The night passed quietly on the surface, but for Roman, it dragged, slow, suffocating, each hour grinding against his nerves.

It was one of the hardest nights of his life, second only to the night Magnus had stood before him and announced that his mother was gone.

But Morning came anyway and Roman stood in front of the mirror, his fingers tightening as he adjusted his tie. The fabric felt too stiff against his collar, the knot refusing to sit right no matter how many times he fixed it.

He exhaled, sharp and controlled, his breath fogging faintly against the glass. For a moment, he just stared at his reflection.

His eyes looked different, tired, edged with something heavier. In the span of a single day, everything had shifted. His career, his name, Estelle, all of it slipping through his fingers at once. And still, he had to move.

He dragged a hand down his jaw, steadying himself, then turned away from the mirror. The door handle felt cold beneath his palm as he twisted it open and a faint draft from the hallway brushed against his face, carrying the sterile scent of polished floors and distant quiet.

But it did nothing to ease the tension coiled deep in his chest.

Then he stepped out, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Each step toward the elevator felt heavier than the last and for a fleeting moment, it felt like he was walking toward something that would end him one way or another.

"And where are you going?" Magnus’s voice cut through the stillness.

Roman slowed and then turned. Magnus was already approaching, his pace unhurried, his expression too composed.

"Where else would I be going," Roman replied, his tone calm but edged, "if not to my trial?"

Magnus gave a slow nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Interesting choice," he said after a beat. "Considering how easily this could all be resolved."

Roman let out a quiet, humorless breath. "I don’t need easy," he said. "I’ll handle my problems myself. I’m not letting you complicate my life any further." His gaze hardened slightly. "We both know taking your offer would come back to bite me in the ass."

Magnus lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "It’s still the best option you have."

Roman held his gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then he turned and walked away without another word.

Behind him, Magnus remained where he stood, his jaw tightening as he watched Roman leave. The rejection sat heavier than he expected, a quiet burn beneath his calm exterior.

—

Minutes later, Roman’s car rolled into the arena lot. The engine hummed low before settling into silence. For a second, he stayed still, his hands resting on the steering wheel as he glanced at his watch.

Five minutes.

He exhaled and pushed the door open, stepping out and locking the car with a quick click. The morning air was cool, brushing faintly against his skin as he moved toward the entrance.

Then he stopped suddenly as he noticed an ambulance parked just a short distance away, its back doors open, the metallic smell of antiseptic faint even from where he stood. His brows drew together as he checked his watch again.

Three minutes. Enough time.

He shifted his weight, about to move, and then he froze again. Two paramedics emerged, guiding a stretcher toward the ambulance. The wheels rattled softly against the pavement, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet morning.

Roman’s pulse kicked hard against his ribs. His gaze locked onto the figure on the stretcher, tension coiling instantly in his chest.

This was it. The moment to find out if Leo was really in there, or if the voice he’d heard before was actually hers and not the sign of his mind breaking under pressure.

He craned his neck, taking a few cautious steps forward, trying to catch a clearer glimpse—

"Mr. Whitehall!" A sharp female voice cut cleanly through the air, snapping his attention away from the stretcher.

Roman turned, his brows knitting as he found the woman hurrying toward him, her heels clicking briskly against the pavement.

"You only have a few minutes," she said, slightly breathless but composed. "The panel is already assembled. You know the consequences of being late."

Roman glanced down at his watch. The seconds seemed louder now, ticking against his pulse. "I still have about two minutes," he replied, steadying his tone. "I’ll be just in time."

"Then we need to move," she said firmly, gesturing toward the entrance.

Roman nodded, but his gaze drifted back to the ambulance. The stretcher was already halfway inside now. All he could see now was the lower half, blanket-covered legs, unmoving, as the paramedics guided it in.

Something about the stillness of the body made his chest tighten as the doors loomed open like a closing window of opportunity.

He hesitated. Time was slipping on both ends.

"We need to go. Now," the woman pressed, urgency threading into her voice.

Roman tore his eyes away at last and nodded. "Yes, yes, let’s go," he said, his voice even as something in his chest twisted sharply, pulling him back toward the ambulance.

Every instinct screamed at him to check, to be sure. But he turned away, unaware of just how close he had been.

—

He followed the woman through the arena’s inner wing, the air cooler inside, tinged faintly with polish. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, quick and purposeful.

Roman’s pulse thudded heavily beneath his skin, but he forced a slow breath in, then out, smoothing his expression into something controlled. By the time they reached the door, he had his calm mask back on.

He paused, inhaled once more, then knocked. Without waiting, he pushed the door open and stepped inside and the atmosphere shifted instantly. The room was still, quiet. A line of stern faces turned toward him, their gazes sharp, assessing.

"You are late," one of the men said, his voice calm but edged with judgment.

Roman’s eyes flicked briefly to the clock on the wall, then back to the panel. "It’s just one minute—"

"If you understood that every second counts," another man cut in, his tone clipped, "you wouldn’t be standing in front of us right now."

Roman inclined his head slightly. "My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to—"

"Take a seat," the only woman among them said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Be grateful there’s still an empty chair. Otherwise, we would have dismissed you."

Roman nodded once and stepped forward. His gaze drifted across the table, and then stopped at the chair in the center. It was different, slightly elevated, set apart. Chairman. A faint frown touched his brows.

Then the door behind him opened.

"Apologies for the delay," Magnus said as he stepped in, his voice smooth enough to cut through the tension. "Shall we begin?" He moved without hesitation, taking the central seat.

Roman’s breath caught. His jaw slackened slightly as the realization hit. "You’re the head of the panel?" he said, disbelief breaking through his composure. "You?"