Roman stilled, his gaze distant, as though staring into the abyss of his thoughts. “I’m so tired of being trapped in this cycle of our parents’ secrets and lies. Every revelation shatters what little sense of normalcy we’ve managed to hold onto. What if he had killed me?” His voice cracked, a rare vulnerability breaking through his resolute exterior. “He would have had to live with the knowledge of murdering his flesh and blood. And what if I hadn’t won? Or worse…” He shuddered, his words catching in his throat. “What if I had slid my gladius across his throat and watched his lifeblood gurgle from his neck?”
I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “We’ll never know the answer to that, thank God. Perhaps he would have declared victory before plunging his blade into your heart. But Roman, your father didn’t end your life. He challenged you, yes, but perhaps… just perhaps, he cares for you more than he dares to show. Maybe he wants to share his true story and finally give you the answers you deserve.”
Roman’s laugh was bitter, his lips curling in disbelief. “Deeply cared for me? You realize how ludicrous that sounds, don’t you, my love?” His voice blended anger, sorrow, and a flicker of something softer—dangerously close to hope.
I shrugged, forcing a faint smile. “Just trying to find something positive in this madness.”
“I wish I shared your optimism.” Roman’s voice softened as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch both tender and grounding. “When he revealed who he was to me… seconds before I could have killed him…”
I could only imagine the storm of emotions Roman must have felt—shock and disbelief. It mirrored my own when I had first seen my long-lost mother, a ghost from the past resurrected before my very eyes. The surrealism of these revelations was almost too much to bear, yet here we stood, bracing ourselves for whatever came next.
“And Malik…” Roman said, his eyes haunted. “I feel so betrayed by Malik. He watched the fight like it meant nothing. He calls me his brother, yet he sat there, impassive, while I fought for my life, imagining that you were dying. He hid behind that mask, watching. I feel like we’re all pawns in some twisted game.”
“Wearepawns,” I admitted softly, “but we also don’t know the whole story with Malik. He swore to protect us, Roman. Maybe he’s just following orders and playing a role we don’t yet understand. We need to hear the truth, all of it. I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. The first step is you discovering who your father is.”
Roman exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. His arms encircled me, pulling me close, his kiss silencing any lingering doubts.
“My heart beats for you,” he whispered against my lips, his words threading through the fabric of my soul. “You and only you.”
“Roman,” I gasped, caught in the whirlwind of his love and longing, “if we don’t leave right now, I’m going to...”
His eyes darkened, and a wicked grin played across his lips. “I’m going to strip you and ravage you until you’re screaming my name.”
A shiver ran down my spine, desire threatening to consume me. But with great effort, I stepped back, forcing my breathing to steady. “As much as I want that, we can’t. Not right now. Your father has summoned us, and we need answers. Our desires can wait.”
My voice trembled with the effort it took to resist him. We had to focus. The answers we sought were just beyond the threshold, waiting within the shadows of Pasha Hassan’s study.
Hand in hand, Roman and I stepped across the threshold into Pasha Hassan’s office. The room was a cavern of secrets, lined with shelves groaning under the weight of countless tomes, their spines as ancient and inscrutable as the man we sought. Dust motes danced like specters in the stray beams of sunlight piercing the heavy drapery.
Pasha Hassan stood with his back to us, his hair unbound and falling loosely around his shoulders. He was clad not in the opulent robes I had come to associate with his station, but in a plain, flowing shirt that hinted at the muscle beneath, tucked into loose trousers cinched at the waist. His feet were bare upon the rich carpets. Even dressed so simply, he exuded an authority that transcended mere clothing. His gaze was fixed on a painting across the room, his focus intense, as if the image held some secret only he could understand.
Pasha Hassan turned, and I caught my breath at the stark humanity in his dark eyes.
“I want you to know one thing, my son… if I may call you my son…” he began, his voice low but steady. “I understand you’re angry. I was acting on orders.”
“Why did you deceive us?” Roman demanded, desperation and betrayal lacing his tone.
“Because if I had revealed my true identity from the beginning, you would have turned away from me,” Pasha Hassan said simply. “I needed you to learn and trust me before knowing the truth.”
“Trust you?” Roman snapped, his voice rising. “You manipulated and endangered my wife and me, took our children, and put us through unimaginable trials. And above all things, you’re a Timehunter.”
Pasha Hassan’s expression remained stoic, yet there was a faint flicker of something deeper in his eyes as he replied, “My son, I am many things—a teacher, a grandfather, a darkness. But most importantly, I am a father who would do anything to protect his children.”
“Protect us?” Roman scoffed. “You speak of love as if it were foreign to you. You never once showed up in my life or Marcellious’.”
A pang of hurt cut through his words.
Pasha Hassan inclined his head. “I will tell you everything. All answers.”
The door creaked open before another word could be spoken, and Malik entered. His presence was like a jolt to the room, his eyes flickering with regret and something else—shame, perhaps. Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him, the confusion he represented momentarily eclipsed by my instinct to comfort. Roman stayed back, his expression unreadable, the weight of his emotions etched into every tense line of his posture.
“I apologize for subjecting you to such torment,” Malik said, his expression etched with pain. “You have every right to be furious with me, to despise me. But please know that I was merely following orders. I knew our path, the people we would meet, and the fate that awaited you and Olivia. I knew everything—the grueling examinations, the harrowing challenges, and even the revelation that Pasha Hassan was your father, Roman.”
A heavy sorrow emanated from Malik’s every word, deep remorse for all that had transpired. The weight of his confession hung in the air, heavy and oppressive.
The betrayal stung, but Roman stepped forward, his voice steady and resolute.
“I want to know the whole truth from you, Malik—once Pasha Hassan finishes. I’m done with the secrecy, the lies, and the betrayal from those I trusted the most.”
