Chapter 4 - The Man Who Was Supposed To Be Dead
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
I stood in the middle of my apartment, staring at the door while the voice outside repeated my name.
“Sadi…”
Eight years.
Eight years since I heard that voice.
Eight years since I stood beside a coffin and watched people tell me my father was gone.
My phone was still on the floor.
Roman’s voice came through the speaker.
“Sadi.”
I didn’t answer.
“Sadi, listen to me.”
My eyes remained fixed on the door.
The person outside knocked again.
This time harder.
“Sadi Miller.”
My entire body went cold.
Because nobody called me by my full name the way my father did.
Nobody.
Not my mother.
Not Chloe.
Not even Roman.
Only him.
I slowly reached down and picked up the phone.
“Roman.”
My voice barely worked.
“He’s here.”
There was silence.
Not normal silence.
The kind of silence that meant something had changed.
“What did you say?”
“My father.”
I swallowed.
“My father is outside.”
Roman didn’t respond immediately.
Then his voice became sharp.
“Move away from the door.”
I stepped back.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“Move away first.”
I did.
Slowly.
My eyes never left the door.
“Okay.”
“Good.”
Roman’s breathing changed.
For the first time since I met him, he sounded worried.
“Now listen carefully. Do not open that door.”
“But if it’s him—”
“It isn’t.”
The certainty in his voice stopped me.
“What?”
“Sadi, your father died eight years ago.”
My heart hurt.
Because hearing him say it made the impossible feel even more painful.
“I know what I saw.”
Roman lowered his voice.
“But you don’t know what they wanted you to see.”
Before I could answer, the person outside spoke again.
“Sadi…”
Then something slid underneath my door.
A small envelope.
I stared at it.
Roman heard my silence.
“What happened?”
“Something was pushed under the door.”
“Do not touch it.”
I looked at the envelope.
It was old.
Brown paper.
No name.
No address.
Just one word written across the front.
My name.
SADI.
My fingers moved toward it.
“Roman…”
“No.”
His voice became firm.
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
But I couldn’t look away.
Because underneath my name was something else.
A symbol.
A symbol I recognized.
A symbol from my father’s old notebooks.
A small black circle with a line through the center.
I remembered seeing it as a child.
I remembered asking my father what it meant.
And I remembered his answer.
“Some things are safer when you don’t know.”
My breathing became shallow.
“Roman.”
“What?”
“This symbol.”
Silence.
Then:
“Where did you see it?”
“On the envelope.”
Roman didn’t speak.
“Roman?”
When he finally answered, his voice was different.
“That symbol was supposed to disappear.”
I stared at the door.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone wants you to know they found you.”
A chill moved through me.
“Who?”
Roman didn’t answer.
Because suddenly, the lights in my apartment went out.
The room became completely dark.
I gasped.
“Roman?”
“I’m coming.”
“What?”
“I said I’m coming.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
My apartment was silent.
Too silent.
Then my phone screen lit up.
One message.
Unknown number.
He told you not to trust him.
My hands shook.
Another message appeared.
Ask Roman why your father died protecting him.
I stared at the words.
Then another message came.
A picture.
I opened it.
And my heart stopped.
It was a photo of Roman.
Standing outside my apartment building.
But the picture wasn’t from tonight.
It was from eight years ago.
Roman looked younger.
And beside him…
Was my father.
Twenty minutes later, someone knocked on my door.
Three quick knocks.
I almost screamed.
But then I heard his voice.
“Sadi.”
Roman.
I moved toward the door.
Then stopped.
Because a small part of me wondered if this was exactly what someone wanted.
To make me trust Roman.
To make me open the door.
“Sadi.”
His voice was softer.
“It’s me.”
I looked through the peephole.
Roman stood in the hallway.
Alone.
His expression was serious.
But something about him looked different.
He wasn’t the untouchable man from the restaurant.
He looked exhausted.
Like he had been carrying something heavy for years.
I unlocked the door.
