Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 62: What hurts more than bullets

Chapter 62: What hurts more than bullets

Julie turned and walked briskly back inside, her fingers tightening around her phone, the sleek surface now an anchor to a storm of uncertainty.

Malone’s tension hadn’t been ordinary; his voice, clipped and strained, had given her chills.

Whatever he had to say wasn’t just urgent—it was dangerous. The kind of danger that slithered in the shadows, waiting to strike.

She pushed open the bedroom door, her steps quick and measured, her mind already racing.

Roman stood near the mirror, buttoning up a fitted black shirt.

The fabric stretched across his broad shoulders as he moved with practiced ease, the subtle grace of someone accustomed to both power and precision.

When he saw her, he paused, turning slightly. His piercing gaze, sharp and observant, locked onto her immediately.

"Julie?" he asked, his voice low, the hint of concern creeping through the calm façade.

His brow furrowed ever so slightly, the silent question hanging between them. What was wrong?

Julie took a steadying breath. "It’s Malone," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes flicking nervously to the floor before meeting his again.

"He was looking for you. He said it’s something important. Urgent. He didn’t tell me what—only insisted it had to be you."

Roman didn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t need to. The moment the words left her lips, his entire demeanor shifted.

His expression hardened, the vulnerability in his eyes vanishing as if it had never been there.

The lines of his face sharpened, his gaze turning cold and unreadable.

He nodded once, his movements precise as he slipped past her, the air around him suddenly heavier with intent.

Julie hesitated for a moment, standing frozen in the doorway, her breath caught in her throat as Roman moved with purpose.

She followed him to the door, but stopped just before stepping outside.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him walk into the garden, his silhouette a striking contrast against the darkening sky.

Malone was waiting, standing tall in the shadows.

The second Roman appeared, Malone straightened, his posture stiff and formal. "Master," he greeted, his voice clipped, almost reverent.

Roman didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

His voice, now low and commanding, sliced through the tension that hung in the air. "What happened?"

Malone’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line, his expression hardening as he glanced briefly at the house, ensuring no one could overhear.

He leaned in, lowering his voice so it was barely above a whisper. "There’s been an attack, sir."

Roman’s eyes narrowed, narrowing with the deadly focus that only came when the stakes were high.

"Where?" His voice was a low rasp, like the sound of a predator’s growl before the kill.

"One of our warehouse outposts—the one near the port," Malone responded.

"It was raided last night.

Four of our men were found dead this morning—execution style."

Roman’s entire body froze, every muscle tensing as if the very mention of death had sent a jolt of electricity through his veins.

His eyes flickered, calculating, like a hunter’s before a fight.

"And the cargo?" His voice was tighter now, barely contained.

"Untouched," Malone said, his tone dark with implication. "That’s what makes it worse.

They didn’t come to steal anything. They came to send a message."

Roman’s face transformed, his features tightening into a mask of stone.

His jaw clenched, his lips pressing together in a thin line as the weight of the message settled in his chest.

The fury within him began to simmer, his breath becoming shallow as the calm before the storm gathered.

"They left something behind," Malone added, his hand moving to his inner pocket.

He pulled out a black envelope, thick and ominous.

The seal was a deep red wax, embossed with an insignia—a jaguar’s claw slashing across the surface, a symbol both fierce and unmistakable.

Roman reached out, his fingers brushing the smooth surface of the envelope before he slowly, deliberately, broke the seal.

He opened it with the care of someone who understood the gravity of what was inside. Inside, he found a single photograph.

Julie.

Her image was caught from a distance, her figure walking towards the company RJ building, unaware of the eyes that had been watching her.

The photo was recent—taken only a few days ago when they visited the company together.

Roman’s eyes hardened, but it was his jaw that clenched tight, the muscle twitching as his grip tightened on the paper.

Beneath the photo, a message was scrawled in bold, blood-red ink:

"You took what was ours. Now we take what’s yours."

The words burned like acid in his gut. His pulse quickened, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury.

The air around him seemed to grow colder as the storm inside him raged.

Julie, who had stepped just outside as the wind shifted, caught a glimpse of the photo in his hand.

The faint color of red, the sharpness of the image, immediately caught her attention.

"What’s that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and concern.

Roman turned to her, his expression unreadable, a mask of stone that revealed nothing.

His eyes, however, held something darker—a warning, a promise.

"Stay inside," he said firmly, his voice low and steady, but there was no mistaking the command in it.

Julie froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, a sense of dread creeping into her bones. "Roman..."

"I’ll handle it," he said, his words final, carrying the weight of someone who had already made up his mind.

But inside, Roman knew this was not just a warning. This was war.

His eyes narrowed, a glint of fury flashing in their depths as he turned the envelope over in his hand.

And there it was—an image, hand-drawn with precision. The jaguar, the insignia of the enemy, stark and bold.

