Part 3My Fake Baby For The Tyrant

The Grand Ballroom smelled like ozone and expensive scotch.

The board of directors—the men who had treated me like a decorative houseplant for a year—were now huddled on the floor, terrified.

And there I was, standing right at Roman’s side, feeling their stares burning into me like I was some kind of ghost.

Harrison—or what was left of him—was seated in a chair in the center of the room, bound and broken.

Roman sat on the marble desk, one arm draped possessively, almost bruisingly, around my waist. The intimacy of it made my skin crawl, but I leaned into him, playing the part of the devoted consort.

"Harrison, do you recognize her?" Roman asked, his voice dripping with sadistic mockery.

The old man looked up. When his eyes landed on me, they nearly bulged out of his head. "Sadie? You... you traitorous little bitch! How could you?"

I felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly drowned out by self-preservation. If I showed a second of weakness, Roman would toss me to the wolves.

I hardened my heart and pointed a finger right at my "husband."

"Shut up! I was never yours! I’ve always been Roman’s!"

The room went dead silent. Even Roman shifted slightly, surprised by how far I was willing to go.

"You useless old fossil," I continued, the words pouring out like venom. "Did you really think I enjoyed our 'quiet evenings'? You couldn't hold a candle to a man like Roman. He’s a god; you’re just a relic."

"I was waiting for him! I was keeping myself ready for the man who actually knows how to lead!"

The more I talked, the more I channeled all the frustration of the last year. Harrison started shaking, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. He tried to speak, but he just sputtered, a thin line of foam appearing at the corner of his mouth before he slumped over, unconscious from the sheer shock.

"A bit fragile, isn't he?" I muttered, turning back to Roman with my best adoring smile. "How was that, darling?"

Roman looked at me, his gaze deep and unreadable. My heart hammered against my ribs. Had I overplayed it? Did I look too much like a psychopath?

Suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Perfect! A 'devoted' heart indeed!"

He pulled me flush against his side, announcing to the room, "From this moment on, Sadie stays with me. She’s my personal assistant, my shadow. She goes where I go."

I exhaled, but the relief was short-lived.

"Personal assistant"? That meant being under his thumb twenty-four hours a day.

This wasn't a reward. This was Roman Blackwood keeping his favorite new toy on a very short leash.