Roman’s frown deepened, irritation flickering beneath the surface. "And what does that even mean?"

Noah tilted his head slightly, as if considering him. Then, casually, he added, "How about your wife?"

Roman almost responded, then stopped.

"I haven’t seen her," Noah continued, his tone easy. "Though I’ve heard quite a bit. Thought I might run into her by now."

The hallway felt quieter suddenly, the distant hum of the house fading into the background.

Roman’s eyes narrowed. "Focus on your job," he said flatly. "And stay out of my business."

Noah opened his mouth, perhaps to respond, but footsteps cut in before he could.

Vance appeared at the end of the hallway, his presence immediate, controlled. His gaze moved between them, assessing. "Is there a problem here?" he asked as he approached.

Roman shifted slightly, ready to speak, but Noah beat him to it.

"I’m ready now," Noah said smoothly, turning toward Vance. "Shall we?"

Vance held Roman’s gaze for a second longer than necessary, then gave a short nod. "This way."

The two of them moved off down the corridor, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Roman didn’t follow. He stayed where he was, watching their backs disappear around the corner. Then his gaze dropped, just briefly, to the briefcase in Noah’s hand. The leather caught the light as it swung slightly with each step.

Roman leaned forward a fraction, trying to catch a glimpse of the logo stamped into its side. Nothing.

His eyes narrowed, his thoughts already turning, connecting pieces that didn’t quite fit yet.

Noah Ellis... He straightened slowly, his jaw tightening. I need to get closer to you. And I need to find out exactly why you’re here.

—

Noah followed a step behind Vance, the soft thud of their shoes muffled by the carpeted hallway. The air felt heavier here, quieter, too, as if the house itself was listening.

When they reached the office, Vance pushed the door open and held it for him. Noah stepped inside. A faint scent of polished wood and leather lingered in the room. Behind him, the door clicked shut.

Vance moved to his desk, unhurried, then lowered himself into his chair. He interlaced his fingers, resting them in front of him, and lifted his gaze to Noah.

"What did you want, Noah?"

Noah exhaled slowly, grounding himself, then leaned forward slightly. "Estelle made a request," he said. "She wants to see Roman."

Vance’s brows drew together, a small crease forming between them. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "I see."

Noah shook his head, his expression tightening. "No, you don’t," he said quietly. "Because if you did, you would have expected this." He paused, studying Vance’s face. "After whatever message you showed her, you should have known she wouldn’t just sit still. She would want answers."

Something flickered in Vance’s eyes, sharp, guarded. "Are you suggesting we lied?" he asked, his tone cooling, each word edged with accusation.

Noah held his gaze, unflinching. "I’m not suggesting anything," he replied. "I’m saying I’ve been here less than a day, and it’s obvious she’s not someone you corner and expect compliance from. She pushes back."

Vance let out a small, dismissive breath and shrugged, as though brushing the entire matter aside. "Well, whatever it is, it’s impossible."

The word hung in the air.

Noah’s jaw tightened. He straightened a fraction, his voice still calm but firmer now. "My patient’s well-being comes first," he said. "So you’ll have to make it happen, or I will."

Vance studied him, his eyes narrowing slightly, weighing the resolve behind those words. Noah didn’t look away.

After a moment, Vance gave a slow nod. "Alright," he said. "You can go. I’ll speak to Mr. Whitehall and get back to you."

Noah didn’t move. "I want an answer before I leave," he said, just as steady. "I’m not going back to her empty-handed."

Vance’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. His gaze sharpened, a hint of warning slipping through.

"Don’t forget how you were allowed into this house," he said quietly. The words were vague, but the weight behind them was unmistakable.

He held Noah’s gaze for a second longer, long enough for the meaning to settle, then reached for his phone. "I’ll call Mr. Whitehall."

Noah said nothing. He only watched.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Vance dialed. A faint ringing filled the silence, each tone stretching just a little too long before the line finally connected.

"Sir, we have a problem here. Estelle is—"

"I would like to explain that myself, if you don’t mind." Noah’s voice cut in, calm, even, but it carried enough weight to interrupt.

Vance turned to him sharply, irritation flashing across his face, his mouth already opening to shut him down.

Magnus’s voice came through the line before he could. "What is going on over there? I don’t have time for this."

The faint hum of movement on his end, voices, perhaps a door closing, bled into the background, his impatience unmistakable.

"The physiotherapist wants to speak with you," Vance said, his tone clipped. "But I told him—"

"Give him the phone." A pause, then sharper, "And this better be good."

Vance’s jaw tightened. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, with clear reluctance, he thrust the phone toward Noah.

Noah took it, his fingers brushing the edge of Vance’s hand, and brought it to his ear. He drew in a quiet breath. "Hello, Mr.—"

"Get to the point, Noah." Magnus didn’t let him finish. The impatience in his voice pressed through the line like static.

Noah swallowed once, steadying himself. "Estelle has requested to speak with Roman," he said. His tone stayed level, though his pulse had begun to pick up. "As her therapist, I strongly advise we allow it. Her mental state is critical to her recovery, and if we—"

"Done." The word dropped cleanly, cutting him off. "Hand the phone back to Vance."

For a moment, Noah just blinked, the abruptness catching him off guard. Then he nodded faintly to himself and passed the phone back.

Vance took it with a small, satisfied smile already forming. "I told you it would be impossible," he muttered under his breath, almost amused, before lifting the phone. "Vance here, Sir."

A brief pause. Then—

"Estelle wants to see Roman? Arrange it," Magnus said.

The words wiped the smile off Vance’s face.

"And no more calls. I have bigger problems to deal with." The line went dead.

Vance lowered the phone slowly, the silence in the office settling thickly around them. For a second, only the faint ticking of a wall clock filled the space.

Across from him, Noah was watching.

"It’s done," Vance said at last, his tone carefully neutral. "She’ll meet with Roman." He paused. "Wait for my call."

Noah held his gaze for a moment, as if weighing something, then gave a small nod. Without another word, he turned and headed for the door. The handle clicked. The door opened, then closed.

Vance remained where he was, annoyance settling in his gut. Then, his phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced down, thumb already moving. The message lit up the screen.

If Estelle wants to see Roman and get answers, we must arrange it. I’m sure you understand.

Vance read it once, then again, and slowly, a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and it stayed. This could work.