From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 117

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**

**Chapter 117**

“You’ve brought shame upon this family for—”

Before he could finish his tirade, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, abruptly silencing him.

It was Roman.

“Julius?” Roman’s voice emerged, flat and suffused with an undercurrent of menace.

In a swift, explosive motion, my father turned to face him, and in that split second, Roman’s fist connected with his jaw—square, unyielding, and brutal.

The sickening crack of bone echoed through the room, sending a shiver down my spine. Dad staggered backward, his knees buckling beneath him, and he crumpled to the floor beside Chloe, groaning in shock and agony.

A gasp escaped my lips, loud and involuntary, a raw reaction to the violence that had just unfolded.

“You hit me, son?” Julius rasped, his voice trembling with disbelief as he clutched his face. “Because of her?”

Roman’s movements were slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. I could feel the tension in the air; he had been waiting for this moment ever since my father had humiliated me in front of him that fateful day.

“Can’t you all read the handwriting on the fucking wall?” he growled, his voice low and threatening. “Touch her, and you touch me. It’s that simple.” With a casual shrug, he made it clear that he was not backing down.

My father’s eyes darted between me and Roman, wide with horror, as he struggled to drag himself backward like a wounded animal. I could see the shock etched on his face, the realization that someone was finally standing up for me.

“Do you know what you’ve just done?” His voice trembled with outrage, each word dripping with incredulity. “Do you realize how many laws of right and wrong you’ve just shattered? And for what? For Savannah?” He struggled to articulate his disbelief, his anger palpable.

Roman tilted his head, a dark, almost mocking smile curling his lips. “I admit, I don’t. You’re the law guy; I expect you to know. But I do know that I’ve wanted to do that since the first time you opened your mouth. And let me tell you…” He flexed his knuckles, his eyes glinting dangerously as he surveyed my father groveling on the floor. “It felt so fucking good that I’m tempted to do it again.”

He began to advance toward my father, who scrambled backward in fear. I stood there, watching the scene unfold, indifferent to the fate that awaited my dad. I was no saint, and I wanted him to feel pain—just as he had made me feel pain, day in and day out.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some bridesmaids clutched their pearls, their eyes wide with shock. Others swooned, romanticizing the violent confrontation. The groomsmen, however, were caught in a dilemma—uncertain whether to intervene or to step aside and let the storm rage on.

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