Chapter 3 - The Waking Nightmare
When Sky opened her eyes, the first thing she registered was the absence of sound. No clinking champagne flutes, no whispered gossip from socialites waiting for her family's total financial ruin, and no frantic demands from her father to smile for the cameras.
Instead, there was only the vast, silent expanse of the Manhattan skyline framed by floor-to-ceiling glass walls.
She sat up abruptly, a sharp wave of dizziness making her vision swim. She was still wearing the white satin slip dress, though it felt clean, unwrinkled, and carefully tended to. The IV port had been neatly removed from the back of her hand, replaced by a small, sterile bandage.
"Don't move too fast. Your blood pressure hasn't stabilized."
Sky gasped, her head snapping toward the sound of the voice.
Roman sat in a high-backed leather armchair in the corner of the sprawling bedroom. He held a glass of dark amber scotch in one hand, his black suit jacket draped over the armrest, his dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the sharp, dangerous lines of his throat and jaw. He looked like an apex predator waiting quietly in the dark.
"Where... where am I?" Sky’s voice was a fragile whisper, trembling as she pulled the silk sheets up to her collarbone. "Where is my father? I have to go back. The gala—the restructuring announcement—"
"Your father is currently trying to liquidate a fleet of cargo ships in Panama to cover three million dollars in unpaid gambling debts," Roman said calmly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "And the gala is over, Sky. You collapsed. Or have you forgotten?"
Sky clutched her head, memories of the spinning room, the suffocating lights, and the strong, unyielding arms that caught her rushing back like a physical blow. She looked at Roman with wide, terrified eyes. "You're Roman Duque. The man my father owes... the man everyone warns me about."
"And yet, out of all the wealthy cowards in that ballroom who stepped over you to avoid a scandal, I am the only one who brought you home," Roman pointed out, his tone remaining infuriatingly steady as he rose from the chair and walked slowly toward the bed.
Sky shrank back against the headboard, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "I don't belong here. Let me call a car. I can go back to the townhouse—"
"The townhouse was seized by federal marshals three hours ago," Roman interrupted, stopping just inches from the edge of the mattress. He placed his glass down on the bedside table and looked down at her with a gaze so intense it felt physical. "You have no home, Sky. Your father traded your name, your inheritance, and your future to keep his offshore accounts afloat. The only reason you aren't currently sleeping on a park bench is because your contract of debt was transferred to my ledger."
Sky’s breath hitched, tears of helpless frustration spilling over her lashes. "A contract? You bought me?"
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"I secured an asset," Roman corrected gently, though there was an undeniable ownership in his dark eyes. He reached out, his long fingers capturing her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. "And I protect what is mine. Welcome to your new life, Sky."
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