The slap was loud enough to stop a ballroom orchestra on the other side of the wall.

Norah sat in the wingback chair near the fire, her knees pulled up slightly, watching him.

"You didn't have to threaten to destroy him, you know," Norah said softly, breaking the long silence. "Julian is just a coward. Once he realized you weren't going to give him money, he was never going to come back."

"Cowards are the most dangerous kind of enemies, Norah," Roman replied without turning around. "They don't fight fair, and they look for whatever crack they can find in the armor. Julian knows you're pregnant. That means the March family knows. And if Selene or her father decide to use Julian to file a paternity suit just to drag our name through the mud, it will create a media circus we don't need."

"Let them try," Norah said, her voice steady. "DNA doesn't lie. The baby is yours. Everyone who matters knows it."

Roman finally turned away from the window. He walked over, kneeling beside her chair, and rested his large hand gently on her stomach. The hostility that had defined his posture moments before vanished, replaced by an expression of profound, quiet devotion.

"I know it's mine," Roman whispered, looking up into her eyes. "From the moment I met you in that diner, Norah... I knew my life had changed. I just didn't expect the universe to hand me everything I never knew I was missing."

Norah smiled, reaching down to stroke his dark hair. "You were so lonely that night, Roman. Even with all your money and your power. You sat there drinking cold coffee and staring at the rain like the world owed you an apology."

"The world didn't owe me anything. I owed the world a debt for making me so cold," Roman admitted, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "And then you sat down at the counter, ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, and started crying over a discarded newspaper crossword puzzle."

"I was having a terrible day," Norah laughed softly. "My husband had just told me he wanted a divorce, I had three dollars in my purse, and my shoes leaked."

"And you refused my offer to pay for your meal because you said charity tastes like pity," Roman smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened the harsh angles of his face. "That was the exact second I fell in love with you."

The tender moment was interrupted by the sharp, shrill ring of the secure satellite phone resting on Roman’s desk.

Roman’s expression hardened instantly. He stood up, walking over to the desk and picking up the receiver.

"Calder," he answered crisply.

Norah watched as Roman’s face went completely blank—the mask of the ruthless executive sliding back into place with terrifying precision.

"Talk to me, Miller," Roman instructed.

A tin muffled voice crackled from the speaker. It was Miller, the head of his private security detail.

“Boss, we intercepted an encrypted data burst originating from a private server in downtown Providence. It was routed through three proxy servers in Zurich, but we managed to trace the origin point.”

"Whose server?" Roman asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous chill.

“The March family holding corporation. Specifically, Arthur March—Selene’s father.”

Norah’s breath hitched. She stood up from her chair, walking closer to the desk.

"What were they transmitting?" Roman demanded.

“Financial dossiers, background checks on Mrs. Calder, and... wire transfer receipts directed to a local private investigator who specializes in defamation campaigns and fabricated paternity claims. They’re digging into your past, Boss, trying to find anything they can use to invalidate your marriage certificate or prove a prior relationship.”

The room seemed to grow colder. Roman’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the edge of the desk.

"They want a war," Roman said quietly, his eyes dark as an abyss. "They thought a slap in a hotel hallway was the end of it. They have no idea what they've invited into their lives."

“What are your orders, Mr. Calder? Shall we shut down their logistics network tonight?”

"No," Roman said, a thin, ruthless smile touching his lips. "Let them lay their traps. Let Arthur March spend every last dime he has trying to dig up dirt. But plant a false file in their target zone—something that makes them think they've found a fatal flaw in our marriage license."

“A honey trap, Boss?”

"Exactly," Roman replied smoothly. "Let them bite. And when they take the bait and try to file an injunction in court, we will rip the rug out from under them so hard the entire March enterprise collapses before the end of the week."

“Consider it done, Mr. Calder.”

The line went dead with a click.

Roman set the phone back on its cradle and turned to face Norah. He expected her to look frightened, or to argue against his aggressive retaliation.

Instead, Norah stood tall, her chin held high, the ghost of the battered woman in the hotel basement completely gone, replaced by a fierce, unyielding partner.

"Destroy them," Norah said quietly.

Roman blinked, surprised. "Norah—"

"I told you yesterday, Roman: I’m done being a victim," Norah said, walking right up to him and placing her hand over his heart. "If Arthur March wants to play dirty, let him find out what happens when he goes to war against a Calder."