CHAPTER 141: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ’HE MIGHT’?"

Laila’s voice was sharp but weary as she let her eyes settle on the man sitting opposite her, his frame stiff with unspent rage.

"Laila... please, if you won’t say something that will soothe this heart of mine and calm me down, then leave."

The man shifted in his leather armchair, his jaw tightening until the vein at his temple throbbed.

The fire from the marble hearth flickered across his face, illuminating his stern profile and the deep lines carved into it from years of scheming.

He was none other than Roman’s uncle—Griffin Thompson.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint hiss of the logs burning.

Laila leaned forward, her silk gown whispering as it brushed against the floor. Her eyes, cold and calculating, never left his face.

"Back then," she said slowly, her voice dipped in venom, "we planned everything together. We killed your brother... and his wife. Right?"

Griffin’s eyes flicked to her, sharp and guarded, as though the walls themselves might be listening.

His teeth ground together before he gave a curt nod.

"Yes. And what did we get for it?" His lip curled with disdain. "Nothing but a seat at the table while his son is crowned heir in front of us all." He spat the words like poison, his hand curling into a fist on the armrest.

Laila tilted her head, studying him with a knowing look, the corner of her mouth curling into something that was not quite a smile.

"And yet..." she whispered, "this time, my plan will fall into place."

Her words caught him. Griffin’s brows furrowed, suspicion flaring across his rugged face.

He turned to her fully, his dark eyes narrowing. "Why do you say that?"

She held his gaze, unblinking, as though weighing how much truth to spill.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her knee, a steady rhythm of patience and calculation.

Then she leaned back, exhaling slowly through her nose.

"Of course it will fall into place. Don’t forget—this one has no son, no daughter. He is nothing more than a single man."

Griffin’s shoulders loosened slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on her.

Laila’s words slithered into the room like smoke.

"I believe," she continued with icy calm, "he will die as one."

Griffin’s head jerked slightly at the sound of her laughter—sharp, deliberate, echoing through the villa like a cruel hymn.

She threw her head back, her shoulders shaking as the sound grew louder.

The firelight danced across her face, highlighting the delight etched into her features.

When her laughter faded into a grin, she leaned forward again, eyes gleaming with malice.

"Then, my dear husband, I believe you should speed up your plan. Because if you delay..." she paused, letting the silence hang heavy, "...he might marry. He might have a child. And then what?"

The words struck him, and Griffin’s head tilted, his brow arching slowly.

"What do you mean ’he might’?" His tone was low, suspicious, threaded with the edge of a man who smelled betrayal in the air.

Laila’s smile widened, feline and dangerous.

She let her gaze linger on him for a moment before replying, her voice dripping with triumph.

"Ah, so you truly haven’t heard, have you?"

Griffin’s jaw clenched, his patience thinning. "Heard what?" he snapped.

"That your precious nephew," she said with mocking sweetness, "has already been seen with a woman."

" Not just any woman, but a young one—a delicate little thing from that prestigious university of his."

Griffin stilled, his eyes narrowing to slits. His voice came out slow, curling around the words like a snake. "I didn’t."

"No, of course you didn’t." Laila’s chuckle was soft but sharp, like glass underfoot.

She rose from her seat, her gown sweeping around her ankles as she glided toward him.

Her perfume—something floral, deceptively sweet—filled the air as she leaned down, close enough that he could see the sly curve of her lips.

"And that," she whispered, "is why I downloaded it for you. Because if we were to look for it now, every trace would be erased."

His brows lifted slightly as she slipped her phone into his palm. The device felt heavy, like a weapon.

Griffin’s eyes flickered with something dark as the video played across the small screen.

He sat back slowly, his breathing steady but shallow. His gaze sharpened with every passing second.

There, in glaring clarity, was Roman.

His nephew. The boy whose parents they had murdered, now grown into a man untouchable in power. And beside him—no, not beside, with him—was a girl.

Julie.

Griffin’s lips pressed into a hard line as he watched Roman usher her into his sleek black car, his hand resting protectively at the small of her back.

Convoy cars followed as the engine roared to life, pulling away in a blur of flashing lights and tinted windows.

The footage was grainy, but the message was unmistakable.

Roman Thompson was no longer a solitary man. He had chosen someone.

Griffin exhaled heavily through his nose, a dangerous calm settling over him.

"Yes," he said at last, his voice dark and deliberate. "By the way he holds her... by the way he shields her... it won’t be long before they marry."

