From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 186

**Chapter 113: I Hate Her**

As the days stretched on, my feelings toward Penny soured like milk left too long in the sun.

Scratch that. It was more than just dislike; it was a visceral hatred that bubbled up each time I witnessed her with Roman.

Perhaps it stemmed from my fragile self-esteem. Or maybe it was my possessive nature rearing its ugly head. But, more than anything, it was the unbearable truth that she acted as if I were invisible whenever Roman entered the room.

I couldn’t decipher the root of my emotions anymore. All I knew was that my stomach twisted into knots whenever her laughter echoed too loudly, her body leaned too close, or her hands grazed what was rightfully mine.

And right at this moment, she was perched on the edge of Roman’s desk, a spot I once claimed as my own. It was where I would sit, feeling cherished as he whispered sweet nothings, laced with a hint of mischief, into my ear. Now, here she was, feeding him as if she were a devoted housewife, and I was nothing but a ghost haunting the periphery of their interaction.

Roman, bless him, was hardly encouraging her antics. On any given day, he was not much of an eater, but Penny seemed determined to stuff him like a Thanksgiving turkey, her enthusiasm bordering on obsessive.

“Come on, you have to taste this,” she insisted, her voice dripping with sugary enthusiasm. “I discovered this while you were on vacation, and I’ve been obsessed ever since! I’m certain you’re going to love it.”

The sweetness of her tone made my teeth ache. She thrust a container toward him, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.

I rolled my eyes so hard that I feared they might get stuck. Roman chuckled, a good-natured laugh that only fueled the fire of my irritation. “No, Penny. Seriously, stop. If you keep this up, I’m going to end up in the ER.”

But her persistence was relentless. “Just one bite. I insist. You’ll absolutely love it.”

Her use of “insist” grated on my nerves like nails scraping against glass. I felt an overwhelming urge to scream.

Roman groaned theatrically, pushing the plate away yet again. “I’m going to be sick.”

I sat rigidly on the sofa, my hands balled into fists in my lap, fighting the overpowering desire to snatch the plate from her and hurl it across the room. My nails dug into my skin, leaving crescent marks as I wrestled with my emotions.

Then, as if scripted by fate, disaster struck.

In her fervor, she pushed too hard, and the container slipped from the edge of the desk. With a sickening splat, the contents landed squarely in Roman’s lap.

“PENELOPE!” Roman barked, jerking back as if stung. “Look what you’ve done!”

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