Chapter 1 - The Date He Tried to Stop Was Never Really a Date“Was any of it real?”
Khloe’s voice was barely audible.
For several seconds, Roman Gallagher said nothing.
The question had nothing to do with Oliver anymore.
It was about her.
About whether she had been foolish for believing someone could genuinely be interested in her.
Roman hated the thought.
He stepped closer, but not too close.
“Yes,” he said.
Khloe looked over her shoulder.
“What?”
“Some of it was real.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know he asked you questions for a reason.”
“That doesn't answer mine.”
Roman's expression tightened.
He was good at facts.
He was good at threats.
He was good at reading balance sheets, rival businesses, security reports, and the subtle shift in a man's eyes before that man decided to betray him.
He was terrible at women crying.
Especially this woman.
So he told the truth.
“I don't know whether he liked you.”
Khloe looked down.
“But?”
“But I know he wanted something.”
Roman reached into his jacket and placed a thin folder on her vanity.
Khloe stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Everything I found.”
She opened it.
The first page showed Oliver Harrington.
Age thirty-five.
Investment consultant.
Single.
No criminal record.
At least not officially.
Khloe turned the page.
Property disputes.
Three businesses registered under different names.
A series of debts.
One lawsuit dismissed.
Another settled privately.
Then a photograph.
Oliver entering a hotel beside a man Khloe didn't recognize.
Roman pointed to the picture.
“That man is Marcus Bell.”
Khloe frowned.
“Who's Marcus Bell?”
“Someone who buys information.”
Her fingers slowed.
“What kind of information?”
“The expensive kind.”
She looked up.
Roman's voice became quieter.
“He collects private schedules, financial records, security weaknesses, family disputes, anything that can be turned into leverage.”
Khloe stared at the photograph.
Then another page.
Oliver.
Marcus.
A third man.
The same black SUV appearing behind them.
Her throat tightened.
“Why would Oliver need information about you?”
Roman did not answer immediately.
That hesitation scared her more than the folder.
“What did I do?” she whispered.
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“Because you live in my house.”
Khloe shut the folder.
“No.”
Roman frowned.
“No?”
“I mean no to whatever comes next.”
“What comes next?”
“I'm not letting you turn this into another speech about how dangerous your life is and how little people like me understand it.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Yes, you were.”
Roman looked almost offended.
“I wasn't.”
“You absolutely were.”
Despite the tension, something almost amused flickered in his eyes.
Then it disappeared.
“I've spent years making sure dangerous people don't reach anyone under my roof.”
Khloe crossed her arms.
“I'm not a possession under your roof.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because kicking open my door and ordering me to cancel a date wasn't exactly convincing.”
Roman lowered his eyes for a moment.
“You're right.”
That surprised her.
“I shouldn't have done it.”
“No.”
“I was angry.”
“At Oliver?”
“At the situation.”
Khloe looked at him carefully.
“And maybe yourself.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
She had hit something.
He stepped back.
“Cancel the date because you choose to believe me, not because I ordered you.”
Khloe looked at the folder.
Then toward the door.
“That's the problem.”
“What?”
“You're asking me to trust you.”
“Yes.”
“You don't even trust me.”
Roman went still.
“That isn't true.”
“Then why have you had me investigated?”
“Because—”
“Because you don't trust anyone.”
She smiled sadly.
“And maybe that's why you don't understand why someone like Oliver felt special.”
Roman looked at her.
“He listened.”
She nodded.
“He made me feel beautiful.”
Something in Roman's face changed.
Khloe saw it.
A flash of jealousy.
Raw.
Immediate.
Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“You are beautiful,” he said.
She froze.
Roman looked almost angry with himself for saying it.
“I didn't say that for the reason you think.”
“What reason did you say it for?”
“Because it's true.”
Her eyes softened.
Neither moved.
Then a knock came from the hallway.
“Mr. Gallagher?”
Roman turned.
“What?”
Frank, his head of security, appeared at the door.
“There's a problem downstairs.”
Roman's expression hardened.
“What problem?”
“Oliver Harrington isn't alone.”
Khloe's stomach dropped.
Roman looked at her.