Beneath it, the letters JB were written in bold, deliberate strokes.

Roman’s lips curled into a thin, knowing smile, but it was a smile without humor.

"Isn’t he the one who said he’d never come after us?" he murmured, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

Before Malone could answer, Roman’s gaze shifted, cutting to Julie. _{f.re(e) w.e(b)nov el.c.om}

She stood there, rooted to the ground, her wide eyes locked on him. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

Earlier, when Roman told Julie to go back inside, she hadn’t moved.

Instead, she stood there quietly, staring at him with wide, wounded eyes. Her heart was beating painfully against her chest.

She knew it wasn’t the right time to argue—knew the tension in his voice came from something serious—but the way he had spoken to her... so firm, so cold... it stung more than she cared to admit.

Without realizing it, her stubbornness kicked in. She refused to move. She didn’t even blink.

Roman, who had already turned away, suddenly stopped.

As if sensing the shift in her emotions, he turned his head slightly and saw her still standing there, unmoving.

His eyes softened almost immediately.

Even though this was the first time they were in a situation like this, he seemed to understand exactly what was going on.

He walked over to her, his long strides deliberate, controlled.

His voice, now lowered and gentler, cut through the lingering silence.

"We’ll talk about it later," he told Malone, without taking his eyes off Julie. "Stay on guard."

Then, without hesitation, Roman reached out and gently intertwined his fingers with hers.

Julie’s breath caught as his hand slipped into hers. His touch was warm, grounding.

He said nothing more as he guided her back into the mansion, his hold steady and firm.

Inside their bedroom, Roman turned to her, his voice quiet and full of guilt. "My apology, love."

Julie didn’t sit until he gently urged her down onto the edge of the bed.

His hands were warm on her shoulders, and when she finally sat, she looked up at him, her brows furrowed slightly.

"Do you know what made me angry?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.

Roman didn’t answer right away. Though he had an idea, he knew it wasn’t the time to assume.

So instead, he nodded and crouched down in front of her, lowering himself until his eyes met hers.

"No, I don’t," he said calmly. "Please tell me."

Julie looked at him for a long moment.

Something in his posture—him crouching before her, expression open and sincere—made her heart ache a little more.

Suddenly, she reached out and took hold of his arms.

Her small hands wrapped gently around his firm, muscular forearms.

His skin was warm, and beneath it, she could feel the defined ridges of muscle.

Roman was a man built for control, strength, and discipline—trained in combat, always staying in shape.

But in her hands, that strength felt... safe.

With a small tug, she pulled him upward. Roman didn’t resist.

He allowed himself to be guided until he was seated beside her on the bed.

Julie released his arms, but instead of resting her hands in her lap, she slid her fingers into his.

She held his palm gently, as if cradling something fragile.

Roman watched her closely. She had never acted like this before—so direct, yet so vulnerable. So, he stayed quiet, waiting.

Julie finally spoke, her voice just above a whisper.

"Roman, I didn’t like how you talked to me earlier." She went straight to the point, no drama, no buildup.

"I hope that’s what you’re apologizing for," she added, her voice turning quieter, a small tremble in her words.

It was the kind of voice that could break someone’s heart—soft, pained, and full of feeling.

Roman’s brows drew together in guilt, his gaze dropping briefly to their joined hands.

"It broke my heart," Julie continued, her lips pressing into a small frown. "That you are the one who looked at me like that. With such cold eyes. Without hearing me out."

She paused, swallowing hard. Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes.

"I know I shouldn’t have stepped in. I didn’t know what you and Malone were discussing. But I thought... I believed you wouldn’t push me away like that."

Her voice cracked, and a tear slid down her cheek.

Roman’s eyes widened slightly, pain flashing across his face. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms.

His hold was firm, enveloping her in warmth and comfort.

Julie pressed her face into his shoulder, her body trembling. "This is the first time you’ve ever done this to me. I hope... I really hope there won’t be another time."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, fast and unchecked, like a flood she could no longer hold back.

Roman didn’t interrupt. He held her tighter, letting her cry it out, knowing this was the first time she’d let herself be this open with him—and even if he had caused it, he was grateful he could be the one to comfort her now.

"You don’t know..." Julie whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt, "but it hurts so much when someone you love—someone you hold dear—raises their voice at you. Or makes you feel like you’re not important."

Roman blinked, stunned by her words.

’Love.’ Roman said in his head.

His heart skipped a beat. Did she realize what she just said? he wondered, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Is she... confessing?

A wide smile tried to tug at the corners of his mouth, but he quickly hid it, swallowing the excitement. Not now. Not when she was still hurting.

He took a deep breath and gently pulled back, just enough to look into her tear-streaked face.

His hands cradled her cheeks as he gazed into her eyes—not with apology, not with regret—but with every ounce of love he felt in his heart.