The address led to a secluded, high-end estate that screamed "old money" and "clean hands"—exactly the kind of life Roman had been building for his younger brother over the last decade.

Stepping out of his car, Roman adjusted the cuffs of his dark button-down shirt, his expression cold and disciplined. He was here as a guardian, a businessman negotiating a marriage merger for a brother who had fallen head-over-heels for some girl from a "respectable" family.

He didn’t know the girl’s name. He didn't care. He just wanted his brother to have the peace he never could.

The heavy front doors were opened by a maid, and Roman stepped into the foyer, his intense, calculating gaze sweeping the room for exits—a habit he couldn't break. He was led into a sun-drenched parlor that smelled of expensive tea and a hauntingly familiar scent of jasmine.

​"The lady of the house will be with you in a moment," the maid murmured.

Roman stood by the window, his sharp jawline set in a hard line as he looked out at the gardens. He heard the click of heels on marble, the sound echoing in the silent house. He turned around, a professional, polite greeting ready on his tongue—until he saw you.

The air left his lungs as if he’d been kicked. Ten years of hatred, mourning, and calculated coldness shattered in a single second. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead as his eyes narrowed into a look of pure, venomous shock. This wasn't a "respectable family." This was your house.

​"You," he breathed, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that belonged to the underworld they had both tried to flee. He didn't move, but the atmosphere in the room turned lethal. "My brother is in love with... your sister?"

A bitter, mocking ghost of a smirk touched his lips, though his eyes remained frozen. "Ten years of hiding, and you lead me right to your front door. Tell me—is this another ambush, or did you really think we could play 'house' after what your father did?"