From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 135

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 86: I Am A Girl, Stupid!**

I stumbled backward, my feet tangling beneath me as if they had a mind of their own. My voice, betraying my frantic thoughts, shot up before I could rein it in.

“Does Roman know? Did he authorize this?”

Reese raked his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands as if he were on the verge of a breakdown. His eyes sparked with irritation, and his voice dripped with mockery, sharp enough to cut.

“Jesus Christ, Savannah. Roman this, Roman that. What are you two? Joined at the hip?”

The audacity of his words ignited a fire within me. My heart raced painfully, and I shot back, unable to contain my indignation. “You’re in his house, as an uninvited guest. The least you could do is show some respect. Let him know you’re entertaining someone in his home while he’s away.”

He merely scoffed, leaning casually against the counter, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face—a hallmark of the Blackwood family, it seemed.

“He’s not a guest. He’s Roman’s father. And besides, he’s not here to see Roman.” His gaze traveled over me with a deliberate weight, making my skin prickle. “He’s coming to see you, pretty girl.”

The impact of his words struck me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. My throat constricted, and the confidence I had moments ago evaporated like mist in the sun. “Why? Why is he coming to see me? He doesn’t even know who I am.” My voice rose, betraying the panic that clawed at my chest, threatening to spill over.

Reese tilted his head, an unsettling calmness in his tone. “That’s what you think. Our father probably knows you better than you know yourself.”

A shiver coursed down my spine at his insinuation. I didn’t like the way he said it, as if his father were not merely a man but a monster lurking beneath a veneer of civility.

Who exactly was he? A mob boss? The leader of a terrifying syndicate? A kingpin? A dragon? The president? My mind raced through increasingly absurd possibilities, desperately seeking an explanation, for the truth felt too heavy to bear.

And then, as if the universe were reveling in my torment, Reese’s phone rang, the sharp tone slicing through the tense atmosphere like a knife. I flinched as he pulled it from his pocket, a smirk creeping back onto his face.

“Oh. Speak of the devil.”

He answered with an unsettling smoothness, the playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. “Yes, Father? Yes, sir.”

That was it. Just two terse sentences before silence enveloped the room, the weight of the conversation hanging heavily in the air, pressing down on my chest like a leaden blanket.

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