Roman wasn't sure when the problem started. Maybe it was that first morning Misty marched through the marble halls like she owned the place, chin high, red hair a defiant flame against the cold luxury. Maybe it was when she corrected him in front of his own executives. Or maybe it was the maddening way she never flinched when he glared. Whatever the reason, Roman found himself watching her more than he should, and hating that he did.
Misty worked with a fierce focus that made the Collahan staff whisper. She supervised meetings, mediated arguments, and pushed the brothers into the same room, even when they grumbled like cornered wolves. She was stubborn, sharp-tongued, and somehow incredibly kind when no one was looking. Roman caught her helping a new intern who was on the verge of tears, guiding her patiently despite muttering that she "didn't have time for this." Roman walked away before she noticed him staring.
But of course, she still noticed later.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Misty asked during a break, leaning on the edge of the conference table. "Did I offend your royal ego again, Your Highness?"
Roman snapped his gaze away. "Don't flatter yourself. I look at everything."
"Really? Because you only glare at me."
Richard snorted from his seat. Ronnie burst into loud laughter. Roman shot them both a warning look, but Misty only smirked—victory glittering in her eyes.
Richard, as usual, kept his cool. "Misty has been doing well," he remarked. "She's helped us get through more meetings in two days than we've managed in months.
Misty gave him a beaming, grateful smile; gentle, in a way that caused Roman's jaw to clench. Richard didn't seem to notice the way Roman stiffened anytime he talked to her. And Ronnie? He noticed everything.
"You know," Ronnie whispered loudly, "big bro stares at her like she's a car accident. Can't look away."
Roman slammed his notebook shut. "Shut up, Ronnie."
Misty blinked, amused. "You really do need therapy."
The day rolled on in a blur of clashing opinions and tense cooperation. Roman found fault in everything she did, from her notes and her suggestions down to the temperature she set in the office. Every time, Misty fought back, matching him step for step. Their arguments became predictable, yes, but crackling with unspoken heat.
Richard remained largely silent, but how his eyes gentled whenever Misty spoke didn't pass Roman by. Neither did the subtle shift of Richard's weight as he moved to stand beside her, offering aid or agreement without being asked. Roman detested how much it rankled him. Misty wasn't supposed to matter. She was a stranger thrust into their lives by the will none of them fully comprehended.
But she mattered. And that made everything worse.
By late afternoon, Misty excused herself for a short break. "I'm going on a walk before I set this building on fire," she muttered.
No one said a word. She reached for her cardigan, slipped out a side door, and vanished along a silent garden path outside the headquarters building.
Roman told himself that he was just checking security. That someone had to make sure she didn't wander into an unsafe area. That she was the company's responsibility. That she was his responsibility.
He didn't tell himself the truth—not yet.
Misty walked languidly, breathing in the fresh air, shoulders hunched, as if for the first time allowing the exhaustion she so skillfully masked to wash over her. Roman remained many steps behind, far enough that he wouldn't be seen, close enough to watch. He made believe he was blind to just how beautiful she was when she wasn't pressured, argued with, or expected to perform chores she had never asked for.
She stopped by the fountain, rubbing her temples. Roman took a step closer, then stopped when she straightened abruptly.
"I know you're there."
Roman froze.
Misty crossed her arms and turned around. "Are you following me now? Is this another Collahan power play or do you just enjoy stalking?"
Roman emerged from behind the hedges, his face blank. "You shouldn't be out alone."
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "I walked ten feet into a garden. Are you worried a leaf is going to assassinate me?"
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point, Roman?"
He didn't answer.
Misty took a slow breath, her expression shifting from sarcasm to something quieter. "You keep watching me. You keep arguing with me. You keep acting like I'm the problem. But I'm just trying to do what your father asked."
His chest tightened, sharp and sudden.
Misty went on, her voice softer now. "You think I want to be here? You think I enjoy pushing three grown men to act like a family? This is just as miserable for me as it is for you."
Roman looked away. "It's not miserable."
"Really? Because you act like it is."
The silence stretched between them, thick and strangely fragile.
Then Misty sighed and brushed past him. "You can stop shadowing me. I'm going back inside."
Roman didn't budge until she reentered the building. Only then did he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. She was trouble. Big trouble. The kind he couldn't ignore even if he tried. And deep down, Roman knew already—he was not trying very hard anymore. A few minutes later, he followed, but differently now: slower, contemplative, perturbed. The halls were too silent without her voice echoing down the corridors. As he reached the elevator, he saw Misty step inside, hugging her folder against her chest like armor. For one moment, their eyes met through narrowing doors-a flicker, something unspoken, passing between them. Roman didn't understand, didn't want to understand, but it lingered obstinately in his mind. He stood there long. And even when he finally walked away, the echo of her presence refused to leave him alone there.