Page 22 of The Agreement

What was he trying to prove?

Apparently, Demyan wanted to prove something to Roman if his next words were any indication. “Maybe there is some way that my son can explain his actions. For once, I would enjoy hearing that.”

His gaze turned on Roman, cold but patient.

Waiting.

So did Maxim’s.

He had fucking news for them—not that they would like it. The two were going to keep waiting for something Roman didn’t have. Or rather, something he didn’t plan to give at all. Everyone in the room knew exactly what—and why—it had happened.

This was all a charade.

He refused to play into it.

“I’m not going to make excuses for myself,” Roman said simply.

Maxim sat forward on the edge of his seat, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself from watching the train wreck happen right in front of his face. Demyan drummed his fingers on the armchair, the line of his jaw tensing in a way that meant he was losing his calm demeanor, and fast.

The only noise?

Ice cubes swirling in his father’s glass.

What else did he expect from Roman? Groveling? Going down on his knees and fucking apologizing to this man like he was the lesser between them?

Absolutely not.

When Demyan glanced at Maxim once more, a look was exchanged between the two that said there was something else at play. Something he wasn’t privy to, and he didn’t like that. It immediately put him on edge sharper than he could handle. He should have known his father wasn’t going to just let his actions go with a half-assed non-apology.

This wasn’t new for Roman.

It was just getting old.

“Fine, then if my son doesn’t feel like humbling himself, it only seems fair to allow you to do so, old friend,” Demyan said, keeping his head tilted toward Maxim though his gaze rammed hard into Roman. “How can we repay you for this unfortunate incident?”

At that question, he faced Maxim directly and ignored Roman like he wasn’t even in the room.

“Damages to the car, yes?”

“Of course.”

“What fucking damages?” Roman snarled.

His father and Maxim continued as if he wasn’t in the room.

Still.

“And Dima wants—”

Roman interrupted that bullshit from Maxim before it went any further. “I am not apologizing to him. You’ll rip every bone from my body before I’ll say fuck all to that piece of shit.”

“That can be arranged,” Maxim murmured.

He stared back at the man, unaffected.

So be it.

The thing people didn’t realize about Roman?