CHAPTER 127: PULLING THE ZIP DOWN

"A true love starts with friendship," Julie sang, her voice soft and soothing, like a whisper carried by the evening breeze.

Roman, who had been focused on the road ahead, found his attention slipping toward her as her words laced the car with warmth.

"Kiss on the forehead and date night," she continued, her tone light yet filled with emotion.

"Faking apology after a fight,

I need a man who’s patient and kind,

Get out of the car and holds the door..."

Her gentle singing pulled at his chest like invisible threads. Roman glanced sideways, almost unconsciously, his gaze settling on her with quiet intensity.

Julie noticed and, startled, was about to stop mid-line. Her lips parted, ready to laugh off the moment, but before she could say a word, his low voice interrupted.

"Please... continue."

The request carried a softness she rarely heard from him. It wasn’t just polite—it was urging, almost vulnerable.

His eyes held hers for a beat before shifting back to the road, but his smile lingered.

Julie’s own lips curved into a shy smile, her heartbeat quickening. Encouraged, she let her voice rise again, stronger, clearer—this time carrying a depth that pierced Roman’s heart like an arrow.

"I wanna slow dance in the living room like,

We’re eighteen and senior prom and grow...

"I need a man who’s patient and kind,

I need a man who loves me like my father loves my mom..."

Her voice trailed off, lowering gently at the final word, leaving a silence that felt heavier than sound.

Roman suddenly pulled the car over to the roadside, making Julie tilt her head in question, confusion flickering across her face.

"You need a sound clap," he said simply, before breaking into a proud, loud round of applause.

His hands echoed through the small space, filling it with warmth.

Julie’s lips parted in surprise before she laughed, covering her face with her palm.

"I don’t know my lovely wife is a secret musician," Roman teased, winking at her with a boyish charm that made her cheeks flush instantly red.

He chuckled softly at the sight. "Ah, there it is—the best color in the world. My favorite shade on you."

Her blush deepened at his words, her heart fluttering wildly. Roman leaned back into his seat, his smile wide and unrestrained.

"I think after finishing school, you should pursue singing instead of being a suit designer."

Julie blinked, then laughed, biting her lip as she looked away. "Now you’re making me think twice about my decision to design suits," she admitted softly, then added with a playful smirk, "but still, I like it more, love."

The last word rolled off her tongue deliberately, accompanied by a devilish glance from beneath her lashes.

Roman raised a brow at the mischievous smirk that curled on her lips.

For a moment, he considered teasing her back, but instead, he only shook his head, chuckling under his breath.

She always managed to surprise him—in the gentlest, most disarming ways.

And he loves that much more than anything.

---

Roman restarted the car with a smooth motion, the low hum of the engine filling the silence.

His jaw was set in quiet determination, though his eyes softened whenever they flickered toward the woman beside him. He knew better than to linger on the roadside.

With his status, his name, and the shadowed world he commanded, he could never afford to stay parked openly around the city. Alone, he would not have cared.

He had faced bullets, betrayals, and ambushes without flinching. But now, it wasn’t just his life in play—it was hers.

His wife.

The thought carried a weight that was both grounding and consuming.

Ever since he had pulled her into his world, introducing her—however unwillingly—to the darkest corners he walked daily, Roman had sworn to himself that her safety would remain untouchable.

No risk was worth her harm.

---

Later, within the sanctuary of their home, the tone shifted.

The night air outside no longer mattered; the silence of their estate wrapped around them like a shield.

Julie stood in front of the tall mirror in the walk-in closet, her reflection delicate and serene under the warm lighting.

Her gown shimmered faintly, the fabric hugging her shape, though her brows knitted in mild frustration as her fingers struggled behind her.

"Now..." Roman’s deep voice broke through the quiet, a command veiled in gentleness. " You will be the one to take the bath first?" He question.

Julie blinked, catching his eyes in the mirror. "Yes," she murmured softly, her lips curving into a tired smile.

"I will take a bath, but... ehm..." Her words trailed as she tugged at the stubborn zipper running down her back.