“How many?”
“One.”
“Who?”
Frank hesitated.
“That's the problem.”
Roman walked into the hallway.
Khloe followed despite herself.
Downstairs, through the glass railing, she could see Oliver standing in the reception area.
He still wore the navy jacket she had complimented earlier that afternoon.
He looked perfectly calm.
Beside him stood a woman in a black coat.
Khloe didn't recognize her.
The woman was looking directly toward the staircase.
Roman stopped.
Frank whispered:
“Her name is Vanessa Crane.”
Roman's expression changed completely.
Khloe saw something she had never seen before.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
Roman grabbed Khloe's wrist.
“Back upstairs.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“Roman—”
“Khloe.”
The way he said her name stopped her.
No command.
No anger.
Just urgency.
“Stay here.”
He descended the stairs.
Oliver smiled.
“Roman.”
Roman stopped six steps above him.
“You have five seconds to explain why you're in my house.”
Oliver looked toward Khloe.
“I came to see her.”
“You're lying.”
Oliver's smile faded.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“You've always been difficult, Roman.”
Roman recognized her now.
“Vanessa Crane.”
“It's been a while.”
“Not long enough.”
Khloe stared.
Vanessa smiled at her.
“So this is Khloe.”
Roman shifted slightly, blocking her view.
Vanessa laughed.
“She wasn't supposed to matter this much.”
Roman's eyes sharpened.
“What did you say?”
Oliver stepped forward.
“We only wanted access.”
“To what?”
Vanessa looked at Khloe.
“The household.”
Khloe's heart pounded.
Roman moved faster than she expected.
He pulled Khloe behind him.
Frank and three security men appeared instantly.
Vanessa raised both hands.
“You're misunderstanding.”
Roman's voice was ice.
“No.”
He looked at Oliver.
“You came here because my security system isn't what you needed.”
Oliver said nothing.
“You needed an employee.”
Still nothing.
“Someone with legitimate access.”
Roman looked at Khloe.
Her chest tightened.
“She was the easiest target.”
Oliver finally spoke.
“It wasn't supposed to hurt her.”
Roman stepped toward him.
“You don't get to say her name.”
Khloe stared at Roman.
Not because of the threat.
Because of the certainty in his voice.
He wasn't speaking as her employer.
He wasn't speaking as the city's most feared businessman.
He was speaking like a man who had finally realized just how much one person mattered to him.
Vanessa smiled.
“Interesting.”
Roman glared.
“What?”
“You still haven't figured out the real problem.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
“What problem?”
Vanessa turned toward Khloe.
“You think they wanted access to your money.”
Khloe felt cold.
“What?”
Vanessa said:
“They wanted access to something only you can open.”
Silence.
Roman looked at Khloe.
“What does that mean?”
Khloe shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Vanessa smiled.
“You will.”
Then every light in the house went out.
Gunfire erupted outside.
Frank shouted.
“DOWN!”
Roman grabbed Khloe and pulled her to the floor.
Glass exploded.
A security man yelled.
Someone in the courtyard fired back.
Khloe's breathing became ragged.
Roman covered her body with his.
“Don't move.”
“I can't see.”
“I know.”
Another shot.
Then another.
Roman's hand found hers.
For the first time, Khloe felt it.
His fingers were shaking.
Not much.
But enough.
Roman Gallagher was afraid.
And his fear had nothing to do with the bullets.
It was the thought of one of them hitting her.
When the lights finally returned, Vanessa Crane was gone.
Oliver had disappeared.
And on the white marble floor lay a small black envelope.
Roman picked it up.
Inside was a single photograph.
Khloe.
Standing in the Callahan cemetery three years earlier.
She had never told Roman she had been there.
On the back were nine words.
ASK HER WHAT HER FATHER LEFT BEHIND.
Khloe stopped breathing.
Roman turned toward her.
“What is this about?”
She looked at the photograph.
Then at Roman.
And whispered:
“I don't know.”
But deep inside, she remembered something she had spent twelve years trying to forget.
A wooden box.
A broken gold watch.
May you like
And her father's final words.
Never let a Gallagher know where I hid it.
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