From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 100

**Chapter 66: All To Mysell**

Knock! Knock!! Knock!!!

“Savannah?” A voice called out, urgent and insistent, as it pounded relentlessly against the door.

With a groan, I buried my ear deeper into the softness of my pillow, flipping onto my other side as if I could somehow block out the world with a mere shift of fabric.

“Wake up! You’re going to be late!”

The voice sliced through the fog of my half-conscious state, pulling me reluctantly toward reality. I cracked one eye open, squinting against the dim light that filtered through the curtains. Outside, the sky remained cloaked in darkness, the kind of early morning that sane individuals would still be cocooned in sleep.

A heavy weight draped across my waist jolted me back to the present—Roman’s arm, warm and possessive.

Escaping his embrace felt like a battle; his grip was like iron, unyielding even in the depths of slumber. With a soft grunt of determination, I finally managed to slip free, sitting up and rubbing my forehead in an attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep.

The knocking continued, more frantic now. Lizzie.

I snatched a robe from the chair, wrapping it tightly around myself, feeling the fabric envelop me like a shield, concealing every inch of my bare skin. The sash cinched around my waist as I navigated the minefield of discarded clothes strewn across the floor, remnants of a night that had left me blushing like a schoolgirl. Memories of yesterday flooded my mind—his careful touch, the deliberate pace he had taken, the way he ensured I felt comfortable, as if it were our first time all over again.

I stole a glance at his sleeping form, sprawled on his belly, one hand still resting on the side I had just vacated.

Another knock jolted me from my reverie, my eyes darting toward the door.

“Savannah! Are you dead in there?!” Lizzie’s voice had escalated into a near-panic, her pounding echoing like a frantic drumbeat against the doorframe. Roman stirred behind me, his voice thick with sleep.

“Who the hell is that?” he muttered, groggy and disoriented.

“Lizzie,” I whispered back, cautiously opening the door.

There she stood, a whirlwind of chaos—hair a wild mess, hands planted firmly on her hips, radiating annoyance like a storm about to break. For a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw smoke rising from her ears.

“Dude! I’ve been knocking for hours!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms wide in exasperation, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

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