouette. He pulled the bundled duvet against his chest, but the bundle didn't respond.

"The moment I started doing it, I knew I couldn't let you find out," he finally admitted.

"Why?" came the muffled reply from beneath the covers.

"Because Adelaide taught me a term: 'sasaeng fan.' It felt uncomfortably similar." He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. "I was afraid you’d be disgusted."

"People who do that are usually a little..." Violette felt a shiver run down her arm. She sat up abruptly, suddenly realizing the conversation had been steered off-course again. "But that comparison is pointless. You aren't 'other people'."

"I was back then."

"..."

Violette stalled. She opened her mouth several times, but the words died in her throat. Finally, she stuttered, "So... you didn't, you know, do anything weird to that version of me, did you?"

"..."

The silence in the room turned brittle. After a long moment, Roman took her hand, which was resting at her side. "What could I possibly have done?"

There was no point in mincing words anymore. Violette tried to pull her hand away, but he held firm. "Forget it. I'm going to sleep."

She lay back down, settling into his arms. Roman rested his chin on her shoulder. Every time he breathed, his warm breath ghosted against her ear, making the very bones in her body feel as though they were vibrating.

"I wanted to know you long before we actually met. You just weren't very responsive back then."

"I replied to every message you sent!" she countered.

"True," Roman said. "Because we were talking about business."

"..."

The logic was sound, yet the premise was riddled with holes. Just like how they had stumbled into this marriage amidst the chaos of their lives, only to end up here, existing in this strange, harmonious friction.

Life was truly absurd.

"So you just... created a fake Violette?" she asked.

"To me, she wasn't fake. You had been my friend for a long time." It was rare for Roman to shed his cold, calculating exterior and let his emotions take the lead. His hand moved up, tracing the rhythm of her heart, which had begun to beat faster.

"But getting to where you actually are," he whispered, "has taken me a lot longer."

Before she drifted off that night, Violette thought of a friend from her childhood.

The girl was the daughter of one of Charles Ellis’s closest friends. Long before they had ever met, Violette had heard countless stories about her: she was top of her class, the lead flag-bearer for the national ceremony, a seventh-grade level saxophonist, and a model citizen who turned in found money.

Charles and Catherine weren't the type of parents to obsessively push for academic perfection, but in a house like theirs, the "neighbor's kid" was a constant topic of conversation.

Because of those stories, the girl had arrived in Violette’s life with a halo already firmly in place. They had actually gotten along quite well, but as schoolwork piled up and her parents moved the family to the sprawling new estate at Bauhinia Bay—half a city away from their old neighborhood—the connection withered.

Violette had cherished that friendship, but it hadn't been enough. In the vast web of social ties she was expected to maintain, that particular thread had been thin to begin with.

Thinking about it years later, she still admired how brilliant that girl had been. She had left such a deep impression on young Violette. But to the other girl? Violette was probably nothing more than a generic neighbor’s little sister.

Recognition between people doesn't start at the first official meeting. The timelines are never equal, and the depth of the connection is rarely the same.

She fell asleep with those thoughts, and when she woke, the morning light was blinding. A thin, silvery line of sun had pierced the gap in the curtains, slicing across the floor.

Violette carefully slid her arm out from under him.

This was one of the rare moments she had woken up before Roman. She studied his features—the sharp, superior line of his jaw, now shaded with a dark, grey stubble. His vitality was relentless; he’d grown an entire day's worth of scruff overnight. He usually had himself perfectly groomed before he ever woke her, so this rugged, unpolished version was a rarity.

She couldn't help but run her finger over the rough texture.

He caught her wrist instantly, his thumb stroking the pulse that was racing beneath her skin. He didn't open his eyes. "What time do you have to be at the station?"

"No rush," she said.

"Hmm." He was still weary, refusing to wake, instead burying his face deeper into her, demanding she stay. "Sleep a little longer."

Because of those words, Violette was, for the first time in her life, late.

She had looked at the clock at 7:15 AM, and when she opened her eyes again, it was 9:08 AM.

Emma Fox had already called, looking for guidance on the editing work. Violette braced her phone against her shoulder, leaning against the hallway cabinet on one leg, struggling to hook her heel into her stiletto.

"I know, just leave it there until I get a chance to look at it. Yes," she said, her voice rapid-fire. She glanced at Roman. "Are you picking up Sunny today?"

"I am."

Roman reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her collar, smoothing it down.

The vet had said if they didn't pick the cat up soon, he was going to tear the entire clinic apart. Plus, they were low on cat treats and needed to restock the canned food; the damn cat was turning into a literal ball of fur.

"Slow down," he murmured. "No need to rush."

"I'm already late!" Violette hopped toward the door, finally managing to secure her other heel. "Don't forget the act. Remember, you have to be convincing in front of the vet!"

Roman couldn't help but curve his lips into a smile. "I will."

On the phone, Emma laughed. "Boss? You're still at home, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, just keep an eye on things. If the station director asks—"

"Don't worry, Boss! I've got it covered!"

Violette hung up and tapped the elevator button with her phone. As she stood there, flustered and catching her breath, she turned back to see Roman still standing in the doorway, watching her with a look of calm amusement.

"What?" she asked, confused.

Roman raised a finger and tapped his own lips.

"Do I have something on my face? But I haven't even had breakfast—"

"Goodbye kiss," Roman said, standing there looking perfectly composed. He tapped his lips again. "The elevator is ten seconds away. Plenty of time."