I want Rome Calloway

ZAYN

The slap hadn’t satisfied Santiago Calloway; he’d wanted Rome on his knees. Instead, he now sat nursing his bruised pride while I held his wrist in public view, an audience of Calloway shareholders and hang‑ons gawking like it was free theater.

Let them see how quickly their patriarch folded under a firmer grip.

Rome’s cheek still burned crimson. It suited him. Every tremor in that lean frame dragged me back to the VVIP suite—his knees on velvet, mouth hot and furious around me, eyes daring me to finish him or spare him.

I’d chosen both.

It was suddenly silent after I'd intervened but the shock on Rome's face spoke louder than words. A sense of satisfaction welled up to me and for a second, I couldn't shift my gaze from him.

His father immediately cleared his throat realizing it was me who had stopped him from hitting his son. He became composed and a smile appeared on his lips.

Santiago’s voice threaded into the stunned hush, still smiling. “I apologize, Mr. Sanchez. You shouldn’t have had to witness such a scene.”

Gasps rippled through the hall almost instantly as whispers snaked through the room. All eyes were on me and the surprise on their faces sent irritation down my spine.

“Isn’t that the hidden son of the Sanchez family?”

“He was brought into view just a few years ago, right? I heard he saved their empire.”

“He’s gorgeous. He doesn’t look like someone who needs to play savior.”

I didn’t turn to them, not even after those words. I’d heard it all before and unsurprisingly, I was used to it.

Rome stared at me, still fuming, confusion slashed across his features. Anger, shock, something bitter he hadn’t had time to name yet.

I smirked and finally turned toward Santiago. “Mr. Calloway,” I said smoothly, “shall we get down to business?”

The older man blinked, then smiled with that kind of tension only men used to being in charge displayed when they were no longer in control. “Yes, Mr. Sanchez. Of course.”

He glanced at Rome, who still hadn’t moved. “Rome. Follow me. Let’s talk.”

Rome’s jaw ticked. He didn’t like orders. He especially didn’t like them when they came laced with that strange, oily civility Santiago always wore after a mistake.

He'd used to tell me about how much he hated his father back when we used to date. How time flies.

He looked at me once more, this time not with fury, but with wary disbelief. Like I’d just walked out of a bad dream into a worse one.

I didn’t break his gaze. Just smiled and winked at him.

We were barely past the hall when Rome grabbed my arm and yanked me sideways, dragging me into one of those narrow, shadowed corridors that probably hadn’t seen sunlight since prohibition.

I let him drag me as I had expected it.

He spun on me the moment we were out of sight, his grip still tight and his eyes wild like a lion ready to go and a killing spree. His Chest was heaving like he’d run the whole way.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed. “You weren’t invited, are you?

“I was,” I said, smooth as bourbon. “By your father.”

That stopped him.

“You… what?”

I smiled, slowly and amusedly. God, he still reacted like fire to a match. Still so easy to unravel.

“I came to collect a particular someone who belongs to me,” I said, savoring the way his expression cracked. “Didn’t they tell you?”

He jerked back like I’d struck him. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

There it was. That righteous burn in his voice. That fight. I let it wash over me. I’d missed it more than I should’ve.

“Tell that to the vault key hanging around your father’s neck,” I said, his gaze burning right through me..

His mouth parted to say something but no sound came out.

I turned before he could form a reply, my coat swinging behind me like a period on the sentence he didn’t want to hear.

“Now come along, Romeo,” I called over my shoulder, not bothering to look back. “Your father is waiting.”

He didn’t answer. But I heard the soft shuffle of his shoes against marble as I turned.

He was following.

I stepped into the room, smooth as ever, like I hadn’t just gutted Rome Calloway in the hallway. He followed, a few steps behind, but the fury came in first. You could feel it, like a change in weather. A storm trying to wear skin.

He didn’t sit.

“What the hell is going on?” Rome’s voice cracked like a whip. “I was told I could collect my mother’s things. Not…” his eyes flicked from Santiago to Cassiel to me, “...be paraded around like some goddamn debutante.”

Santiago rose with a casualness that dared anyone to interrupt him. “You were misinformed, son.”

“I’m not your son.”

“Fine,” Santiago said coolly. “Then let me address you as the asset you’ve become. Mr. Sanchez didn’t come to discuss heirlooms and what belonged your mother. He came to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Silence collapsed in the room.

Rome didn’t speak. He laughed, but it was the kind that had teeth. “Marriage? Are you serious? Is this a business dinner or a fever dream?”

Genevieve, his stepmother, offered a syrupy little hum. “Darling, don’t be dramatic. Alliances are older than love. You’ll come to appreciate—”

“Spare me the history lesson. You didn’t appreciate me until now.”

Santiago’s voice cut across him. “Zayn Sanchez is offering you something we can’t afford to refuse. Protection. Liquidity. An empire to stand beside ours and you get your mother's things once it's over.”

Rome’s eyes snapped to mine, wide with disbelief. “You’re marrying me for leverage?”

I met his gaze head-on. “I’m not marrying anyone. Yet.”

“You’re here with a proposal, aren’t you?” His voice was ragged, rising with anger. “You’re here to buy me like a signed painting and hang me in the corner of your fucking penthouse.”

Well, he isn't wrong about that. I want Rome Calloway again after all this years and this time, I just want to show him what power means… that I had the ability to acquire him without exerting any effort, to claim him as my own without him ever considering leaving.