Just before the bellhop at the St. Regis could reach for the polished brass doors, Roman Castile stepped through the glass threshold and entirely forgot how to draw breath.

Late that night, Roman stood on the penthouse balcony, the cold wind whipping his coat around his legs. The lights of Manhattan glittered below him like shattered glass.

He heard the sliding glass door open softly. Juliet stepped out, wrapping a thick shawl around her shoulders.

"The children are asleep," she said softly.

Roman didn't turn around. "Silas confessed. He fabricated the recording. He ordered your father’s murder three years later to tie up loose ends and make the lie a reality."

Juliet gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The sheer weight of the revelation crashed down on her. "My God. I... I believed it. I believed you could do it."

Roman finally turned to face her, the vulnerability in his amber eyes agonizing to witness. "Why, Juliet? Did I ever give you a reason to think I could be that cruel to you?"

"You're the head of the Castile family, Roman!" she cried, tears spilling over. "I saw what you did to your enemies. When I heard that tape... I panicked. I was newly pregnant. I was terrified you would use the babies as pawns. I was just a girl in over her head."

Roman closed the distance between them. He didn't touch her, but his proximity was a physical weight.

"I am a monster to the world, Juliet," he whispered, his voice cracking. "But I was never a monster to you. You were the only pure thing in my life. And for six years, I woke up every single day wishing I was dead because you weren't there."

Juliet looked up at him, seeing the profound, unhealed wounds in his soul. Slowly, her trembling hand reached up, her fingers brushing the sharp line of his jaw.

Roman closed his eyes at the contact, leaning into her touch like a starving man offered bread.