The mahogany bed in the master suite smelled of expensive lavender and Sabrina's jasmine perfume. Roman stood by the edge of the mattress, the silence of the estate pressing against his eardrums like atmospheric weight.

Her hand rested protectively over her swollen stomach. The baby kicked—a sharp, distinct thud that made her smile despite the exhaustion weighing down her bones.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

Elena didn't reach for a weapon, nor did she flinch. She had anticipated this exact knock within two hours of leaving the estate.

She stood up, walked across the linoleum floor, and pulled the door open.

Roman stood in the dim hallway. His hair was damp from the rain, his overcoat unbuttoned, his expression an unreadable mix of exhaustion, fury, and something dangerously close to raw grief. He looked like a man who had just survived a train wreck only to realize the tracks were still crumbling beneath his feet.

May I come in? he asked. His voice was rough, stripped of its usual boardroom polish.

Elena didn't move for a moment. She looked past him into the empty stairwell, confirming he was alone, before stepping back to allow him entry.

You took your time, she said quietly, walking back to the table.

He closed the door behind him, locking the deadbolt with a heavy metallic click. He didn't sit down. He stood by the small kitchenette, looking at the sparsely furnished room—the single suitcase resting by the door, the framed photo of her mother on the counter, the total absence of luxury.

I read the letter, Roman said.

And?

I checked the accounts. They’re frozen. Viktor’s people are already moving on the docks in Brooklyn. Sabrina is locked in the estate’s security vault downstairs, waiting for the federal prosecutor I actually trust to arrive.

Elena took a slow sip of her tea. Good. You're finally paying attention.

He crossed the small room and stopped two feet from her chair. He looked down at her—really looked at her—not as a wife, not as a fixture of his estate, but as the tactical mastermind who had kept him alive while he was busy playing emperor.

Why didn't you tell me? he asked, his voice cracking slightly. Why let me wallow in my own arrogance? Why let me bring that snake into our home?

Because if I had told you, your ego would have forced a war with Viktor before our daughter was strong enough for me to carry out of that house, Elena said, her dark eyes flashing with cold fire. You think with your fists, Roman. You always have. You wanted to crush Viktor’s throat the moment he stepped out of line, and in doing so, you would have walked right into the federal trap he laid for you three years ago. I kept you alive by letting you think you were in control.

Roman sank slowly into the wooden chair opposite her. He rested his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the wreckage of nine years of miscalculated pride.

What do we do now? he asked, his voice muffled against his palms.

Elena reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his damp sleeve.

We don't do anything, Roman. Viktor thinks he’s won. Sabrina thinks she’s handed him the keys to the kingdom. Let them walk into the trap. Because while you were busy being distracted, I spent the last six months quietly transferring our real assets into accounts Viktor's auditors don't even know exist.