Chapter 7 - A Taste of True Power
The Maybach rolled through the towering iron gates of the Thorne Estate on the northern cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. The mansion was a masterpiece of black stone and glass, perched majestically against the roaring waves below.
Roman guided Nadine inside. There were no armed thugs or dingy mafia stereotypes here; the halls were lined with priceless art, warm ambient lighting, and soaring vaulted ceilings.
"Welcome home, Nadine," Roman said, taking his coat from her shoulders.
A housekeeper appeared instantly with a tray of hot tea and fresh lavender towels. "Miss Nadine, your suite has been prepared. A selection of evening wear from Paris has just been delivered in your exact measurements."
Nadine looked at Roman with a mixture of wonder and caution. "My exact measurements? How did you know my size?"
"I notice things that matter," Roman replied smoothly, his eyes raking over the curve of her waist with undisguised appreciation. "And unlike your former fiancé, I have no desire to see you fit into a sample size made for an underfed mannequin. You are magnificent as you are."
Nadine’s stomach fluttered. In all her years with Grant, he had never once looked at her body with genuine hunger. It was always pity, always a comment about carbs or dress cuts designed to 'slenderize' her silhouette. Roman looked at her like she was a feast, a work of art he wanted to devour.
"I need a shower," she admitted quietly, feeling the grime of Grant's betrayal clinging to her skin.
"Take all the time you need," Roman said. "Tonight, we celebrate."
An hour later, Nadine stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the guest suite. She wore an emerald-green velvet evening gown that hugged every curve of her hips, cinched perfectly at her waist, and fell in heavy, shimmering folds to the floor. Her dark hair was swept up, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck.
When she stepped into the private dining room, Roman stood waiting. He wore a crisp black shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing the edge of an intricate tattoo curling up his collarbone. When he saw her, the breath left his chest.
He walked over, his dark eyes smoldering. Without asking for permission, he gently cupped her cheek, leaning in until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
"Grant Sterling was blind," Roman whispered, his thumb grazing her lower lip. "He held the crown jewel of this city and threw it away for glass."
"I am nobody's jewel, Roman," Nadine said softly, holding his gaze. "I am my own person."
"Even better," Roman smiled, a genuine, blinding smile that took her breath away. "That makes you an equal. Shall we eat?"
Over dinner, they talked for hours. Nadine spoke of her passion for international shipping logistics, the expansion plans Grant had repeatedly stolen and called his own, and her dreams of running her father's firm independently. Roman listened with razor-sharp attention, asking incisive questions, offering resources without imposing conditions.
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For the first time in her adult life, Nadine felt powerful. Not because a dangerous man was backing her, but because someone finally gave her the room to be herself.
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