But I didn’t open it completely.
“What happened?”
Roman looked at me.
Then at the envelope on the floor.
His face changed.
“You touched it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He stepped inside.
Immediately, his eyes scanned the apartment.
Windows.
Corners.
Hallway.
Every exit.
“You really think someone was here?”
“I know someone was here.”
“How?”
Roman looked at the old photograph on my table.
The one showing him with my father.
“Because they wanted me to see that.”
I crossed my arms.
“You still haven’t explained.”
Roman remained silent.
I hated that.
Every time things became serious, he disappeared behind that calm expression.
“Roman.”
He looked at me.
“Your father and I were not friends.”
That surprised me.
“Then what were you?”
His jaw tightened.
“Enemies.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Your father spent years investigating people connected to my business.”
My chest tightened.
“My father was investigating you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you in that picture together?”
Roman looked at the photograph.
“Because eventually, he discovered the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I wasn’t the person he was looking for.”
I stared at him.
“Then who was?”
Roman didn’t answer.
He walked toward the kitchen counter.
There was a small cut on his hand.
I noticed it.
“You’re bleeding.”
He looked down.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
For some reason, that annoyed me.
The man could talk about dangerous secrets, hidden enemies, and my father’s death without emotion.
But he ignored a simple injury.
I grabbed a towel.
“Sit.”
Roman looked at me.
“What?”
“Sit down.”
A strange expression crossed his face.
Almost amusement.
“You’re ordering me?”
“Yes.”
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then Roman sat.
I cleaned the cut on his hand.
And something felt strangely normal.
Which made it worse.
Because this man was connected to the biggest mystery of my life.
Yet sitting there, with his hand in mine, he didn’t feel dangerous.
He felt human.
“Why did you really choose me?”
The question slipped out.
Roman looked at me.
“I told you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You told me you needed an alibi.”
I looked into his eyes.
“But that wasn’t the whole reason.”
He didn’t answer.
That was enough.
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my name before I worked for you.”
“Yes.”
“You knew something about me.”
Roman looked away.
And that hurt more than if he had lied.
“Roman.”
Finally, he spoke.
“Your father left something for you.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Before he died.”
My hands went still.
“What did he leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Roman looked at me.
“Because he told me.”
The room became silent.
“What did he say?”
Roman’s expression changed.
“He said…”
He paused.
“He said if anything happened to him, I needed to protect his daughter.”
My heart dropped.
“You were supposed to protect me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you hire me as a maid?”
Roman looked down.
“Because I needed to keep you close without making you suspicious.”
The words hurt.
“You used me.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
At least he admitted it.
“I did.”
I stepped back.
“And the fake boyfriend thing?”
His eyes met mine.
“At first?”
I waited.
“At first, it was an arrangement.”
The answer hurt.
But then he continued.
“Then I realized I was wrong.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Because Roman Rossi was admitting feelings he clearly didn’t know how to explain.
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I watched his face become serious.
“Where?”
A pause.
Then:
“Don’t let anyone touch it.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
Roman looked at me.
“They found something.”
“What?”
He grabbed his jacket.
“Your father’s old apartment.”
I froze.
“My father’s apartment was sold years ago.”
“No.”
Roman looked toward the door.
“Someone has been keeping it hidden.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Because his phone buzzed again.
A message.
He opened it.
Then his face went completely still.
“What?”
He turned the phone toward me.
The message had only one sentence.
She knows the truth.
Below it was a photo.
My mother.
Standing inside my father’s old apartment.
Holding a box.
And written on the box was one name.
Mine.
Roman grabbed my hand.
“Sadi.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
His voice was almost a whisper.
“We need to get there before your mother opens it.”
I grabbed my coat.
But before we reached the elevator, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Only breathing.
Then a familiar voice whispered:
“Your mother lied to you.”
I froze.
Because the voice belonged to the person I thought I would never hear again.
My father.
May you like
And then he said:
“Don’t let Roman find the box first...”