The delicate line refused to move, no matter how she twisted her arm.

A faint sound of annoyance escaped her throat. She hummed under her breath, struggling, her cheeks puffing in frustration.

Roman’s lips twitched into an amused smirk.

He stepped forward with unhurried grace, his tall frame closing the distance in silence.

Julie, caught up in her battle with the zipper, didn’t notice until he was right there.

Then his hand touched her shoulder.

Julie nearly flinched, a sharp breath escaping her lips, her eyes widening at the sudden warmth pressing gently through the fabric of her gown.

She hadn’t realized he had moved so close. His presence behind her was overwhelming, commanding without effort.

In the mirror, she caught the reflection of his gaze—dark, steady, and softened with something she couldn’t quite name.

His other hand reached toward the zipper, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her back as he tugged at the delicate metal. The contact made her breath hitch.

Roman lowered his voice, so low it almost rumbled against her ear. "You should have called me earlier. Why struggle alone?"

Julie lowered her eyes, her lips parting, though no answer came. Her reflection gave her away—her cheeks tinged pink.

He gently drew her hand away from the zipper—the one caught right where her bra clasp sat at the middle of her back.

His fingers were warm, steady, patient; hers were tense and a little cold.

"Allow me to do this," Roman said, voice low and certain, his breath brushing the fine hairs at her nape.

His hand moved to the zipper.

Julie swallowed hard. The simple thought of him opening her dress made her pulse trip and stutter.

She nodded—once, small, obedient—though heat climbed her throat in a rush.

It was the first time a man had ever helped her out of a dress; embarrassment and anticipation braided tight in her chest.

He didn’t wait another heartbeat. Two fingers found the tiny pull. The metal kissed his knuckles; the fabric cooled his skin. He gave a careful tug.

Nothing.

The sound it made was barely a sound at all—just a faint, stubborn click, like teeth refusing to part.

Julie’s shoulders rose with her breath, then held. She watched him in the mirror: the clean line of his jaw, the focus in his eyes, the way his brow dipped a fraction as if negotiating with the zipper itself.

Roman added a touch more strength, angling the pull downward. The dress resisted, the fabric drawing taut across her back.

Each measured tug sent a thin thrill up her spine, not pain—never pain—just awareness: of his closeness, of the careful control in his hands, of how near his mouth was to the soft place below her ear.

Her lips parted; her mouth felt suddenly dry, as though the room had swallowed all its moisture and stored it in her burning cheeks.

"Easy," he murmured, as much to the zipper as to her.

He tried again—firmer. The tape bit back, the slider stalling as if caught on the smallest, most defiant thread.

The more he coaxed, the tighter it seemed to lock, an invisible knot drawing itself just out of sight.

The hush of the closet made every attempt loud: the whisper of fabric, the tiny scrape of metal, the careful exhale he released so he wouldn’t rush her or the moment.

Julie stood very still, fingers curled at her sides. The warm, cedar-tinged scent of him—soap and something darker—wrapped around her.

In the mirror, her eyes were wide, lashes trembling. She could feel the steady heat of his body, a breath away.

The intimacy of it made her want to both lean back and step forward, to surrender and to flee.

She swallowed again; the movement tugged at the neckline of her dress.

Roman’s eyes narrowed—thinking, measuring. Then, without a word, he shifted.

In the next second he eased behind her lower, lowering until he was on his toes, a precise crouch that brought his gaze level with the snag.

His shoulders brushed the soft fall of the skirt; his hands bracketed the zipper with surgeon-care attention.

From the mirror, Julie watched the change in angle, the focus. Half nervous had become something sharper, feather-light and electric, as if she might sprout wings and lift off just to escape the gravity between them.

The sight of him kneeling—so composed, so intent—sent a startled flutter through her chest.

Before he could reach again, she spun, quick and bright with panic and something else.

The hem whispered; the dress sighed. Roman froze on his knees, hands poised mid-air.

Their faces ended inches apart—her breath warm on his lips, his gaze steady and dark, the stubborn zipper a silent witness at her back.