believed he did.

Norah straightened.

“I’m finishing my shift,” she said.

David cursed.

The guard by the door murmured again into his sleeve.

This time Norah heard a few words.

“Back entrance.

Gray hoodie.

He’s arguing with Eli.”

David was not bluffing.

He was here.

The knowledge made Norah’s headache sharpen until the room tilted slightly.

David had never been brave when bravery cost him something.

If he had come to the Onyx Club’s private entrance, it meant he was either drunk enough not to understand the danger or desperate enough to gamble with hers.

Roman’s fingers rested beside the phone.

“Does he have a habit of showing up where you work?”

The question was too calm.

Norah wanted to lie.

She wanted to say no, make it smaller, make herself smaller.

She wanted the floor to swallow the phone, the glass, the ledger, her stupid exhausted mouth.

Instead she said, “Sometimes.”

Roman’s gaze held hers.

“Does he have a habit,” he asked, “of taking your money?”

Her throat tightened.

David heard it.

“Don’t answer that.”

The command did something useful.

It made the answer simple.

“Yes,” Norah said.

David exploded.

“You ungrateful—”

Roman ended the call with one tap.

The sudden silence rang.

Norah stared at the dark screen.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“No?”

“He’ll be worse later.”

The words came out before she could stop them.

They were not dramatic.

They were practical.

David always got worse later, after embarrassment, after being denied, after someone saw him for what he was and he needed Norah to pay for being witnessed.

Roman studied her with a patience that did not feel kind.

“Then don’t go home to him.”

A laugh slipped out of her, sharp and humorless.

“That’s not how rent works.”

“No,” Roman said.

“But locks do.”

She did not understand until he looked at one of his men.

“Marco.”

The largest guard turned his head.

“Yeah?”

“Send Eli up.”

Norah’s pulse kicked.

“What are you doing?”

“Removing a problem from my club.”

“He’s not your problem.”

Roman picked up his bourbon at last.

The ice clicked once against the crystal.

“He became my problem when he threatened to walk into my private room.”

Norah had served enough powerful men to recognize the difference between generosity and ownership.

Generosity made you grateful.

Ownership made you indebted.

She had no intention of trading David’s cheap control for Roman Gallagher’s expensive version.

“I don’t need you to handle my life,” she said.

For the first time, one of the guards looked surprised.

Roman did not.

He took a slow sip of bourbon, then set the glass down exactly on the center of the napkin.

“Good.”

Norah blinked.

“Good?”

“People who need strangers to handle their lives rarely survive this room.”

It was not a compliment.

It landed like one anyway.

The door opened before she could decide what to say.

A younger man stepped in, not as broad as the guards but wired tight, his black shirt rumpled at the collar.

Eli, presumably.

His eyes flicked from Roman to Norah to the phone on the table.

“He’s at the back entrance,” Eli said.

“Shouting your name now.”

Norah’s body moved before her thoughts caught up.

She reached for the phone.

Roman let her take it.

On the screen, a