Sophia Mercer did not scream when her knees gave out.

Sophia stared at Roman, utterly bewildered by the proposal. "You want Eric to work for you? Doing what? He couldn't run a simple auto shop without driving it into bankruptcy!"

"Then he will learn how to do things right," Roman replied coldly, walking over to the window and looking out at the river. "My organization handles logistics, imports, and transport across the entire eastern seaboard. Men who think they can play games with syndicate money usually don't get a second chance. Eric is getting one because of you."

"Because of me?"

"Because you showed a level of loyalty and integrity that is entirely foreign in my world," Roman turned back to face her, his gaze locking onto hers with a piercing intensity. "You took a beating for a man who didn't deserve it, and you faced down monsters without shedding a single tear. I respect that. But you are not going back to Queens, and you are not living in that run-down apartment while your ribs heal."

Sophia crossed her arms, ignoring the twinge of pain in her side. "You can't just keep me here like a prisoner, Mr. Vale."

"It's not a prison, Sophia," Roman said, a faint, humorless smile touching the corner of his lips. "It's a sanctuary. You have free roam of the house, the staff is here to assist you with anything you need, and you are entirely safe. Try leaving if you want, but you'll find the gates locked and my men stationed outside."

It wasn't a threat; it was a statement of fact. Roman Vale didn't make idle threats.

Over the next week, Sophia’s life transformed into a surreal routine. True to his word, Roman provided her with absolute comfort. The house was a masterpiece of modern architecture, filled with natural light, quiet hallways, and an ever-attentive staff who brought her meals, changed her dressings, and ensured she lacked nothing.

Yet, she rarely saw Roman during the day. He left early in the morning, managing his vast empire of legitimate businesses and underground holdings, and returned late at night. Often, Sophia would wake up in the middle of the night and hear the low murmur of his voice from his study down the hall, conducting business calls in fluent Italian and English.

Despite the gilded cage, Sophia found herself growing restless. By the tenth day, she had shed the heavy pain medication, and though her ribs still ached when she moved too quickly, the bruised discoloration on her face had faded to a pale yellow.

On the eleventh evening, Roman returned earlier than usual. He found Sophia sitting in the massive glass-walled library on the ground floor, flipping through an old book on automotive history.

He paused in the doorway, loosening his tie. "You should be resting."

"I'm tired of resting," Sophia said, looking up from the pages. She closed the book and set it on the table. "You brought Eric here three days ago. I want to see him."

Roman walked into the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug. He stopped a few feet away from her chair. "Are you sure about that? He isn't looking his best. Hard labor at the shipping yards tends to humble a man quickly."