From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 153

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**

**Savannah**

It is done…

The phrase reverberates within me, a haunting echo that I never uttered aloud. I have unburdened my soul to Roman—laid it all bare, stripped of the protective layers I had so carefully constructed. No more fragments, no more sanitized versions of the truth. I revealed every ugly detail, every shadowy corner of my past. The secrets he had pieced together from Uncle Jace’s careless whispers, the truths I had vowed to bury deep within my heart, have now surfaced, raw and unfiltered.

The cat is finally out of the bag.

But what’s the worst that could happen now? Would he pull away from me, distancing himself as if I were something fragile, something broken? Would he treat me like an untouchable thing, or worse—would he hunt down Asher Kingston, the man who had haunted my past, and exact revenge for the pain he inflicted on me all those years ago?

Roman sits on the couch, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles have turned an alarming shade of white. They rest on his knees, solid and immovable, like anchors holding him in place. A thick vein throbs on his temple, a visible testament to his simmering anger, threatening to burst forth. His gaze is fixed on the floor, but the fury radiating from him is palpable, thickening the air around us and making it difficult to breathe.

He looks furious. He looks dangerous. This is not the clean-cut finance guy I’ve known for years; this is someone far more primal, far more intense. When he finally speaks, his voice is a jagged edge that slices through the suffocating silence. “Why did you lie to me?”

The silence that had enveloped us until now feels like a heavy shroud, but his voice is a far worse burden.

I cross my arms tightly, trying to gather the air around me. “What was I supposed to say to you—”

Before I can finish, he erupts. With one swift, violent motion, he’s on his feet, the coffee table crashing to the ground with a deafening noise that rattles the frames on the wall. “Do not give me that!” His roar reverberates through my very being. “Do not give me that flimsy excuse, Savannah! You fucking lied to me!”

I flinch instinctively, but I refuse to back down. My voice, though small, carries a steadiness that surprises even me. “Do not raise your voice at me, Roman. There’s no need to dig up dead bodies. It’s in the past. I’ve moved on. I’ve grown past the pain.”

The mantra flows from my lips as if it were a well-rehearsed script, a chant I’ve repeated so often that it feels like second nature, ingrained in me until it became a part of my identity.

Roman’s chest rises and falls sharply, his breath jagged and uneven. “Are you out of your mind?” He takes a deliberate step toward me, then another, closing the distance between us. “Are you serious, or are you just trying to provoke me?”

Maybe they were right. My father, my mother, the whispers that danced behind closed doors. Perhaps now that I am older, I can finally see the truth more clearly. My mouth moves before I can stop it.

“Maybe my dad was right. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn skirts that short or tops that tiny. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so friendly with my professor. Maybe I shouldn’t have smiled at him or baked him cookies. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him mixed signals. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

The rest of my sentence shatters against the sound of Roman’s fist crashing into the portrait hanging behind me. The canvas jolts sideways, the glass splintering into a spiderweb of cracks. His fist is perilously close to my head. I jerk back, trembling, as the world tilts around me, and ugly memories swirl in my subconscious.

“Don’t you dare say that again,” he growls, his forehead almost touching mine. His voice is raw, tinged with desperation, as if he has been running for miles. “How can you blame yourself for his animalistic behavior? How can you take responsibility for a man who had no self-control? Jesus Christ, Savannah—what the hell have they done to you?”

What has my family done to me? A lot. More than I could ever articulate. More than he could ever hope to understand.

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