Chapter 9 - The Aftermath
The estate was silent again, save for the sound of rain pouring through shattered windows and the low groans of captured enemies being secured by Roman’s arriving reinforcements.
Roman dropped his weapon, sprinting down the blood-stained corridor toward the safe room.
“Harper!” he roared, his voice cracking with a terror no one had ever heard from Roman Moretti before.
Harper stepped out from behind the heavy steel door. Her dress was torn at the hem, her hands dusted with drywall powder, but she was completely unhurt. Behind her, Beatrice stepped out, shaken but safe.
Roman reached her in two strides, pulling Harper into his arms with violent strength, burying his face in her hair. His entire body was shaking.
“You’re safe... God, you’re safe...” Roman choked out, pressing desperate kisses to her hair, her forehead, her cheeks. “I thought I was too late...”
Harper held him tightly, her arms wrapped around his waist, feeling the wild, terrified pounding of his heart against her cheek. “We’re okay, Roman. Beatrice is safe.”
Roman pulled back slightly, looking at his mother. Beatrice stepped forward, her hands moving with quiet, profound authority.
She stood in front of the gun for me, Roman, Beatrice signed, her eyes glistening with tears. She protected your mother.
Roman looked down at Harper, his expression shifting from terror to an awe so profound it bordered on reverence. He knelt right there on the wet, concrete floor of the corridor, taking Harper’s small, dust-covered hands in his.
“You fought for my family,” Roman whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.
“I fought for our family,” Harper corrected softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead.
Roman pulled a black velvet box from his coat pocket—something he had been carrying for three days, waiting for the right moment. He opened it, revealing a magnificent diamond ring that caught the flickering light of the corridor.
“I was going to wait,” Roman said, looking up into her eyes with total vulnerability. “I was going to build you a world worthy of your grace. But life in my world is short, Harper, and I will not spend another day without you as my wife. Will you marry me?”
Beatrice gasped, clapping her hands together in joy as she watched her son.
May you like
Harper looked at the ring, then at the man kneeling before her—a man who ruled an empire, yet laid his heart completely at her feet.
“Yes,” Harper whispered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “Yes, Roman. I will.”
