Chapter 3 - The Morning After
I woke up to the sound of rain against the window.
The bed beside me was empty, but the sheets were still warm.
Roman had come to bed late, but he had held me until I fell asleep.
I dressed slowly, choosing a simple white dress that felt light and clean.
When I walked downstairs, the house was buzzing with a quiet energy.
Marcus was in the kitchen, speaking into a headset.
When he saw me, he nodded respectfully.
“Good morning, Mrs. Raines.”
“Where is he, Marcus?”
“In the garden, Ma'am. He’s been there since five.”
I walked out to the glass-enclosed solarium.
Roman was standing by the roses, a cup of black coffee in his hand.
He looked tired, but his posture was as straight as a soldier's.
On the table next to him was a stack of newspapers.
I didn't have to read the headlines to know what they said.
The "Waitress Wife" was likely the lead story in every gossip column.
“It’s done,” he said without turning around.
“The Whitmore Group filed for emergency restructuring an hour ago.”
“Their primary investors pulled out after hearing about the gala.”
I sat down at the table, pouring myself some tea.
“You didn't have to destroy the whole company, Roman.”
“Nolan didn't even do anything.”
“Exactly,” Roman said, turning to face me.
“He did nothing.”
“In my world, doing nothing while your partner commits a crime is a confession.”
He sat down across from me, his expression unreadable.
“Sloane Harrington is currently at her parents' house.”
“Her father has already released a statement disowning her actions.”
“They’re terrified, Clara.”
I sighed, looking out at the rain.
“Is this how it’s always going to be?”
“Every time I have a bad interaction, a company goes under?”
Roman reached across the table and took my hand.
“I am a man of extremes, Clara.”
“I spent twenty years building a name that keeps people from hurting me.”
“I spent ten years making sure nobody could touch my family.”
“Then I met you.”
“You are the only part of me that isn't made of stone.”
“If I let people think they can disrespect you, they will think they can destroy me.”
I looked at our joined hands.
His knuckles were scarred from a life I tried not to think about.
My hands were soft, though they still felt the ghost of the tray I had carried.
“I don't want to be a reason for destruction, Roman.”
“I wanted to go to that gala to help people.”
“I wanted to be Clara Bennett, not the 'Mafia Queen'.”
Roman’s grip tightened slightly.
“You will always be Clara.”
“But as long as you are with me, you are protected by the Raines name.”
“It’s a burden, I know.”
“But it’s also a promise.”
A phone rang on the table—Roman’s private line.
He looked at the screen and frowned.
“It’s the Harrington patriarch,” he said.
“He wants to come here and apologize in person.”
“With his daughter.”
I looked at Roman, seeing the conflict in his eyes.
He wanted to say no. He wanted to keep them away from our home.
“Let them come,” I said.
Roman blinked. “Why?”
“Because I want Sloane to see me.”
“Not as a waitress, and not as your wife.”
“I want her to see the woman she tried to break.”
Roman studied me for a long moment, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“You’re more like me than you realize, Clara.”
May you like
“I’ll set the meeting for noon.”
***
