Chapter 1
Roman Hayes woke to the taste of something bitter on his tongue — and the sound of someone moving across marble floors.
He blinked.
Dim light filtered through the sheer hotel curtains, brushing the gold-rimmed furniture and the half-drunk bottle of something expensive still standing on the side table. His head throbbed—not from drinking, but from the slow, creeping realization that something about this morning was... wrong.
His jacket was draped over the back of an armchair. His phone was face-down. And a woman stood at the sink, washing her hands.
She wasn’t wearing her shoes. Or makeup. But she was wearing a ring.
And so was he.
> “You’re awake,” she said, voice low. Not apologetic. Not surprised.
Roman sat up slowly, pulse measured. “Apparently.”
The silence that followed was almost polite. She wiped her hands with a towel and turned to face him fully — dark eyes calm, expression unreadable. She looked young. Ordinary. Not the type of woman who married strangers in Vegas.
But she had.
And unless this was a very bad dream, he had too.
> “Before you ask,” she said carefully, “yes, it’s real. You signed. Twice.”
He said nothing.
Not because he didn’t believe her — he’d already looked down at his left hand and seen the faint imprint of something terrifyingly permanent.
But because she didn’t sound nervous. Or ashamed. She sounded like someone... waiting.
> “Do you remember anything?” she asked.
His gaze narrowed. “Enough.”
Which was true. He remembered sitting at the bar, watching her drink something citrusy and cheap. He remembered her laughter — not loud, but sudden and real. He remembered her saying something like, "I don’t believe in backup plans." And then he remembered her hand in his, the clerk at the wedding chapel, the pen.
But not why.
He looked at her again. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t speaking. She was just standing there — still barefoot, still composed — letting him put the pieces together.
Which he didn’t like.
> “So,” he said, rising to his feet. “Who are you?”
She didn’t flinch.
> “Leah Voss.”
She said it like it was supposed to mean something.
Roman tilted his head slightly, watching her. “What do you want, Leah Voss?”
> “Nothing,” she said smoothly. “Just... time.”
And that was when he knew.
This wasn’t a one-night mistake.
This was something else.
