From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 178

**Chapter 178: Sinking Lower**

**Roman**

37%

Lying here in the stillness of night, I must look like a stalker, my eyes wide open and fixed on her. I can’t help but watch the gentle rise and fall of Savannah’s chest, as if that rhythmic motion could somehow stitch together the frayed edges of my soul. Savannah. My Savannah. She’s nestled against me, perfectly fitting into the curve of my arm, her lips forming that soft, unconscious smile that leaves me utterly wrecked each and every time.

She’s happy. That smile? It’s all the evidence I need.

And, oh God, I can hardly believe it—I’m happy too. Not just happy, but euphoric, high on a feeling that I never thought I’d experience.

She said she loved me. The words tumbled from her lips, trembling with emotion, accompanied by a heartbeat that thudded like a drum. Those words are etched into my very being, marked in places where no flame could ever touch.

I can’t stop replaying them in my mind, a melody that refuses to fade. I love you.

Do you understand what that does to a man like me? A man who has spent endless years biting his tongue, swallowing his desires, playing the role of the good friend—the loyal shadow—while every fiber of my being screamed to touch her, to claim her, to take her in my arms? To kiss her?

Five long years I kept myself caged. Five years of pretending that I didn’t want her in ways no “best friend” should ever want his so-called bestie. Five years of watching her smile at other men, giving herself to them, confiding in me about her feelings, breaking down in front of me, and all the while, I was terrified to breathe wrong, lest I scare her away.

Brother. Just the thought of that word makes my skin crawl. Perhaps that’s how she once saw me. The safe choice. The dependable one. The steady presence in her life.

But now, that so-called “best friend” has tasted her lips, felt her legs wrapped around him. Her essence clings to me like a sin I’ll never confess, and God, I love every part of her.

And if that makes me a bastard, then so be it.

She stirs beside me, a soft whimper escaping her lips, and my gut tightens instinctively. My eyes scan her face for any sign of discomfort, my heart racing. She does this sometimes, caught in the throes of nightmares, but tonight that sound cuts deeper, sharper.

Nightmare. I know it before I even take a breath. I hate it. I hate that she dreams in shadows. That even in her sleep, she remains ensnared by the claws of her past.

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