Roman’s POV.
The last thing I expected that afternoon was to see her name flashing on my phone screen.
Jena.
Ariana’s mother.
I just stared at it, thumb hovering, brain short-circuiting. She hadn’t called me in months not since the aftermath of everything. My jaw clenched, stomach tightening as I finally accepted the call.
"Roman," she said, her voice clipped, irritated. "Can you come over? Now."
No explanation. No greeting. Just that sharp motherly command I’d always hated.
I didn’t know why I said yes. Maybe because Ariana had been acting strange all week—distant, distracted, restless. Maybe because I was tired of being left in the dark. Or maybe because deep down, something ugly inside me already knew this wasn’t just a casual chat.
I drove to the estate with my teeth grinding t
