Chapter 5 What He Won't Say

I didn't confront him.

That was the smart decision and I knew it.

Confronting Roman Hale with nothing but a name and a late night text meant he could deny it, seal it back up, and make me look unstable. I was living in his house on his salary with a debt that wasn't finished yet.

I needed more.

So I smiled at breakfast.

Managed his 7 am call.

Rearranged his afternoon to absorb two cancelled meetings.

Was exactly what he paid me to be.

And I watched.

---

Day twelve.

His mood changed.

I noticed it the way you notice weather - before it fully arrived. He was sharper on calls. Shorter. The staff moved differently around him, more careful, and Mrs. Aldeen told me quietly at lunch: "When he gets like this, stay with the work. Don't give him anything extra to respond to."

I filed that away.

"Like this meaning what?" I asked.

She looked at me for a moment. Decided something.

"Every year around this time," she said. Then she stopped.

"Around what?" I said.

She picked up her tea. "Ask him yourself."

She walked away.

---

That afternoon I brought him a contract revision he'd requested.

He was at his desk. Not on a call. Just sitting with one hand flat on the desk and his eyes on a point somewhere past the wall.

I put the documents down.

Turned to leave.

"Sit down," he said.

I sat.

He didn't look at the documents.

He looked at me.

"You've been different since day nine," he said.

"Work is going well."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

I held his eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

He leaned back. Crossed his arms.

Roman Hale studying you was not a comfortable thing. It was thorough. Like he was reading past your face into whatever you'd had for breakfast and what you'd dreamed about and what you were afraid of.

"You went quiet after Voss's visit," he said.

"I had a lot to manage that day."

"Chloe."

My name again.

"I'm fine," I said.

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he stood up.

Moved to the window.

The afternoon light came in flat and hard and I watched his reflection in the glass because I could read his face better at an angle than straight on.

"I had a son," he said.

The air left the room.

I didn't move.

"Four years ago." His voice was flat. Controlled. "The relationship was short. The woman was - she was in a difficult position. There were people around me at the time who made decisions they thought were in everyone's best interest." He paused. "Without my knowledge."

I couldn't speak.

"I found out fourteen months ago," he said. "What was done? What was arranged." His jaw moved. "By the time I found out, the agency was gone, the records were sealed, and I had - I had nothing."

The photograph is from Ashford.

The wall in the corridor room.

He turned around.

And I saw it - for just a second, through the seal of him - the same man from the floor of that suite.

Destroyed.

"Why are you telling me this?" I said. My voice came out barely above flat.

He looked at me.

For a long time.

Something in his face was doing something I couldn't name and the way he was looking at me was not the way an employer looked at an assistant.

"I don't know," he said.

Honest.

The most honest thing he had said to me.

I stood up.

"I need some air," I said.

He didn't stop me.

---

I went to the garden.

Sat on the stone bench at the far end where the hedges were high and nobody could see me from the house.

Put my hands between my knees.

He didn't know.

He genuinely didn't know.

He had been searching for a child.

I had been trying to forget one.

And whatever wires had crossed to put me in that room at that gala - whatever had moved me through the specific chain of events that landed me in his house - it was not random.

Nothing about this was random.

I had a son somewhere.

He had a son somewhere.

The same son.

And the man who had unknowingly been responsible for tearing him away from both of us had just looked at me like he was trying to remember a dream.

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

Denko's voice.

"Thirty days is twenty-two days now, Miss Banks. Thought I'd remind you."

I closed my eyes.

"I'm working on it."

"Work faster." A pause. "Nice house you're staying in, by the way."

The call ended.

I lowered the phone.

He knew I was here.

Of course he knew.

Which meant if I ran - if I confronted Roman and it went wrong and I lost this job - Denko would be waiting.

And if I stayed silent - if I kept this inside and kept playing the assistant - I was living under the same roof as the father of my child and lying to his face every day.

I looked up at the house.

Roman was at the window.

Watching me.

Not moving.

Just watching.

The way he had been watching, I was beginning to understand, since long before the night at the Ashford.

I held his gaze across the distance.

Neither of us looked away.

---

That night I went back to the locked folder on my phone.

I opened a photograph of my son.

I looked at it for a long time.

Then I did something I hadn't done in four years.

I let myself cry.

Not for long.

But real.

Then I dried my face.

And started making a plan.

---