His eyes snapped up to meet Laila’s, the firelight glinting off the cold steel in his stare.

"And when that happens, we won’t just hear wedding bells. We’ll hear the announcement of an heir."

Laila’s smile stretched wider, satisfaction gleaming in her expression.

She nodded once, slow and deliberate, her earrings catching the firelight. "Exactly."

For a long moment, silence pressed down on them, broken only by the steady crackle of firewood and the faint ticking of the gilded clock on the wall.

Griffin’s knuckles tightened around the phone until it creaked.

The video had spoken more loudly than words ever could. Their carefully laid sins of the past were no longer enough.

If Roman had found a bride, if he dared to have a child, their claim to everything would vanish like smoke.

And so, in that opulent villa, beneath the watchful eyes of ancestors painted on the walls, the two conspirators exchanged a look. A silent vow.

If Roman Thompson thought his life was finally his own, he was wrong

In the wide expanse of Roman’s master bedroom, the morning light filtered softly through the floor-to-ceiling curtains, pale gold rays spilling across the polished floor and catching on the silk sheets.

The air was quiet except for the steady rhythm of their breaths and the faint hum of the city outside, distant and muted behind the thick glass windows.

Julie lay nestled in Roman’s arms, her cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his chest.

His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath her ear, a sound she had come to know as comfort itself.

She let her fingers trace idly along his skin, marveling at the contrast of her delicate hand against his broad frame.

Her lips curved faintly as a thought flickered through her mind.

’ How will our child look like?’

The question, unspoken but alive in her heart, startled her with its suddenness.

She lifted her gaze to the man sleeping peacefully beside her, his features relaxed and softened by slumber.

Roman, the grown man feared by many, looked almost boyish in that vulnerable stillness.

His dark lashes rested heavily against his skin, his breathing slow and even.

Julie’s chest tightened. The idea of a child—their child—brought a strange warmth to her heart, a mix of excitement and a shy sort of fear.

But then, as her eyes darted to the clock on the bedside table, reality jolted her.

The numbers glared at her accusingly. Her eyes widened, and in a rush, she sat up, sheets slipping down her shoulders.

"Roman!" she exclaimed, reaching for his arm. Her voice was urgent, laced with a hint of panic. "Get up—you’ll be late for work!"

She shook his shoulder gently but insistently, her hair tumbling forward, brushing against his bare skin.

Roman stirred, his lashes fluttering open.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes heavy with sleep but warm with affection.

Then, instead of rising, he let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and rich, and reached out to pull her back into his embrace.

Julie gasped softly as she tumbled against him, landing atop his chest.

Her palms pressed against his skin instinctively, and she froze, her face flushing at the feel of his bare torso beneath her hands.

His warmth seeped through her fingers, grounding and overwhelming all at once.

"Roman," she tried again, though her voice had softened.

But Roman only smiled, his lips curving lazily as his arms wrapped securely around her waist, holding her in place as if he had no intention of letting go.

His hand rested at the small of her back, fingers splayed possessively.

"Both of us will slack off today," he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep. The timbre of it rumbled through his chest beneath her ear.

"For the past weeks and months, we’ve been busy—always running, always handling one thing after another."

He shifted slightly, his thumb stroking her side. "Today, I want to rest. With you."

Julie blinked at him, her heart skipping at the simple weight of his words. Rest with her.

No grand declarations, no complicated plans—just the two of them, in this quiet cocoon.

She swallowed, her resolve to push him out of bed melting away.

Slowly, she lowered her head back against him, her ear once again catching the steady cadence of his heart.

His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, and she found herself smiling softly.

Roman’s fingers traced lazy circles at her waist, and after a moment, he tilted his head to look at her more directly.

"What were you thinking of," he asked quietly, his lips brushing the crown of her hair, "when you kept staring at me?"

Julie’s lips curved, her cheeks warming with a secret she wasn’t ready to voice.

’Oh my he wasn’t asleep as I thought,’ Julie said in her head she gulped but he cut that.

She tilted her head just slightly, enough that he could feel the small smile against his skin.

"Nothing," she whispered, though her heart told her otherwise.

She cuddled closer, pressing her face against his chest, hiding the blush that crept across her features.

His heartbeat answered her silence with steady reassurance, as if it already knew the truth she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud.

And in that room, with sunlight spilling around them, time seemed to pause—just the two of them, wrapped in warmth, in the kind of peace neither had known before.