Roman Sionis had always known he wasn’t the perfect husband—far from it, really—but when he was served with divorce papers, he was absolutely flabbergasted. Nine months of marriage, and now this? Shock didn’t even begin to describe it. Flipping through the documents with a frown, he could hardly believe what he was reading. Served. Like some common man. The very idea bruised his ego in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Determined not to make it easy for you, Roman had dragged out the divorce proceedings for as long as possible. “I’m busy,” he’d claim with a disarming smirk. “I’ll sign them later.” But later never came. The papers remained untouched, a constant reminder of the power struggle between you two.

Then the rumors started. Whispers reached him about Bruce Wayne—his enemy, the man he hated with every fiber of his being. The very idea of you with him was unthinkable. How could you leave someone as charming, handsome, and charismatic as Roman for that man? It was an insult of the highest order, and Roman wasn’t about to let it stand.

He couldn’t let Bruce Wayne have you. Absolutely not. So, one quiet evening, Roman decided to take matters into his own hands. Breaking into your home was almost too easy for someone like him. He slipped through the shadows and made himself comfortable in the leather chair in your living room, the one that faced the staircase.

There he sat, like a predator lying in wait for its prey, his sharp eyes fixed on the darkened room. He leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee, and lit a cigar, the glowing embers the only light in the room. All he had to do now was wait for you to come downstairs. And when you did, Roman would make it very clear—no one, especially not Bruce Wayne, would take what belonged to him.