Chapter 3 - The Coward’s Call
Norah’s breath hitched.
Julian Vale.
The name alone felt like an old ghost crawling out of a closet she had locked away months ago. She hadn't spoken to Julian since the perfunctory ten-minute divorce hearing where he had treated the dissolution of their three-year marriage with the detached efficiency of a business merger.
"Don't answer it," Norah said, her hand reaching out to touch Roman’s sleeve. "He isn't worth your time."
"He's worth whatever time I choose to give him," Roman replied smoothly, his eyes cold as winter ice. "Especially after what happened today."
He tapped the speakerphone icon and set the device down on the desk between them.
For a second, there was only static and the heavy sound of breathing on the other end. Then Julian’s familiar, smooth-as-oil voice filtered through the room.
"Roman? Thank God you picked up," Julian rushed out, sounding genuinely panicked. "Listen, I don't know what kind of game is being played downtown, but Selene is hysterical. She’s locked in her penthouse, her father’s corporate accounts have just been frozen by your legal team, and half the board of the Bellweather Hotel has received termination notices!"
Roman leaned back in his chair, resting his hands casually on his knees. His voice was silky, dangerous, and completely flat.
"And why are you calling me about this, Julian?"
"Because you own the controlling stake now!" Julian sputtered. "Look, I don't know what kind of leverage that crazy ex-wife of mine used to get you involved in her little vendetta, but she’s a nobody, Roman! She worked in the laundry room for a reason. She’s unstable, she’s vindictive, and whatever lies she told you about—"
"Julian," Roman interrupted softly.
The single word carried so much quiet menace that the speakerphone crackled with sudden silence.
"Yes?" Julian whispered.
"The woman you are referring to as 'unstable' is my legally wedded wife," Roman said, each word falling like a lead weight. "The child she is carrying is my heir. And the hotel laundry room she was working in was an insulting little charade she engaged in because she wanted absolute independence before telling me the truth about your incompetence."
A long, suffocating pause stretched across the phone line.
"Your... your wife?" Julian choked out, the sound of his breath catching in his throat. "You... you and Norah? That's... that's impossible! You're Roman Calder!"
"And she is Norah Bellamy-Calder," Roman finished for him. "Which brings us to why your phone is ringing. Your firm's primary philanthropic fundraiser is hosted at the Bellweather next month, correct?"
"Y-yes," Julian stammered. "The coastal restoration gala. It's my biggest account of the year."
"Was your biggest account," Roman corrected casually. "As of two minutes ago, my office has rescinded your sponsorship contract, barred you from the premises, and notified the state attorney general’s office to audit the charitable donations your firm managed over the last twelve months."
"You can't do that!" Julian shrieked, the panic in his voice turning desperate. "That will destroy my career! I'll be blacklisted across the entire East Coast!"
"You should have thought about that before you let your new socialite fiancée physically assault a pregnant woman in a hallway bearing my name," Roman said, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "Consider this a professional courtesy, Julian. If you ever speak Norah's name again, or if I ever hear that you've come within a mile of her, you won't just lose your career. You'll lose everything."
Click.
Roman reached over and ended the call, cutting off Julian’s frantic, incoherent pleading.
The room fell silent again, save for the crackle of the fireplace.
Norah stared at Roman, her eyes wide. "You audited his charity funds?"
"I’ve suspected him of skimming donor funds for over a year," Roman said calmly, picking up his tea mug. "I simply accelerated the investigation. Men like Julian Vale survive by stepping on people who can't fight back. When they encounter someone who can punch harder, they fold like paper houses."
Norah let out a long, shaky breath. A massive weight seemed to lift off her shoulders—not just the fear of Julian, but the lingering shadow of a marriage where she had always felt small and inadequate.
May you like
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Don't thank me," Roman said, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank our son or daughter for giving me a very good excuse."
