Chapter 98 WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Chapter 98 WHAT HAVE I DONE?

••Luciana••

The air in the bedroom felt different the moment Roman walked in. For days, he had been a shadow, but tonight, he looked... human.

His sleeves were rolled up, and his expression was weary, the sharp lines of his face softened by what looked like genuine exhaustion. In his hand, he held a small, white paper bag from the bakery two blocks away, the one that made the almond croissants I used to crave when I was happy.

"You're awake," he said, his voice low and warm, devoid of the icy edge he’d carried at dinner.

"I couldn't sleep," I whispered, sitting up and pulling the duvet to my chest. I felt like a criminal watching a detective enter the room.

"I don't blame you. I've been unavailable lately," he said, walking toward the bed. He sat on the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight. He handed me the bag. "I saw these and thought of you. I know things have been tight and we’ve been distant. I feel like I've forgotten how to just be your husband."

I took the bag, the warmth of the pastry seeping through the paper. The guilt hit me like a physical blow. Here he was, trying to bridge the gap with my favorite treats, while my head was filled with call logs and reports.

"Thank you, Roman," I murmured.

"Don't thank me, Luci. Just... try to eat. You’re getting far too thin." He reached out, his thumb grazing my cheek in a gesture so tender it made my eyes sting. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been here. I'm trying to fix everything, baby. For us. So we can finally leave the blood behind."

He looked so vulnerable in the dim light of the bedside lamp. For a second, the suspicion in my heart wavered. 

What if Matteo is wrong? What if the calls after the accident were just Roman trying to find the killer himself?

"I should go wash up," he said, standing with a heavy sigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tossing it onto the nightstand right next to my hand. It landed with a soft thud, the screen momentarily lighting up with a generic wallpaper.

"I forgot my car keys in the foyer," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I left the engine running for the heater to stay on for the guard's shift. I’ll be right back, and then we can just... talk. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, my heart starting to race.
He leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to my temple. "I love you, Luciana. Don't forget that."

Then, he turned and walked out, leaving the door ajar. I heard his footsteps retreating down the long hallway, fading as he headed for the stairs.

I stared at the phone.

It was right there. No passwords. Just a swipe away from the truth. My heart hammered so loudly I was sure the guards outside could hear it. This was my only chance. If I didn't look now, I would never know if I was sleeping next to a protector or a murderer.

I set the pastry bag aside, my fingers trembling as I reached for the device. It felt heavy, like it was made of lead. I swiped up.

It opened instantly. He hadn't even locked it.
I bypassed the messages and went straight to the call logs. I scrolled past the business calls, past Theo, past the family council. And then, I saw it.

The "Unknown" number. The one Matteo had found.

There were dozens of calls. All outgoing. All made in the hours after the crash. My breath hitched. I tapped the info icon. My eyes scanned the duration of the call, but the calls weren’t answered.

Just as I was about to tap into the messages to see if there was a linked thread, a shadow fell across the bed.

I didn't hear the footsteps. I didn't hear the door open further.

"Finding what you were looking for, Luci?"

The voice was like a bucket of ice water poured over my soul. I gasped, the phone slipping from my hands and bouncing onto the duvet. I looked up, my face drained of all color.

Roman was standing in the doorway. He wasn't downstairs. He hadn't forgotten his keys. He was standing perfectly still, his arms folded, his eyes no longer weary or vulnerable. They were dark, void of the warmth he had just shown me.

"Roman... I... the phone buzzed, I was just—"

"Don't," he interrupted, the word sharp enough to draw blood. He stepped into the room, his presence suddenly suffocating. "Don't lie to me anymore. I watched you wait for me to leave. I watched your hand reach for it before I was even out of the hallway."

He walked to the bed and picked up the phone, glancing at the screen that was still showing the call logs. A bitter, ghost of a laugh escaped him.

"The burner phone log," he whispered, looking down at me. "You’ve been talking to Matteo. You’ve been playing detective while I’ve been trying to keep my father from putting a hit on you for being a liability."

I scrambled backward, hitting the headboard. "You called the driver, Roman! You called him over and over! Why? Why would you call the man who killed Andrian unless there was something behind it?"

Roman’s expression didn't change, but I saw a muscle jump in his jaw. He leaned over me, his hands pinning me against the headboard, his face inches from mine.

"I called him because I wanted to stop him from hurting my brother, and you. I didn’t know the deed was done already then.” he roared, the sound echoing off the walls.

"I found him before the police did. I called that phone while my men were skinning him alive to find out who paid him, but I was late already."

He pulled back, his chest heaving. "But you didn't think of that, did you? You chose to believe I was the monster because it’s easier to hate me, because you didn’t even know Andrian had to die because of you.”

The room went silent. The air was thick with the smell of almond croissants and the ruins of a marriage.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "What do you mean, Andrian died because of you.”

Roman stared at me, a look of profound pity crossing his face. 

With the look on his face, I just know I have messed up real bad.
What have I done to myself?