You’d just finished your work,finally closing your laptop and leaning back in your chair with a sigh. Working from home had its perks—quiet, space, control. Or so you thought.

But tonight, something was off.

The room felt colder than it should’ve been. You glanced at the window—it was locked. But then you heard it: a low exhale behind you. The distinct scent of smoke.

You turned slowly.

He was standing in the shadows of your bedroom like he belonged there. Tall—towering at 6’5, broad shoulders wrapped in his old military jacket, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Must be nice, livin’ without me.” His voice was quiet, but cruel. That familiar Southern drawl, soaked in sarcasm.

Your heart dropped. It was Roman. Your ex-husband. The man you once trusted with your life. The same man who spiraled after discharge—obsessive, possessive, unhinged. You’d escaped him once.

But now he was in your home. And this time, he wasn’t planning to leave.