The backstage lights of The Gilded Lily were harsh, but they couldn't diminish the sheer, defiant glow radiating from Violet Noir. She stood before the tall vanity mirror, adjusted the straps of her dress, and smirked at her reflection.
Roman had specifically requested the blue silk- the "ghost" dress. So, naturally, she had reached for the deepest, most regal velvet purple she owned. It was a heavy, luxurious fabric that hugged her curves like an obsession, the hem pooling around her ankles while a daring slit climbed up her thigh. It was a dress that screamed power rather than vulnerability.
"You don't get to call the shots, Roman Thorne," she whispered to the empty room, tossing her long, pale blonde hair over one shoulder. It cascaded down the purple velvet like a river of liquid moonlight.
When she stepped onto the stage, the club fell into its usual, reverent hush. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged bourbon. Violet's eyes immediately found the center booth. Roman was there, looking like a dark god in a black-on-black suit. He was already holding his phone up, the lens trained on her. Even from the stage, she could see the slight tightening of his jaw when he realized she hadn't worn the blue.
She offered him a slow, incredibly sassy tilt of her head- a silent 'tryagain,' before leaning into the microphone.
"Tonight's first song is a special request," Violet said, her voice like honey and smoke. Her blue eyes softened as she looked directly into the camera lens of Roman's phone, knowing Adam would be watching this later. "This is for a very brave little gentleman I met recently. Adam, this one is for you."
The band struck up a whimsical, upbeat jazz melody. It wasn't her usual sultry ballad; it was bright, soulful, and full of life. She sang about a dragon who lived in a glass tower and a boy who held the stars in his pocket. Her angelic voice took on a playful, maternal warmth that the club patrons had never heard before.
In the booth, Roman felt a jagged, uncomfortable heat blooming in his chest.
Jealousy.
He watched her through the screen of his phone and then over the top of it. He was jealous of his own son. He hated the way her eyes lit up when she said Adam's name. He hated that she had a secret, soft world with the boy that he wasn't allowed into. He wanted that look- that pure, unadulterated affection, directed solely at him. The protective, aggressive side of him wanted to roar at the room to stop looking at her, to stop listening to the song she had written in her heart for someone else.
As the final note faded, the applause was thunderous. Violet took her bow, her eyes lingering on Roman for a heartbeat longer than necessary, before stepping off the stage.
She was heading toward the bar to grab a water when a hand touched her elbow. It wasn't Roman. It was Silas, the owner of The Gilded Lily. Silas was an older man with silver hair and a face like a crumpled map, usually the epitome of calm. Tonight, he looked concerned.
"Violet, a word?" Silas murmured, gesturing toward a semi-private alcove near the velvet curtains.
Violet frowned but followed him. "What's wrong, Silas? Did the gin delivery fall through again?"
"I wish," Silas sighed. He leaned in close. "I had a woman in my office an hour ago. Screaming about an 'incident' earlier this week. She claims you were- and I'm quoting here- 'brazenlyseducing' her husband right in the middle of the lounge. She's threatened to pull her husband's membership and take it to the board."
Violet rolled her eyes, her silver tongue ready to strike. "Silas, you know as well as I do that woman was looking for a fight the moment she walked in. Her husband was staring because I was hit by a spotlight. I didn't say two words to the man. If she can't keep her husband's leash short, that's not my-"
"I know that, Violet," Silas interrupted gently. "I'm on your side. I told her to pack her diamonds and leave. But I had to hear it from you. This place has a reputation for elegance, not drama."
Before Violet could finish her defense, a shadow loomed over both of them. Roman had arrived. He didn't just walk into the conversation; he occupied it.
The aggression radiating off him was nearly visible, a dark aura that made even Silas take a half-step back.
"Is there a problem?"
Roman's voice was a low, lethal vibration. He had heard enough of the conversation to grasp the situation, and the idea of Violet being accused of seducing another man- married or otherwise, sent his possessive instincts into overdrive.
"It's a private matter, Mr. Thorne," Silas said, trying to maintain professional decorum.
"It stopped being private when you brought up her reputation," Roman snapped. He stepped closer to Violet, his large frame shielding her from Silas as if she were a precious object under threat.
"I was here. I saw the woman in the emerald dress. She was hysterical and looking for a scapegoat for her failing marriage. Violet was professional. If there is a 'complaint' on her file, I suggest you delete it immediately, or I will buy this club by morning and delete it myself."
Violet's blood began to simmer- not at Silas, but at Roman.
"Roman," she said, her voice dangerously quiet.
"I'm handling this, Violet," Roman growled, his icy blue eyes fixed on Silas. "She doesn't deserve to be insulted by the wives of men who don't know how to look away from a masterpiece."
"RomanThorne!" Violet snapped, stepping around him so she was between the two men. Her light blonde hair whipped around her shoulders like a lash. "That is enough."
Roman looked down at her, surprised by the fire in her eyes.
"Silas, give me a minute," Violet said. Silas, sensing the impending explosion, nodded quickly and vanished into the crowd.
Violet turned on Roman, her chest heaving against the purple velvet. "What do you think you're doing? You don't just 'insert' yourself into my professional life like you own the place! This is my job. My reputation."
"I was defending you," Roman said, his voice rising in an uncharacteristic display of agitation. "That man was questioning your character. I won't stand by and let some low-rent socialite lie about you."
"I can defend myself!" Violet countered, her sass turning into genuine anger. She poked him in the center of his broad, hard chest. "I've been defending myself since long before you showed up in your fancy car. I don't need a dark, brooding knight to come in and threaten to buy the building every time someone says something mean about me."
"You don't understand," Roman said, stepping into her space, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He was struggling to contain the dark, protective energy swirling in him. "The way people look at you... the way they talk about you... it's unacceptable."
"It's part of the job, Roman! And quite frankly, the only person making me feel 'unacceptable' right now is you. You're overstepping. I'm the nanny for your son, not a piece of property you need to guard."
The word nanny seemed to sting him. Roman's expression darkened even further. "You think that's all you are? You think I'm sitting in the front row every night and recording songs about dragons just because I need someone to watch Adam?"
"I don't know what you think I am," Violet said, her voice softening but remaining firm. "But you need to realize that I have a life. Areal, messy, independent life. You can't just bully your way into every corner of it because you have a protective streak a mile wide."
Roman looked at her- really looked at her, standing there in her purple velvet, her blue eyes flashing with defiance. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of fear. For a man who controlled everything, the realization that he couldn't control her was terrifying.
"I'm not bullying," he whispered, though it sounded like a confession. "I'm protecting what's mine."
"I'm not yours, Roman," Violet said, though her heart was thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She looked at the door. "I'm going home. And tomorrow, when I show up to watch Adam, we are going to have a very long talk about boundaries. Do you understand?"
Roman didn't answer. He just watched her, his unreadable mask back in place, though his eyes were full of a dark, haunting hunger.
Violet turned and walked away, the slit in her purple dress revealing a flash of leg as she disappeared through the exit.
Roman stood in the middle of the club, the recording of her singing to Adam still saved on his phone, feeling the weight of the silence she left behind. He had tried to protect the angel, but all he had done was make her clip her own wings. He pulled his phone out, deleted the recording of the song for Adam- knowing he'd just ask her to sing it again tomorrow, and walked out into the night, his mind already plotting how to make her forgive him.